"Ian R. Macleod - Grownups" - читать интересную книгу автора (Macleod Ian R)

heard his brother Tony call goodnight to the grownups and thunder up the stairs. He
tensed in case Tony should decide to look in on him before he went to bed, but
relaxed after the toilet had flushed and TonyтАЩs bedroom door had slammed. It was
almost night. Bobby knew that his window would show as no more than a darker
square against the wall of the house. He widened the parting in the curtain.

He loved to watch the grownups when they thought they were alone. It was a
different world. One day, Mum had told him often enough, one day, sweet little
Bobby, youтАЩll understand it all, touching his skin as she spoke with papery fingers.
But give it time, my darling one, give it time. Being a grownup is more wonderful
than you children could ever imagine. More wonderful. Yes, my darling. Kissing him
on the forehead and each eye and then his mouth, the way she did when she got
especially tender.

Bobby gazed down at the grownups. They had that loose look that came
when the wine and the beer had gone down well and there was more to come, when
the night was warm and the stars mirrored the lanterns. Dad raised his can from his
crotch to his lips. One of the men beside him made a joke and the beer spluttered
down DadтАЩs chin, gleaming for a moment before he wiped it away. The men always
talked like this, loud between bursts of silence, whilst the womenтАЩs voicesтАФlaughing
serious sadтАФbrushed soft against the night. Over by the trellis archway that led by
the garbage cans to the front, half a dozen uncles sat in the specially wide deckchairs
that Dad kept for them behind the mower in the shed.

Bobby couldnтАЩt help staring at the uncles. They were all grossly fat. There
was Uncle Stan, Uncle Harold, and, of course, his own Uncle Lew. Bobby saw with
a certain pride that Lew was the biggest. His tie was loose and his best shirt strained
like a full sail across his belly. Like all the uncles, Lew lived alone, but Dad or the
father of one of the other families Lew was uncle to was always ready to take the car
down on a Saturday morning, paint the windows of his house, or see to the lawn. In
many ways, Bobby thought, it was an ideal life. People respected uncles. Even more
than their girth re-quired, they stepped aside from them in the street. But at the same
time, his parents were often edgy when Lew was around, uncharacteristically eager
to please. Sometimes late in the night, Bobby had heard the unmistakable clatter of
his van on the gravel out front, Mum and DadтАЩs voices whispering softly excited in
the hall. Gazing at Lew, seated with the other uncles, Bobby remembered how he
had dragged him to the moist folds of his belly, rumbling WonтАЩt You Just Look At
This Sweet Kid? His yeasty aroma came back like the aftertaste of bad cooking.
 Someone turned the record player on in the lounge. Sibilant music drifted like
smoke. Some of the grownups began to dance. Women in white dresses blossomed
as they turned, and the men were darkly quick. The music and the sigh of their
movement brushed against the humid night, coaxed the glow of the lanterns, silvered
the rooftops and the stars.

The dancing quickened, seeking a faster rhythm inside the slow beat. BobbyтАЩs
eyes Fizzed with sleep. He thought he saw grownups floating heartbeat on heartbeat
above the lawn. Soon they were leaping over the lanterned cherry trees, flying,
pressing close to his window with smiles and waves, beckoning him to join them.
Come out and play, Bobby, out here amid the stars. The men darted like eels, the
women did high kicks across the rooftop, their dresses billowing coral frills over