Читать книгу The Drowning Girl - Margaret Leroy - Страница 18

CHAPTER 12

One Saturday, when Leo and Josh have gone sailing, we take the girls to the zoo. It’s a beautiful afternoon—pellucid sunlight, razor-sharp shadows, a keen chill out of the sun. We buy ice creams, though really it’s too cold for them. The girls run on ahead of us.

‘Sylvie seems great today,’ says Karen.

‘Yes. I hope so.’

I tell her about Dr Strickland, about being referred for counselling myself: Karen listens intently.

‘Don’t just dismiss it, Grace,’ she tells me, when I’ve finished. ‘Maybe it would be good for you to see someone on your own. You’ve been under such a lot of stress. You never know, it might be useful.’

‘But it isn’t my problem, it’s Sylvie’s.’

‘I know that’s how it must seem. But problems aren’t always all that clear-cut, in families,’ she tells me.

The girls have finished their ices and come to drop their cones in the bin. Sylvie gives me a quick, light hug. I bend to her and she kisses me with sticky scented lips. I bury my face in her hair; the sun has brought out its musk.

‘You smell of the sun,’ I tell her.

‘Really, Grace. How can I smell of the sun?’ she says. ‘Really.’

It’s her sensible voice, showing she knows how the world works. She rushes off, laughing, with Lennie.

We pass the gibbon enclosure, where the fence throws a crisp black patterning over the grass, an immaculate shadowy stencilling. The girls make monkey faces and pretend to hunt for fleas in one another’s clothes. We’re walking straight into the sun, which is sinking already, red as flame and dazzling; it hurts our eyes to look at it. We pass the tigers, two great animals sprawled in a pool of florid light, their bright coats rippling with their lazy, sleepy breath. We come to the llamas and camels.

‘I really love camels,’ says Karen. ‘They’re funny. I love their snooty expressions. You look at all these animals, and you’ve got to think God really had some very odd ideas.’

On impulse, I turn to her.

‘Karen, d’you believe in reincarnation?’

She grins. ‘Coming back as a monkey and all that?’

There’s a red glaze on my vision, the after-image of the sun.

‘Well, yes. Or as another person…’

‘Tell you what,’ she says. ‘I’ve always thought I’d like to come back as a cat. Ideally an indolent pedigree cat with a truly besotted owner. Lots of smoked salmon and lying around by the fire…’ She turns to smile at me; then stares, eyes widening, suddenly appalled. ‘Grace, my God, you’re serious, aren’t you? You mean it.’

‘I read this article,’ I tell her, ‘about kids with problems like Sylvie’s. And someone had this theory that they were remembering a past life.’

There’s a moment of heavy quiet between us. Her lipsticked mouth is a thin, red gash in her face. She shakes her head a little.

‘Grace. This life is the one we’ve got, the only one we’ll get.’ She makes an expansive gesture, her arms opening outward as though to take everything in—the animals and grass and trees, our laughing children, the wide bright arch of the sky. ‘This is it, Grace. This is it, this is all we’ll get, and we just have to make the best of it.’