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

you know what Joan and I were doing, he had said. Bobby nodded, circling a black
V8 limo with a missing tire around the whorls and dustballs of the carpet. ItтАЩs no big
deal, Tony said, picking at a scab on his chin. But his eyes had gone blank with
puzzlement, as though he couldnтАЩt remember something important.

Bobby looked up at Tony as they walked along the road. He was going to
miss his big brother. He even wanted to say it, although he knew he wouldnтАЩt be able
to find the words. Maybe heтАЩd catch up with him again when he turned grownup
himself, but that seemed a long way off. At least five summers.

The fields ended. The road led into Avenues, Drives, and Crofts that
meandered a hundred different ways toward home.

The doctorтАЩs red station wagon was parked under the shade of the poplar in
their drive.

тАЬYou donтАЩt make people wait,тАЭ Mum said, her breath short with impa-tience,
shooing them both quickly down the hallway into the kitchen. тАЬIтАЩm disappointed in
you, Tony. You too, Bobby. YouтАЩre both old enough to know better.тАЭ She opened
the fridge and took out a tumbler of bitter milk. тАЬAnd Tony, you didnтАЩt drink this at
breakfast.тАЭ

тАЬMum, does it matter? IтАЩll be a grownup soon anyway.тАЭ

Mum placed it on the scrubbed table. тАЬJust drink it.тАЭ
 Tony drank. He wiped his chin and banged down the glass.

тАЬWell, off you go,тАЭ Mum said.

He headed up the stairs.

Doctor Halstead was waiting for Tony up in the spare room. HeтАЩd been
coming around to test him every Tuesday since Mum and Dad received the brown
envelope from school, arriving punctually at twelve thirty, taking best-china coffee
with Mum in the lounge afterward. There was no mystery about the tests. Once or
twice, Bobby had seen the syringes and the blood analysis equipment spread out on
the candlewick bedspread through the open door. Tony had told him what it was
like, how the doc stuck a big needle in your arm to take some blood. It hurt some,
but not much. He had shown Bobby the sunset bruises on his arm with that perverse
pride that kids display over any wound.

Doctor Halstead came down half an hour later, looking stern and
noncom-mittal. Tony followed in his wake. He shushed Bobby and tried to listen to
MumтАЩs conversation with the doc over coffee in the lounge by standing by the door
in the hall. But grownups had a way of talking that made it difficult to follow,
lowering their voices at the crucial moment, clinking their cups. Bobby imagined
them stifling their laughter behind the closed door, deliber-ately uttering meaningless
fragments they knew the kids would hear. He found the thought oddly reassuring.

****