Part 8 (1/2)
Almost blindly, they ran straight at the fast flowing stream. John scrambled to his feet, holding up his grease-blackened hands. ”Whoa! Careful, you two. You'll end up in the stream.”
”We saw his face in the water!” Emm squealed.
Elizabeth jumped up and down. ”And now he's chasing us!”
”Oh,” John nodded, understanding. ”The water dragon.”
”No!”
”Who then?”
The two girls yelled in harmony. ”Baby Bones!”
Then, still giddy with excitement, they raced off down the hill. John wiped his hands on a rag. The dog looked up at him, ears pointing.
”Baby Bones, Sam?” John shrugged. ”Who the h.e.l.l's Baby Bones?”
2.
Round about six-ish Paul rolled up. John noticed his face was a near cherry red. What's more, he grinned to himself when he thought no one was looking.
”Done much today?” John asked as he returned tools to the shed.
”No.” Paul shrugged.
”Where did you get to?”
”Town.”
”Anything exciting happen?”
Paul shook his head.
”What did you think of that video last night?”
”OK.”.
John rolled his eyes skyward. At seventeen Paul was still in the one-word conversation phase of adolescence. To drag a full sentence out of him took time as well as a full-blooded determination.
”You look happy with yourself, Paul,” John said as Paul hung around in the shed doorway. ”What's up?”
”Nothing.”
”But you keep smiling to yourself. Something funny must have happened. Aren't you going to share it with your old man?”
”I'm not smiling.”
”You are.”
”How can you tell when I've got my back to you?”
”I can tell, number one son.”
”How?”
”Your ears go up and down.”
Paul rubbed his ears. Then added, ”It's hot today.”
Result! John thought. Without it being levered from him, Paul had spoken a three word conversational sentence.
”Beautiful, isn't it? Can you pa.s.s me the rake? Thanks, son.”
”I'm boiling.”
”Great barbecue weather, eh?”
”Can I have a beer?”
John glanced across at where Val piled the nettles she'd ma.s.sacred.
”You know your mother isn't keen on you drinking beer around the house.”
”Go on, Dad. I'm dying of thirst.”
”On three conditions.”
”What are those?” Paul sounded suspicious.
”One. You drink it from your old mouse cup.”
”What? It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse on it. I haven't used it in years.”
”I know, but it's colored plastic.”
”You can't be serious?”
”Deadly serious. If you use that your mother can't see that you're drinking beer.”
”If I drink from a bottle across here she won't see either.”
”Believe me, she will. And we'll both spend tonight in h.e.l.l.”
”All right,” he relented grudgingly.