Free First Fruits by Penelope evans Page B

one day soon they will go to his study, just the two
of them, and read Greek together. The New Testament to be exact. The very thing
he had in mind for me.
    Oh, this is better than I ever dreamed.
Gran may be watching me, but he' s not. Lydia's there, taking up all his
time, chattering away about Greek verbs, about Miss Jamieson, about the books
she likes to read. Books you would never catch me reading. In the meantime,
Gran has turned off the gas, and the steam clouds are vanishing like mist on a
summer's day. Lydia must feel as if she's sitting in purest sunshine.
Everybody's happy. Even him.
    But then, all good things have to come
to an end. Slowly his head turns, and the light that's bathed us all fades -
just a little. Suddenly I know what's coming.
    'Kate, love. I've never heard you talk
about Greek once, not even once.'
    See? I was right. But no need to panic.
There's a correct answer to everything. All I have to do is take a moment to
think.
    But then, before I know what's
happening, there's Lydia, suddenly answering for me. 'Oh I don't believe Kate
likes Greek, Mr. Carr. I think she'd rather be doing something quite different.'
    What? What? Doesn't she realise
what she's just said? Apparently not. She's smiling at me, thinking everything
is the same as it was five seconds ago. She doesn't know. She can't see Dad's
eyes, for a start. And if she could, she wouldn't understand. All she'll see is
the smile. But I know. While Lydia beams, the light in Dad's eyes is telling me
that we will be talking about this later, when we're by ourselves. He thinks
that I've forgotten what's expected, that I have to be reminded. His daughter,
you see.
    He doesn't even have to use words. Dad
and me, we're that close.
    And it's all her fault, Lydia's that is.
So you won't catch me feeling sorry for what happens next. In the gap she's
made in the conversation, Lydia decides it must be time to eat. She scoops up a
forkful of Gran's dinner and pops it in her mouth. And then it happens. Her
face changes, as it must when her tongue shrivels and the salt seeps into her
cheeks. The only sound is what comes from the back her throat, tiny, like a
bat's squeak.
    'Something the matter, love?' says Dad. He
has begun to frown. Ingratitude, the worst sin. Then he gives an exclamation,
and hits his forehead with the ball of his hand. The frown has disappeared.
    'Of course, Lydia, love. What a girl you
are. And too polite to say a word.'
    'What is it, Keith?' Already Gran is
halfway to her feet, all that skin and bone bunched for action. If it's
something to do with her food, then she would gather up every bit and throw it
away without another word. Start all over again. That's the way she is. Not for
anyone else though. Only for him, only for Dad.
    'The Blessing, mother. I clean forgot
the Blessing. And here's young Lydia, reminding me.'
    And he grins at Lydia who, still shaken,
uncomprehending, does her best to smile back. The food stays sitting in her
cheeks, scorching her.
    And even now she doesn't understand,
even when he closes his eyes and clasps his hands together. I have to push her
head down for her. Show a bit of respect.
    'Dear Father, bless this food which you
have set before us....' At this point, Gran mutters into her fists, as she
always does '....Bless the people who eat of it. And Father...' here he stops
'...Bless the new child in our midst. Help us to love her and keep her as one
of our own. Help her to love us and become part of your Family of Love.'
    And with the Amen, he raises his head -
and winks at Lydia, one last time. But  look, he's done it again, caused Lydia
to stare back at him, incapable of speech. Surely nothing compares to this, not
if you're Lydia. No-one has ever prayed for her before, you can tell. I don't
suppose God gets so much as a mention in her house, not from one week's end to
the next.
    The consequence is, there's not a peep
out of her after that, not about Greek or anything. Cheeks burning, she
concentrates