The Accidental Shepherd by Gavin Dobson

Author:Gavin Dobson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Librario Publishing
Published: 2014-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

The Percy Arms

‘One of the defining moments of modern literature,’ Geordie announced authoritatively, ‘was Marcel Proust’s revelation of the memories that flooded back when he sank his teeth into that tea- soaked madeleine.’

Andrew rolled his eyes. ‘You’re such a bloody pseud, Geordie. Why can’t you make a point without bringing Proust into it?’ He stuffed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and swilled back a mouthful of lager.

‘I shall choose to ignore that comment. As everyone knows, a madeleine is “one of those squat, plump little cakes…which look as if they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell”. You can still buy them today in practically any pâtisserie in France.’

‘So what revelation have you had lately that will transform modern literature?’ Andrew placed his empty glass firmly on the table, crossed his arms and gave Geordie an amused look.

‘I don’t have any particular revelations.’ Geordie waved his hand dismissively. ‘But I was driving through Northumberland the other day. I stopped at the Percy Arms in Otterburn for lunch, which turned out to be a bit of a madeleine moment for me. Remember that place?’

‘Can’t say that I do.’ Andrew pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Jog my memory.’

‘Hitch hiking to London from Invernorth when we were teenagers? Ring a bell?’

‘Can’t say it does. A hell of a lot’s happened in my life since then. I vaguely remember a disastrous jape when I caught pneumonia in a field somewhere. Was that with you?’

‘That was with me.’ Geordie smiled. But realising that the episode was otherwise buried, if not erased from his friend’s memory, he dropped it. ‘Never mind, it’s completely inconsequential. Changing the subject, how’s your mother? Is she still alive?’

‘She passed away two years ago. It was a blessing, really:

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

‘In her last years it was as if she was waiting for someone to arrive and square the circle. Her last words were, “He’s never going to come back, is he? I think it’s best if I just go now.”’

‘I wish I was eighteen again.’ Andrew’s mother remarked wistfully. She sat on the bed watching her son and Geordie preparing to leave the house. Very shortly, they would leave and walk to the end of the drive, stick out their thumbs and hitch-hike to London. Such freedom was almost inconceivable to her.

Geordie had been staying at Invernorth for much of the summer and had become intoxicated by his best friend’s mother. She was incredibly alluring to his teenage eye. Her curves, her legs, the way she moved, dazzled him. She was now inflaming Geordie’s fantasy by wishing she was eighteen. What was she really saying?

He was too inexperienced to understand the game. She had flattered him quietly all summer, comparing him variously to the youth in Death in Venice, Donatello’s David and the pretty boy in Fellini Satyricon. He was coy and restrained, though his fantasies were far from innocent. He was simply too young to know how to reach for what he, and for all he knew, the lovely Lady Invernorth, desired.

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