Free The Secret Life of Luke Livingstone by Charity Norman Page A

permitting them all to live in a land of abundance. Then she offered thanks for Grandad’s life, and blessings on the tree they had just planted. Simon had been brought up solidly C of E—confirmed here, at St Matthew’s—but in his book, Wendy took it too far. She embarrassed him. Long before she came to the end, Nico had begun chanting the Postman Pat tune under his breath. Simon was tempted to sing along.
    ‘Amen,’ he mumbled at the end. Then he happened to look across at his mother. She was sitting hunched over. He’d have sworn she was trying not to cry. This was baffling because she never, ever cried.
    ‘Been like this all weekend,’ said Kate under her breath.
    ‘Maybe she’s really ill?’ he whispered back. ‘We’re going to have to cover for her before Wendy notices.’ He raised his voice, and his glass. ‘Here’s to Grandad! May his tree grow strong and tall—as he did.’
    Meg joined in. ‘And gnarled and knotted, but good for shade and rest.’
    ‘Yes, to Papa!’ cried Wendy. ‘What an occasion. He’d be so happy to see all the family here. What a shame Gail can’t be with us.’
    Another silence followed the mention of Gail’s name. She was Simon’s other aunt, though he had rarely met her. She’d emigrated to Australia before he was born and never communicated with his father. He caught Carmela’s eye and made an agonised face. She was leaning across the table, handing Nico some juice, but she saw his distress signal and came to the rescue.
    ‘So, Kate,’ she said brightly. ‘What about Israel? What did you find?’
    Kate seemed to understand what Carmela was trying to do. She entered into the spirit of things, talking animatedly about the archaeological dig she’d just left. She gave a potted history of the site, which had been occupied for over six thousand years; she described the implications of their finds; she talked about the blistering heat. When she finally began to flag, Carmela asked about the subject she was planning for her Master’s dissertation, which—Simon discovered—was all to do with dating methods with reference to this particular site. She described various techniques, and explained why she’d chosen this site in order to analyse their effectiveness (it had destruction layers to die for, apparently).
    As Simon listened, he almost forgot that this was his scrawny little sister. Get her on to her own subject and she was pretty impressive, he had to admit. He was grateful to her, and to Carmela, who kept prompting her to continue. The younger generation was saving the day, while their parents—generally so polished and hospitable—seemed to have gone to pieces. Neither Luke nor Eilish was speaking, or eating, or engaged in any way.
    ‘Fascinating,’ he said, to fill the next silence. ‘Gosh. Um, when did you get back?’
    ‘Flew in on Friday, just in time for Mathis and John’s party—d’you remember, I used to share a house with them? Well, they had their civil union when I was away, and Friday night was the big celebration bash. It was a wedding reception, really. They’re so sweet together.’
    Wendy had lost interest during the conversation about archaeology, but now her eyes were round and sorrowful. ‘Kate, that’s terribly sad.’
    ‘Sad? Why sad, Aunt Wendy?’ There was a dangerous sweetness in Kate’s voice. Simon knew exactly what that meant. Take cover, he thought. Trouble ahead.
    ‘They’re acting against their natures,’ said Wendy.
    ‘They certainly are not . Mathis and John are as committed to one another as any married couple I’ve ever known. And far happier than most.’
    ‘It’s . . . you know, it’s what they do . . .’ Wendy screwed up her face in delicate disgust. ‘You’re quite right to love them as people, but what they’re doing is a sin.’
    ‘A sin.’ Kate put down her knife and fork, while Simon mentally donned a tin hat. ‘Tell me something, Wendy. Do you know Mathis or John? No, you don’t. So