The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds by Alexander McCall Smith

Author:Alexander McCall Smith [Smith, Alexander McCall]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780307907349
Publisher: Anchor
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

JAMIE COOKED DINNER that evening using a recipe for a vegetable paella that he had read in the Scotsman weekend magazine, cut out and then stuffed into a pocket of his jacket. He was an enthusiastic cook but a sporadic one, and would often only announce to Isabel in the late afternoon that he would cook that evening—if she wanted him to. By then she would have made her plans for their meal, but would readily shelve them in order to have the evening off. There would be Charlie’s supper to prepare, but that was simplicity itself: his tastes ran to macaroni cheese, spaghetti and a curious mixture of cauliflower and olives that he had named cauliolives and always devoured with gusto. Oddly, for a child, he seemed to have little interest in sweet things, apart from ice cream: macaroons, irresistible to other children, would be left untouched, and marzipan, if ever he encountered it, spat out in disgust.

While Jamie cooked, Isabel read Charlie his bedtime story. He had discovered A. A. Milne—or that writer had been discovered for him—and loved to hear the poems in Now We Are Six, especially the lines about King John, who was not a good man—who was not spoken to for days and days and days, but was miraculously given the present he so yearned for. “Good boys get presents,” said Charlie, looking up at his mother with a mixture of challenge and hope.

“They do, Charlie,” said Isabel. “And give them too.”

He had nodded wisely; he understood, she suspected, about reciprocity—or at least had some glimpse of what it meant, but probably only in the crudest, most elementary terms. Plenty of people gave gifts to get gifts back, and Charlie at present was among them. That would change, of course—unless he remained one of those who never grew into altruism. And they existed. Her mother’s cousin, Mimi McKnight in Dallas, had told her once about one of the Mobile aunts, an ancient Southern lady, all powder and eau de cologne, who had been famous for being incapable of giving anybody anything at all, not even on important birthdays, when a homemade card was all that she would rise to. On her death, a sealed will was discovered in a drawer, stating that there was nothing to leave and therefore there would be no legacies. It was not true; she was comfortably off, but could not bring herself to acknowledge that fact, nor the claims that any of her family might have on her.

“What lies behind an attitude like that?” Isabel had asked.

Mimi had thought for a moment and then said, “Ask Dr. Freud.”

“Fear?” suggested Isabel. “Fear of having nothing left?”

“Possibly,” said Mimi. “Or a stony heart.”

Now, with the last of the Milne recited—for a second time—she switched out Charlie’s light and kissed him goodnight. He was drowsy and already half asleep, but he puckered his lips slightly as she planted the kiss on his forehead. She could have wept; she could have wept for the love of him, as any mother might while watching over her child.

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