to
make this place … and where is here exactly? The house looks
familiar, but then again most fancy piles look the same, don’t
they? Big house, fancy garden, great big boundary wall, wrought
iron gate? What?”
Colin’s
mouth is drawn into a tight knot, eyes narrowed to dark slits,
voice a deep rumble. “Say one more word, I dare ye; ask one more
senseless bloody question, and I swear to God I’m gain ta throttle
ye wi ma bare hands.”
He gives
her a look of singular hardness before turning his back on her and
taking hold of the water pump’s priming handle.
“ What’s on the other side of the gate for you?” she
says.
Colin’s
shoulders stiffen and he gives the handle a savage
heave.
“ I’ve found that when I put myself at the gate I have to
fully focus on it,” she says, “because the second I turn away from
it, I’m back where I started – in bed, on the sofa, meditating on
the rug. Is it the same for you? Where are you coming from? You
must be somewhere. Everybody is somewhere.”
Water
gushes from the pump’s spout.
“ What’s gone on in your life that you made this place as an
escape, closed the gate on the world? You can tell me.”
He cups
his hands, fills them with cool water and splashes it over his face
and hair.
“ Colin?”
He folds
forward, eyes closed, nostrils flared. “Fer cryin’ out loud, woman!
Take the bloody hint and leave it alone will ye?”
“ I can’t. I’m like a dog with a bone once I get going. I
have to know everything. I have to know why you need a refuge like
this. Is there something outside that scares you? Because if we get
together, talk about it, we can–”
He
wheels on her, droplets flying from his wetted hair, a deep scowl
hooding eyes flashing with indignation.
“ Fit dae, eh? Facing yer fear is half the battle won, and
talking aboot it will be the silver bullet that’ll mak it all go
awa’. That’s pishing nonsense and ye ken it well
enough.”
His
growing anger is strengthening his accent, edging it toward
indecipherable and she’s struggling to understand him, but she
doesn’t let it stop her taking one more step.
“ If you want to go to the gate, face your fear of what’s on
the other side, we can go together–”
He
drives his hand into the trough, sending up a wave of water. “Are
ye no listening ta me, woman? I said I’m nae goin’ anywhere!
Everything I need or want is here. I don’t need ta go outside
‘cause there’s nothin’ theer fer me. So what if none o’ this is
real, if it’s all an illusion, or make believe or airy fairy land.
I dinna cair! It’s better than what’s oot theer – a world full o’
war and crime and violence, where life is cheap and if you dinna
fit inta the mould they make fer ye, ye can just get stuffed.” He
snorts a sardonic laugh down his nose. “Aye, I can see the
attractions. Wouldn’t want ta miss out on a bit more murder and
mayhem and pain and disease would I? I’m better off out of
it.”
“ It’s not all bad,” she says. “There are some good things
still.”
“ Such as?”
She
shrugs. “Ice cream?”
Her flippant response only serves to inflame him further.
He takes a step toward her, a thunderous scowl clouding his face,
hands balled into fists, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to
hit her. Instead he holds her with a steely gaze, and his voice
falls low and flat and hollow. “Oh really? Then tell me Grace Dove,
if things outside are oh so fluffy kitten wonderful, so bloody
perfectly jolly nice, why do you keep coming back here, eh?” He jabs an accusatory
finger at her. “What are you hiding from?”
“ I’m not hiding,” she says. “I can come and go as I please.
I’m not afraid to go through the gate.” Sigh. “I know the world
outside isn’t perfect, but that’s not the reason I come here. I
come here because I happen to like it. It’s a nice place and
I…we’ve both worked hard on getting it just right, and now I’ve
come to know you
make this place … and where is here exactly? The house looks
familiar, but then again most fancy piles look the same, don’t
they? Big house, fancy garden, great big boundary wall, wrought
iron gate? What?”
Colin’s
mouth is drawn into a tight knot, eyes narrowed to dark slits,
voice a deep rumble. “Say one more word, I dare ye; ask one more
senseless bloody question, and I swear to God I’m gain ta throttle
ye wi ma bare hands.”
He gives
her a look of singular hardness before turning his back on her and
taking hold of the water pump’s priming handle.
“ What’s on the other side of the gate for you?” she
says.
Colin’s
shoulders stiffen and he gives the handle a savage
heave.
“ I’ve found that when I put myself at the gate I have to
fully focus on it,” she says, “because the second I turn away from
it, I’m back where I started – in bed, on the sofa, meditating on
the rug. Is it the same for you? Where are you coming from? You
must be somewhere. Everybody is somewhere.”
Water
gushes from the pump’s spout.
“ What’s gone on in your life that you made this place as an
escape, closed the gate on the world? You can tell me.”
He cups
his hands, fills them with cool water and splashes it over his face
and hair.
“ Colin?”
He folds
forward, eyes closed, nostrils flared. “Fer cryin’ out loud, woman!
Take the bloody hint and leave it alone will ye?”
“ I can’t. I’m like a dog with a bone once I get going. I
have to know everything. I have to know why you need a refuge like
this. Is there something outside that scares you? Because if we get
together, talk about it, we can–”
He
wheels on her, droplets flying from his wetted hair, a deep scowl
hooding eyes flashing with indignation.
“ Fit dae, eh? Facing yer fear is half the battle won, and
talking aboot it will be the silver bullet that’ll mak it all go
awa’. That’s pishing nonsense and ye ken it well
enough.”
His
growing anger is strengthening his accent, edging it toward
indecipherable and she’s struggling to understand him, but she
doesn’t let it stop her taking one more step.
“ If you want to go to the gate, face your fear of what’s on
the other side, we can go together–”
He
drives his hand into the trough, sending up a wave of water. “Are
ye no listening ta me, woman? I said I’m nae goin’ anywhere!
Everything I need or want is here. I don’t need ta go outside
‘cause there’s nothin’ theer fer me. So what if none o’ this is
real, if it’s all an illusion, or make believe or airy fairy land.
I dinna cair! It’s better than what’s oot theer – a world full o’
war and crime and violence, where life is cheap and if you dinna
fit inta the mould they make fer ye, ye can just get stuffed.” He
snorts a sardonic laugh down his nose. “Aye, I can see the
attractions. Wouldn’t want ta miss out on a bit more murder and
mayhem and pain and disease would I? I’m better off out of
it.”
“ It’s not all bad,” she says. “There are some good things
still.”
“ Such as?”
She
shrugs. “Ice cream?”
Her flippant response only serves to inflame him further.
He takes a step toward her, a thunderous scowl clouding his face,
hands balled into fists, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to
hit her. Instead he holds her with a steely gaze, and his voice
falls low and flat and hollow. “Oh really? Then tell me Grace Dove,
if things outside are oh so fluffy kitten wonderful, so bloody
perfectly jolly nice, why do you keep coming back here, eh?” He jabs an accusatory
finger at her. “What are you hiding from?”
“ I’m not hiding,” she says. “I can come and go as I please.
I’m not afraid to go through the gate.” Sigh. “I know the world
outside isn’t perfect, but that’s not the reason I come here. I
come here because I happen to like it. It’s a nice place and
I…we’ve both worked hard on getting it just right, and now I’ve
come to know you
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