Page 11

T he Past

Two very small children, one of them a baby, ride in rucksacks on their parents’ backs, hiking steadily through the glen.

The baby is asleep, lulled by the rhythm and her mother’s wheezy singing.

Two older children, squat in the dust in the clearing. Their parents are away under a tree. Mum is clearing up lunch and Dad is trying to get her to lie down with him for a moment. His arms are reaching up to her and she is laughing and talking about wood ants.

The little girl hums under her breath and digs in the dirt with a stick. She wants to find a stick which she can carve into a magic wand but she can’t find the right stick and doesn’t know how to do it - even if someone would give her a knife.

The little boy has picked up a beetle. Its sharp legs are wiggling in the air and its antennae squirm in indignation.

He is gentle. He looks at its colour and shape and feels the wing cases tensing under his fingers.

He shows the beetle to his sister but she recoils, so he put it on his palm and watches it fly away.

Two teenagers: ‘This’ll be the last family holiday right? Next year we’ll be off with our mates instead.’

The boy says: ‘Next year, I’m going to do a gap year with a wildlife charity before I start university.’

The girl says: ‘When I finish school the year after, maybe I’ll go to a conservatoire rather than university, what do you reckon?’

The parents laugh. ‘Are either of you going to get proper jobs? How are you going to keep us in luxury in our old age?’

In the evenings, the girl finds a concert in a local town hall and her fingers itch throughout. In the days, the boy hikes through countryside with his camera and notebook, wondering what happened to that stag from so long ago.

‘When I’m on TV…’

‘When I’m at the Albert Hall….’

Two young people, coming back from the double funeral to an empty house.

‘There’s no one to take care of us now except each other.’

They hold hands like children, like drowning people, terrified to let each other go.