The Lost Man(49)

‘No. I know. I’ve never been able to work it out exactly.’

‘If you haven’t got it after ten years, maybe you should give up.’

‘I think you’re probably right.’ Nathan smiled at her. ‘So you play?’

‘When I don’t have this.’ Sophie held up her sling, then listened for a bit longer. ‘You’re really good.’

‘I have a lot of time to practise.’ He tried not to sound bitter.

‘Do you play every day?’

‘If I can. Since I was your age, probably.’

‘That’s such a long time.’ She looked so staggered he had to laugh. ‘Every day?’

‘Pretty much. Except for a couple of years when I didn’t have a guitar anymore.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Nathan’s smile faded. ‘It got damaged.’

It was actually his clearest memory of his dad, which was surprising because it was far from the worst. It had been the day Nathan and Cam had tried to run away and Carl Bright had rounded them up at the stockman’s grave. Nathan could still remember sitting in the truck, looking at the back of his dad’s head and wishing he would just start shouting. It was the stillness that scared him. They did not see another car or person the whole drive home, Nathan remembered clearly. That wasn’t at all unusual, but that day he had noticed. There was no-one else around.

Nathan had been sure he’d known what was waiting for them when they got back, but to his surprise Carl had got out of the car without a word, leaving his sons looking at each other. They’d walked on eggshells all day, waiting. It was only late that evening, after Harry finally said good night and headed off to his own cabin away from the house, that Carl had at last looked their way. It was almost a relief when he’d murmured under his breath: ‘Outside, both of you.’

Nathan had braced himself, trying to control his reaction. Carl didn’t like it when his sons looked afraid. He had told them to build a fire and both boys had gaped at him until he’d said it louder, grabbing Nathan by the shoulder and pushing him towards the woodpile. They’d staggered over, bewildered.

Carl hadn’t spoken again until they’d got a decent bonfire going. His face flickered in the light as he instructed them in a disturbingly soft voice to go inside and each bring out their favourite possession. Nathan had a tight, hot knot in his chest as he’d eventually wheeled out his bike.

‘Nice try.’ His dad had gripped his arm so hard he could already feel the bruise forming. ‘Get it right next time or I’ll burn everything you bring until you do.’

Nathan had gone inside for a long time, and finally come out with his beloved guitar. His hand had sweated and slipped against its wooden neck and, despite knowing it would make things worse, he had cried and begged his dad not to do it.

Liz had been there as well, tears in her own eyes. ‘Please, Carl,’ she had tried. ‘Can’t he keep his guitar?’

Her husband had ignored her and she’d tried again, until he’d finally turned from his sons to look at her.

‘You want me to teach them this a different way?’ he’d said in a way that made Nathan glad Liz didn’t ask again.

Nathan had held out the guitar, barely able to see though his tears, but his dad had made him throw it on the fire himself. Nathan had finally done so, then reflexively tried to snatch it out. He’d burned his arm and still had a scar.

Cameron had got his selection right first time, of course. He had brought out an illustrated history of stories from World War II. Nathan thought it was bloody boring but Cam had been fascinated by it. Cameron had actually looked Carl in the eye, craning his neck upwards to do so, as he’d thrown the book on the fire. Then he’d said something, under his breath. The words were almost, but not quite, lost in the crackle of the flames.

Carl had gone very still. ‘Say that again.’

Cameron hesitated, then opened his mouth. When he spoke, he actually raised his voice a fraction. ‘Nazis burned books.’

Liz had sucked in a breath so sharp it squeaked, her shoulders high. There had been a terrible silence, then to Nathan’s astonishment, Carl had very nearly smiled. A hard, toothy twitch of his lips. He had seemed almost amused as he stared at Cameron. He had clenched and unclenched his fist, just once, then opened his mouth.

‘Get the rest.’

Cameron had obeyed without flinching. He disappeared inside, returning a few minutes later with his books piled in his arms. Nathan sat on the steps with Liz and watched as Cam threw them into the flames one at a time. Cameron’s eyes had been completely dry as he watched them burn.

‘Apologise to your dad,’ Liz said after the first five. Cameron ignored her, tossing another book on the pyre while Carl watched his son with an expression that Nathan had never seen before. He was struck by the sense that on some level, they were both getting a strange enjoyment out of the stand-off.

The whole thing took more than an hour. Finally, as the last book was burning and Nathan was nervously glancing at the house, wondering what would happen next, Cameron had looked Carl in the eye.

‘Sorry, Dad.’ He’d dropped his gaze, finally contrite.

Nathan felt Liz go slack. Even Carl had seemed a little relieved, as the embers glowed in the hot night air. He had looked at Cameron, as though trying to work something out, then turned to Nathan with a far more familiar look.