Little Wing Read Online Free Page B
Cat would like?â
She shrugged.
âSardine!â he said, and ran away, laughing.
I tâs done! My parents know about you, and of course they say weâre too young. My mother (my father just sits there looking stunned and sad) thinks i should have you adopted.
i will never let you go.
7
One day Emily stood in the doorway to the kitchen while Charlotte brewed up rosehip tea.
âIâm adopted, arenât I?â she said accusingly.
The lid of the small china teapot made a chinking sound.
âEmily! Whatever makes you say that?â
âI am, arenât I?â
Charlotte came over to her. She put both arms round Emily.
âNo. No youâre not. Youâre definitely not adopted. I should know â I saw your mother when she was pregnant, and I was there just after you were born. Why on earth do you think that?â
âOh. Just because. Because she was so old when she had me. And because she didnât have any other children.â
Emilyâs mother was years older than the other mothers of people her age. Sometimes she was mistaken for Emilyâs grandmother. She and Charlotte had been at school together, but Charlotteâs children were all in their thirties, all with husbands or wives and good jobs, having countless children between them.
âShe wanted a child for years. And when you came along at last when she was well past forty, it seemed like a miracle. Youâve no idea how much you were wanted, Emily.â
âSo why didnât she want my baby?â said Emily bitterly, shaking Charlotte away and going to the window where she started fiddling with the coloured glass bottles on the sill. She knocked against a deep blue one; it fell onto the floor and shattered.
Emily walked immediately out of the house.
She walked, unseeing, through the streets until she came to the edge of the town. It perched above a tossing sea of trees. Out there, the birds were held aloft at eye-level in the wind.
She walked away from the lookout, her head down. But even in her anger and misery she noticed the yellow flowers. There was a scattering of them in the rocky patches near the cliffs, and in the back streets. They flourished in all the unpromising dry places where flowers oughtnât to be. Emily bent to pick one, and then another. Some had yellow petals and maroon centres; she didnât know what they were called. Others â also yellow, she recognised them as dandelions â were weeds. All the flowers she was picking were just weeds. In a damper patch she discovered a clump of buttercups.
Soon her hands were full of bright yellow flowers, and Emily stood, uncertain of what to do with them. She kept walking and came to Martinâs house, where the front door stood ever open.
She went up the front steps and left the bunch of flowers on the front doormat.
S o here we are among clouds. We live close to the sky, on a high hill. You wonât remember that some of the first months of your life (because even though youâre not yet born, i can feel you kicking) were spent in a small caravan close to the clouds and the stars. We are close to the weather here. We are the first to feel drops of rain. The moon lights up our bed at night. In the mornings the new sun slants through the open doorway, and the light is pink and gold.
8
âSomeone left me flowers!â said Martin.
â Theyâre just weeds,â said Emily, quietly.
âBut pretty ones. Calliopsis, and dandelions.â
Sheâd trailed after him into the kitchen where the flowers stood on the kitchen table in a sky-blue vase.
Martin never expressed surprise when Emily turned up. And he always smiled, as though pleased to see her.
He was just kind, that was why. Emily couldnât imagine that anyone would be happy to see her, but she was grateful for his kindness.
âIâm having a party in a couple of weeks,â he told her. âOn Saturday. Itâs my
She shrugged.
âSardine!â he said, and ran away, laughing.
I tâs done! My parents know about you, and of course they say weâre too young. My mother (my father just sits there looking stunned and sad) thinks i should have you adopted.
i will never let you go.
7
One day Emily stood in the doorway to the kitchen while Charlotte brewed up rosehip tea.
âIâm adopted, arenât I?â she said accusingly.
The lid of the small china teapot made a chinking sound.
âEmily! Whatever makes you say that?â
âI am, arenât I?â
Charlotte came over to her. She put both arms round Emily.
âNo. No youâre not. Youâre definitely not adopted. I should know â I saw your mother when she was pregnant, and I was there just after you were born. Why on earth do you think that?â
âOh. Just because. Because she was so old when she had me. And because she didnât have any other children.â
Emilyâs mother was years older than the other mothers of people her age. Sometimes she was mistaken for Emilyâs grandmother. She and Charlotte had been at school together, but Charlotteâs children were all in their thirties, all with husbands or wives and good jobs, having countless children between them.
âShe wanted a child for years. And when you came along at last when she was well past forty, it seemed like a miracle. Youâve no idea how much you were wanted, Emily.â
âSo why didnât she want my baby?â said Emily bitterly, shaking Charlotte away and going to the window where she started fiddling with the coloured glass bottles on the sill. She knocked against a deep blue one; it fell onto the floor and shattered.
Emily walked immediately out of the house.
She walked, unseeing, through the streets until she came to the edge of the town. It perched above a tossing sea of trees. Out there, the birds were held aloft at eye-level in the wind.
She walked away from the lookout, her head down. But even in her anger and misery she noticed the yellow flowers. There was a scattering of them in the rocky patches near the cliffs, and in the back streets. They flourished in all the unpromising dry places where flowers oughtnât to be. Emily bent to pick one, and then another. Some had yellow petals and maroon centres; she didnât know what they were called. Others â also yellow, she recognised them as dandelions â were weeds. All the flowers she was picking were just weeds. In a damper patch she discovered a clump of buttercups.
Soon her hands were full of bright yellow flowers, and Emily stood, uncertain of what to do with them. She kept walking and came to Martinâs house, where the front door stood ever open.
She went up the front steps and left the bunch of flowers on the front doormat.
S o here we are among clouds. We live close to the sky, on a high hill. You wonât remember that some of the first months of your life (because even though youâre not yet born, i can feel you kicking) were spent in a small caravan close to the clouds and the stars. We are close to the weather here. We are the first to feel drops of rain. The moon lights up our bed at night. In the mornings the new sun slants through the open doorway, and the light is pink and gold.
8
âSomeone left me flowers!â said Martin.
â Theyâre just weeds,â said Emily, quietly.
âBut pretty ones. Calliopsis, and dandelions.â
Sheâd trailed after him into the kitchen where the flowers stood on the kitchen table in a sky-blue vase.
Martin never expressed surprise when Emily turned up. And he always smiled, as though pleased to see her.
He was just kind, that was why. Emily couldnât imagine that anyone would be happy to see her, but she was grateful for his kindness.
âIâm having a party in a couple of weeks,â he told her. âOn Saturday. Itâs my
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