Robert put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure five days with Bruno is necessarily going to crack that one, Dad.” The combine roared past them and Bruno waved excitedly from his glass cabin. Peter waved, too, and Huxley and Robert waved back.
“I think you’re underestimating the lad,” said Huxley, smiling at the boy. “The innocent joy of a child is infectious—puts the world into perspective. You don’t have to be an old codger like me to notice that.”
Eventually, the combine drew to a halt once again and Bruno descended the ladder like a monkey. Any fear he might have had initially had vanished and he now felt as powerful as if he had been riding a T-Rex. “That was awesome, Uncle Robert!” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Grandpa.”
Huxley ruffled his hair. “I’m sure Peter enjoyed having some company. It can get a little lonely up there on one’s own.”
“Right,” said Robert. “Teatime, I think. Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” Bruno replied. He climbed into the back of his uncle’s car.
They drove down the farm tracks towards home. The light was mellowing as the sun made its slow descent. The fields looked as if they had been baked to a soft orange hue. A pheasant ran ahead of the vehicle, not sure which way to turn, seemingly oblivious that it could fly, until it finally leapt for its life into a blackberry bush. As he wasn’t hungry, Robert decided to show his nephew the rest of the estate. He’d been up to the woods with his grandfather and onto the farm that first day, but he hadn’t seen the lake or the family chapel where Jack had been laid to rest alongside other members of his family.
He drove through an avenue of plane trees. On the right was the lake, full of geese, moorhens, and wild ducks. The water shone like pink glass in the early evening light and midges and mosquitoes hovered above its surface in clusters. Somewhere, far off, a cuckoo hooted.
The chapel was an old brick-and-flint church, built in the seventeenth century by Robert’s ancestors. It was tradition that every family member was buried there. Robert found it slightly unnerving to know exactly where he’d end up, although it was a comfort to know that he’d be laid to rest beside his son. “Can we go inside?” Bruno asked.
“If you like,” Robert replied. “Celeste and I got married here, as did your grandparents and parents.”
“Mummy and Daddy got married here?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, before they went to live in Australia.”
Bruno got out and pointed at the graveyard. “Jack’s here,” he said.
“Yes, Jack’s buried here. His is the grave with all the flowers. We make sure he has flowers all the time.” It was the only plot with any flowers at all. Robert wondered at which point one was supposed to stop.
They wandered up the path into the chapel. It was cold and smelt of the ages. Bruno didn’t spend much time inside, he was more interested in playing among the gravestones. He seemed to be making a game of leaping over the headstones. While he amused himself, Robert stood beside Jack’s and gazed down at the grass. It was inconceivable to imagine his child’s body lying in the earth. His father had a strong belief in the afterlife. Robert wasn’t sure. Right now he wanted to believe more than anything in the world.
He felt Bruno’s hand in his. He stared down at the earnest face of his nephew. “Don’t be sad, Uncle Robert,” Bruno said.
“I miss him, Bruno,” he told him. “He was my boy.”
Bruno looked as if he was about to say something important but thought better of it. “I’m hungry now, Uncle Robert,” he said instead, and Robert found himself wondering what the child had been about to say and why he had chosen not to.
They arrived back at the cottage in time for supper. Robert was surprised to find Celeste had let her hair down. It fell in gentle waves over her shoulders, like it had done in the old days when Jack had lifted it like a curtain to whisper into her ear. She smiled. “What have you been doing, Bruno?”
“I went on a combine. It was awesome!” he exclaimed.
“You must be hungry.”
“I’m thirsty,” he said, walking past her to help himself to water from the tap. He now knew where everything was and didn’t feel shy about making himself at home.
“Hello, darling,” said Robert to his wife. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I’ve baked a lasagne for dinner. I hope you like lasagne,” she said to Bruno.
The child shrugged. “Sure,” he said noncommittally.
“Do you want to call your mother?” Robert asked.