flowering Sour Grass (
Schmidtia kalahariensis
) held responsible for Lizzieâs hay fever, though he thought the Lehmannâs lovegrass (
Eragrostis lehmanniana
) was probably the culprit. It was an invasive weed that produced large monotypic stands to crowd out other species. Lastly, there was the bulky grass cover provided by the Silky bushman grass (
Stipagrostis uniplumis
).
He lay on the lounger thinking about grasses. He imagined telling his most fractious client, Rebecca Finkelman, that her new garden north of Orvieto was to be made up entirely of African grasses. The thought made him laugh inwardly. He could see the entire circular garden dense with two-metre high grasses.
Dan was drawn to the Kalahari in a way he had never imagined possible. It was the vastness of the land, the extremity of the sky, which appeared to fall on top of the earth. The Korannaberg Mountains were a cartoon image, towering over the flat veld. The veld was not some amorphous mass, but dense with fascinating species of flora and fauna. It struck him as he looked beyond the daisies to the horizon that if he had a strong desire for anything, it was a yearning for land. A place to physically grow his own roots after two arduous decades of doing it for clients.
âI donât want to go on about it, but it hardly compares with Ibiza, does it now?â Alan said, yet again.
Alan was flat on his stomach, tanning his back with his head tipped to Danâs side.
âIt was luxurious in Ibiza. It was like, you know, five star. This is three star, Iâm telling you, at a push.â He raised himself up on to his elbows.
Dan carefully rolled over on to his left side. He stretched his arm out for his suncream, which was in the shade on the wooden cube table beside the lounger. He had already applied suncream. The move bought him some time before he needed to respond.
Dan hated hurting anyone. He hated confrontation. It scared him. When he thought about why he loved the group, it was because they were utterly different tohim: lively, funny, opinionated and emotional. Confrontational. He often discussed his inability to express his feelings with his therapist off Harley Street, not far from his holistic nutritionist, who had recommended his therapist. He always drew Dan back to his feelings about being gay. He was convinced it was at the root of Danâs fear of confrontation or, as he called it, his âfear of controversyâ.
Dan didnât want to be different. He never had.
He had an idyllic childhood in the countryside outside York, attending the local school where his parents worked as teachers. He was sandwiched between three siblings: two sisters and a brother. They were a close family. He kissed a girl, a friend of his younger sister, when he was fourteen. It was pleasurable, even though she had railway tracks on her teeth. He fully expected it to be the beginning of a journey, through losing his virginity to getting married young like his parents.
Bristol changed that. Away from what, he quickly discovered, was a pretty sheltered home, he looked at his sexuality afresh.
Late one night, they were in Mattâs room at Wills, slumped on every available surface. Dan was sitting cross-legged at the foot of Mattâs desk. Matt had the Rolling Stones loudly blaring from his cassette recorder; Connie and Luke were dancing, twisting round each otherâs legs. The door swung open. It was a third year, back in hall for his finals. âTurn that bloody racket off! Iâve got to leave for a race at five tomorrow morning,â he bellowed.
Guy Francis, Dan later discovered. He was a rower, generously over six feet with a mass of strawberry blond hair, tanned skin and vast hands. He looked like a farmer or a Thomas Hardy character, Dan couldnât decide. Maybe they were the sameperson. As Guy leant forward to make his point known, his shirt flopped open. It wasnât his chest that caught Danâs
Schmidtia kalahariensis
) held responsible for Lizzieâs hay fever, though he thought the Lehmannâs lovegrass (
Eragrostis lehmanniana
) was probably the culprit. It was an invasive weed that produced large monotypic stands to crowd out other species. Lastly, there was the bulky grass cover provided by the Silky bushman grass (
Stipagrostis uniplumis
).
He lay on the lounger thinking about grasses. He imagined telling his most fractious client, Rebecca Finkelman, that her new garden north of Orvieto was to be made up entirely of African grasses. The thought made him laugh inwardly. He could see the entire circular garden dense with two-metre high grasses.
Dan was drawn to the Kalahari in a way he had never imagined possible. It was the vastness of the land, the extremity of the sky, which appeared to fall on top of the earth. The Korannaberg Mountains were a cartoon image, towering over the flat veld. The veld was not some amorphous mass, but dense with fascinating species of flora and fauna. It struck him as he looked beyond the daisies to the horizon that if he had a strong desire for anything, it was a yearning for land. A place to physically grow his own roots after two arduous decades of doing it for clients.
âI donât want to go on about it, but it hardly compares with Ibiza, does it now?â Alan said, yet again.
Alan was flat on his stomach, tanning his back with his head tipped to Danâs side.
âIt was luxurious in Ibiza. It was like, you know, five star. This is three star, Iâm telling you, at a push.â He raised himself up on to his elbows.
Dan carefully rolled over on to his left side. He stretched his arm out for his suncream, which was in the shade on the wooden cube table beside the lounger. He had already applied suncream. The move bought him some time before he needed to respond.
Dan hated hurting anyone. He hated confrontation. It scared him. When he thought about why he loved the group, it was because they were utterly different tohim: lively, funny, opinionated and emotional. Confrontational. He often discussed his inability to express his feelings with his therapist off Harley Street, not far from his holistic nutritionist, who had recommended his therapist. He always drew Dan back to his feelings about being gay. He was convinced it was at the root of Danâs fear of confrontation or, as he called it, his âfear of controversyâ.
Dan didnât want to be different. He never had.
He had an idyllic childhood in the countryside outside York, attending the local school where his parents worked as teachers. He was sandwiched between three siblings: two sisters and a brother. They were a close family. He kissed a girl, a friend of his younger sister, when he was fourteen. It was pleasurable, even though she had railway tracks on her teeth. He fully expected it to be the beginning of a journey, through losing his virginity to getting married young like his parents.
Bristol changed that. Away from what, he quickly discovered, was a pretty sheltered home, he looked at his sexuality afresh.
Late one night, they were in Mattâs room at Wills, slumped on every available surface. Dan was sitting cross-legged at the foot of Mattâs desk. Matt had the Rolling Stones loudly blaring from his cassette recorder; Connie and Luke were dancing, twisting round each otherâs legs. The door swung open. It was a third year, back in hall for his finals. âTurn that bloody racket off! Iâve got to leave for a race at five tomorrow morning,â he bellowed.
Guy Francis, Dan later discovered. He was a rower, generously over six feet with a mass of strawberry blond hair, tanned skin and vast hands. He looked like a farmer or a Thomas Hardy character, Dan couldnât decide. Maybe they were the sameperson. As Guy leant forward to make his point known, his shirt flopped open. It wasnât his chest that caught Danâs
Similar Books
