The Swallow and the Hummingbird Read Online Free PDF

leaves. ‘Nothing’s changed. Everything’s just the way I remember it.’
    How could he describe his sense of loss, his sense of guilt? He had survived when so many had perished. How could he explain the feeling of displacement that came from suddenly finding himself in his mother’s sunny sitting room, drinking tea out of pretty china cups, in a place untouched by conflict. The war may as well not have happened for them. They could never understand.
    ‘We had a good crop of winter barley,’ Trees continued, much to the astonishment of his wife who looked anxiously from him to her son.
    ‘Good,’ George replied. ‘And the livestock?’
    ‘Not bad. Everyone needs milk, don’t they?’
    ‘They certainly do.’
    ‘Ray retired, which was a great sadness. But those early mornings were doing him in, especially in winter.’
    ‘Who’ll do the cows now?’
    ‘Barry’s stepped in.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Ray wasn’t happy, though. It’s for his own good.’ Trees’ voice trailed off and he put his cup to his lips.
    Once again there was a long moment of silence. Rita wanted to speak, but she felt shy. Finally George spoke.
    ‘This cake is good, Ma.’ He bit into the sponge and nodded at her appreciatively. Faye blinked back tears for she sensed why her husband was overcompensating. It was because of the strange shadows in her son’s eyes that only Trees recognized and understood.
    ‘Faye bakes terrible cakes,’ said Trees suddenly, putting down his plate. ‘Let’s all admit it. It’s a terrible cake.’
    Faye stared at her husband then put her hand up to her lips and laughed nervously. ‘Oh, dear Trees. You might not speak much but when you do, you’re straight to the point.’
    George threw back his head and laughed too, and suddenly the atmosphere cleared, like humid air after a heavy rainfall.
    ‘It’s a shocking cake,’ agreed George, who was now laughing so much he could barely speak.
    ‘But the eggs were fresh,’ Faye protested.
    ‘What else did you put in it, Ma?’
    ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Alice loyally, her shoulders shaking as she tried to control her laughter. ‘What do you think, Rita?’
    ‘Don’t ask Rita, she’ll just be polite,’ George interjected.
    Rita smiled and bit her lip, blushing at the sound of his voice articulating her name.
    From that moment, George was able to tell them some of his stories. Faye’s tears dried up and Trees retreated into silence again. Normality was resumed. Once George started talking he was unable to stop and they listened with interest and delight, for he was a natural storyteller. Rita didn’t once take her eyes off him and he felt her attention like the warm rays of the sun. But as he recounted his experiences he was aware of the minutes passing and of his desire to be alone with her in their secret cave. Finally, he stood up and put down his teacup.
    ‘I could talk all night, but it’s getting late and I must drive Rita home,’ he said.
    Rita felt the palms of her hands grow damp at the prospect of being alone with him. Nervously she pulled her hair behind her ears and stood up.
    ‘Thank you for tea,’ she said to Faye.
    ‘Don’t mention it, Rita. I gather Trees doesn’t need you on the farm over the weekend.’
    ‘He’s got George to help him now,’ Rita replied, imagining the fun they were going to have working alongside each other.
    ‘I suppose you’ll be too busy with George to continue your sculpting lessons.’ Faye had been only too happy to see those feminine hands put to better use than farm work. Besides, she had enjoyed the company, even though Rita wasn’t a natural artist.
    Rita shook her head enthusiastically. ‘Not at all. I dearly love to sculpt. I’ll always make time for that.’
    ‘Good.’ She touched Rita’s arm affectionately. ‘Then we’ll see you tomorrow night at the party. Thank you for helping Trees clean out the barn. I hope the weather’s good.’
    ‘I’m sure it will be.’
    ‘Take the