The Piper's Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

with Jimmy Hailler and Tom, back when they were in Year Twelve. Tara had her hand up over her eyes, trying to block the sun, while Tom’s arm was around her shoulder. It was one of those photos taken under the instruction that they had to huddle up to fit in the frame. He remembers keeping his arm there for ages after. The last is of Joe and his girlfriend standing on Solsbury Hill in Somerset back in 2005. Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” was Tom’s father’s favorite song, so Joe sent him the next best thing.
    And in his dreams that night, it’s not just Tara Finke’s voice he hears but Joe’s. So clear. As if they had both just spoken to him the day before. And he wants to stay asleep so he can hear their voices for as long as he can.

“Georgie?” She hears Lucia’s voice as she balances the phone and tries to find the keys to the front door. “We’re in Norton Street. Are you coming down?”
    It’s not really a request; it’s a Lucia order. It’s what she specializes in. She has bullying down to perfection. Lucia’s the one that Georgie gets to ring up and complain to if she’s having a problem with a telco or insurance company. Lucia handles the Charbel household of three kids under eight while still doing conveyancing for family and friends. She volunteers for the Saint Michael’s Parents and Friends group, the tuckshop, writes articles for the Law Society, and still seems to have more energy than all of them. On the day of the bombing, when they received word that Joe was on the Piccadilly line between Kings Cross Station and Russell Square at 8:50 a.m., it was Lucia who spoke on behalf of the family outside Georgie’s house. The rest of them could hardly speak. When the press refused to go away, she was the one who shouted, “Can you please respect this family’s privacy, you fuckers!” while shoving between the vultures with her pram. They all used to snicker at the people who made scenes on the six p.m. news. Until someone decided to stick a camera and microphone in front of their dead brother’s father and ask Bill how he was feeling.
    “Abe and I have a babysitter,” Georgie hears her say, and she can hear Abe in the background organizing everyone. “You know how rare that is.”
    Georgie doesn’t budge from where she’s standing at her front door. “I’m not up to company,” she says. All she has to do is put the key in the lock and she’s home free.
    “Come on, Georgie. Jonesy reckons he can hardly remember what you look like.”
    “Probably because he’s looking down and text messaging every time I see him,” she says tiredly.
    “A little antipasto dish and bread sticks and you’ll be home by seven thirty — I promise. Everyone’s here but you.”
    Not everyone. Jacinta’s up north and Dominic’s down south.
    “Is Sam going to be there?” Georgie asks.
    “Yes.”
    Silence.
    “Georgie,” Lucia says patiently after a couple of moments. “Despite the fact that we’re not talking about your obvious weight gain, can I be blunt in saying that if you and Sam can exchange bodily fluids, then the rest of us can enjoy both of your company together?”
    There’s a standoff. The win/loss ratio has always ended with Lucia slightly ahead. One moment’s hesitation costs Georgie.
    “We’re at Scalia’s.”
    Sam is smoking his lungs out beyond the glass door of the café, which looks out onto the street, while Lucia and Abe are talking kids’ birthday parties and a dwindling social life. Abe belonged to Georgie and her brother Dominic first. They met at sixteen at an Antioch religious retreat. Abe loves telling the story. How he was the good boy who had never broken a rule in his life until Dominic Mackee offered him a cigarette and said, “How about we nick off tonight? My sister’s coming, too.” Abe said it was as though Dominic was promising him a better life if he followed, and about ten years later Dominic made good on that promise and introduced Abe to Lucia.