Digging to Australia by Lesley Glaister Read Free Book Online Page B

then?’ I shuddered at the thought. It was so cold and unfriendly, so absolutely uncosy.
    â€˜I live here,’ he said. ‘A temporary measure, of course.’ He struck a match and I saw that he had a small camping stove with a kettle balanced on the top. He picked it up and shook it. ‘Enough for a couple of cups,’ he announced. ‘Have a biscuit.’ He offered me a packet and I took one. I nibbled at the edge, and then I stopped, a horrible thought occurring to me. I had been under the impression that I was alone when I came to the playground, completely alone with no one even near. And alone when I picked my way out between the graves.
    â€˜You’re a solitary soul,’ he said, just as if he could read my thoughts, ‘wandering here at all hours.’
    â€˜Have you been watching me?’
    â€˜Not watching, no. By no means watching. But I’ve seen you. I’ve heard the swing. Frightened me out of my wits when I first heard it. Ghosts, I thought. Phantasms. Quite understandable given the setting, don’t you think? Do you fear ghosts?’
    â€˜No such thing.’
    â€˜Ah … such simplicity,’ he said, and I began to feel offended. ‘But don’t you feel it a mite unwise all the same?’ he continued, ‘to wander alone in such a very secluded spot? A young girl alone. Haven’t your parents warned you?’ I shook my head, although, of course, they had. They were always warning me. ‘How old are you?’ he asked. ‘No!’ he held up his hand, ‘Allow me to hazard a guess. Thirteen, or fourteen?’
    â€˜Thirteen,’ I said. ‘Actually it’s my thirteenth birthday.’
    â€˜No … is it really? Well then, many happy returns. Perhaps we should celebrate. And fortunately I have at hand the means.’ He pulled a squat silver flask out of his pocket. ‘Will you take a spot in your tea?’
    â€˜What is it?’
    â€˜Irish malt, a peerless tipple.’
    â€˜Whisky?’
    â€˜That’s it. Will you have a drop? To celebrate?’
    â€˜I’ve never … well all right then,’ I decided. Jennifer might not have drunk whisky in a church with a strange man, but Jacqueline did. The man sloshed a good drop into the two china teacups. He put another biscuit on the saucer for me. I sipped at it, wrinkling my nose at its manly smell. It was good and strong and tasted festive, Christmassy. It made me feel light-headed, and odd. The biscuit in the saucer had soaked up the slops and was soft on my tongue. ‘Sherry trifle,’ I said and my voice sounded loud and foolish.
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    â€˜It reminds me,’ I said.
    â€˜Well, here’s to you. Thirteen today, eh?’ he looked at me as if I was the first girl ever to reach thirteen. As if I was unique.
    There was quiet for a few moments but for the sounds of our sipping. I struggled to swallow silently but made a gulping sound. And then I grinned. ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to say, it would have sounded ridiculous, but I was thinking of Alice and the cake and the little bottle and her obedient eating and drinking and all the growing and shrinking she did. I felt tiny now, as if I had shrunk. The roof of the church was miles above, impossibly far, as was the distance to the door. I shivered.
    â€˜What’s that?’ I asked, pointing to the wooden frame-work.
    â€˜You would laugh if I told you that,’ he said. He unscrewed the top of the flask and tipped some whisky straight down his throat, then he put it in his pocket. ‘I see you’re dressed for school,’ he said.
    â€˜I …’
    â€˜It’s perfectly all right. You don’t have to make excuses to me. I wasn’t much of a one for school myself when I was your age. Has brains, lacks application, that sort of thing. However, pleasant as this is, I must