Читать книгу Feather Boy онлайн | страница 6
“If there are no more volunteers, I shall be forced to choose.”
“Many brave men and women,” says Catherine, “tried to make the young Prince speak. And as many were beheaded. The King and Queen had all but given up their quest when, from the woods nearby, came one last adventurer…”
Kate’s hand goes up. I might be imagining it but I think I hear the grind of Niker’s teeth. Of all the people he’d want not to go, she’d be top of the list. Not that I think she’s challenging him, it’s just that the project obviously intrigues her and, unlike some other people in the form, Kate has a mind of her own. That’s why I like her. I’d like to say she likes me back. But actually I don’t think she’s any more conscious of me than she might be of a woodlouse. Niker she has noticed, not least because he says “Stylish,” every time she passes. I keep waiting for her to wither him with some remark. But she doesn’t. Sometimes, she even smiles.
“Kate Barber,” notes Miss Raynham. “Thank you.”
Kate’s friend Lucy then puts her hand up and the spell seems to break. Oliver, Tom and Mai and a couple of others volunteer. Only Derek continues to haver.
“Right,” says Miss Raynham, doing a quick count-up. “I make that eight. So, if we add in young Wesley Parr and Mr Niker here, I think we have a full complement.”
So that’s how, the following Wednesday, I find myself at the Mayfield Rest Home, starting a project that’s going to change my life for ever.
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The Mayfield lounge is like a dentist’s waiting room; green chairs lined up against the walls and that dull, limbo feeling of time having moved elsewhere. On top of the television set in the far corner is a crochet mat and, on the windowsill, some fake flowers in white plastic pots. We arrive after lunch and the residents are already seated. Some are in the green chairs perched on plastic cushions, others have brightly-coloured patchwork blankets tucked around their knees and a walking stick or zimmer frame near by. Some are sunk in wheelchairs.