"Lisa Tuttle - Jamie's Grave" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

JAMIEтАЩS GRAVE
Lisa Tuttle
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Lisa Tuttle does not restrict herself to Dark Fantasy. As a writer (as opposed to an author), she
prefers to stretch her considerable talents in as many directions as she can, not always
succeeding, but, more importantly, always learning. When she does write fantasy, however, she
brings a voice to the field that borrows from no other. тАЬJamieтАЩs Grave,тАЭ I have said before, is the
perfect Shadows story. DonтАЩt ask me why. I just know it, as I did the first time I read it and
thanked all my lucky stars that the piece came here first. I didnтАЩt dither over this one. IтАЩve learned
my lesson.

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MARY SAT AT the kitchen table, a cup of tea gone cold by her left hand, and listened to the purring of
the electric clock on the wall.

The house was clean and the larder well stocked. She had done the laundry and read her library books
and it was too wet for gardening. She had baked a cake yesterday and this wasnтАЩt her day for making
bread. She had already phoned Clive twice this week and could think of no excuse to phone again. Once
she might have popped across the road to visit Jen, but she had been getting the feeling that her visits
were no longer so welcome. There had been a time when Jen was grateful for MaryтАЩs company, a time
when she had been lonely, too, but now Jen had her own baby to care for, and whenever Mary went
over thereтАФno matter what Jen saidтАФMary couldnтАЩt help feeling that she was intruding.

She looked at the clock again. In twenty minutes she could start her walk to the school.

Clive said she should get a job. He was right, and not just for the money. Mary knew she would be
happier doing something useful. But what sort of job could she get? She had no experience, and in this
Wiltshire village there was not much scope for employment. Other mothers already held the school jobs
of crossing-guard and dinner-lady, and what other employer would allow her to fit her working hours to
those when Jamie was in school? She wouldnтАЩt let someone else look after JamieтАФno job was worth
that. Her son was all she had in the world, all she cared about. If she could have kept him home with her
and taught him herself, instead of having to send him to school, Mary knew she would have been
perfectly content. She had been so happy when she had her baby, she hadnтАЩt even minded losing Clive.
But babies grew up, and grew away. Jen was going to find that out in a few years.

Mary rose and walked to the sink, poured away the tea, rinsed and set the cup on the draining-board.
She took her jacket from the hook beside the door and put it on, straightening her collar and fluffing her
hair without a mirror. The clock gave a dim, clicking buzz, and it was time to leave.

The house where Mary lived with her son was one of six bungalows on the edge of a Wiltshire village,
close enough to London, as well as to Reading, to be attractive to commuters. After the grimy, cramped
house in Islington, the modern bungalow with its large garden and fresh country air had seemed the
perfect place to settle down and raise a family. But while Mary had dreamed of being pregnant again,
Clive had been dreaming of escape. The house for him was not a cosy nest, but a gift to Mary and a sop
to his conscience as he left.

Five minutesтАЩ leisurely walk brought the village school in sight. Mary saw the children tumbling out the
door like so many brightly colored toys, and she reached the gate at the same moment as Jamie from the