and more idiotic – and Nicholas
stood there with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets, his grin
just as wide as Dave’s, and he was kind of shifting about on his
feet as if he couldn’t quite keep still but he was forcing himself
not to – well, not to just grab Dave and hug him, Dave
imagined.
“ So,” said
Dave. “You managed not to lose a limb or set fire to your tent or
anything?”
“ Seems like
it,” Nicholas agreed. “But I –”
“ But you
what?” Dave prompted after a pause, though somehow he knew it
wasn’t anything serious.
Nicholas had his mouth
pressed tightly closed, and just shook his head to indicate he
wasn’t saying anything further for fear of incriminating
himself.
Dave had a stab at it.
“But you missed me.”
Those lips remained
pressed together, but widened and quirked into a flat version of
the man’s wicked grin, while his deep blue eyes danced and his
shoulders quivered with laughter.
“ You’re never
going to stay behind again.”
Nicholas shook his head
emphatically. Never.
“ Good,”
said Dave. He let his smile turn affectionate for a moment, risking
the man reading that as I
missed you, too .
And indeed Nicholas’s lips
parted on a silent huff, and then turned sweetly poignant
…
Oh God, thought Dave, and there’s another of The Thousand Smiles of Nicholas
Goring. Why on earth hasn’t he found a man yet who can see the
wisdom of devoting a life to cataloguing them all?
Nicholas was standing there with
his hands hanging free now, standing there so very still, watching
Dave. Hardly even breathing, apparently.
It was the first time that
Dave had been conscious he might actually be in some danger
here. When did that
happen? he asked himself. And how?
There was no answer, of
course. The moment lengthened as they considered each other;
Nicholas waiting, and Dave’s brow beginning to wrinkle with
puzzlement.
But Dave soon cleared his
throat and turned away. “Right. Groceries. Let’s get these unpacked
and stowed,” he said, heading around the back of the Cruiser. “And
then I got one of Billy’s homemade meat pies for our dinner. To
celebrate, you know?”
“ Celebrate?”
Nicholas asked in a neutral tone. He was standing there beside him
now, uncomplainingly letting Dave load him down with grocery
bags.
“ Celebrate,
yeah. My safe return. You being whole and well. The camp not being
destroyed.”
Nicholas nodded, as if still not
quite trusting himself to speak.
Dave was the opposite,
though, babbling on and unable to stop himself even though he knew
it was just an avoidance tactic. “So we can continue enjoying our
inalienable rights,” he said.
Warily, Nicholas asked,
“Which would be … ?”
“ Life,
liberty, and the pursuit of butterflies, of course. What
else?”
Nicholas guffawed quite happily,
and they were all right again. They were fine. Everything felt easy
between them. Nothing need change.
Even though Dave was
visually charting Nicholas’s post–guffaw contentment, and
thinking, One thousand and
one .
Seven
During their third week,
they decided, they ’d concentrate on
trying to find the waterhole where the Barcoo grunter ancestor was
dreaming through his long sleep. They had historical maps as well
as current ones, and Dave had worked out an itinerary that took in
any water feature whatsoever, whether it still existed or not. If
that didn’t work, they would start exploring any ground at lower
levels. The landscape appeared quite flat, but it wasn’t really;
there were gradual rises and falls, there were folds and creases
between them where any rare rainfall would collect and run off. The
waterhole might be more myth than reality, but they had to
try.
The search was
disheartening, though. “I hadn’t realised everything was so dry out
here,” Nicholas commented on the third afternoon, as Dave steered
the Cruiser up out of a dent in the landscape and back onto an
unsurfaced track. “Butterflies need
stood there with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets, his grin
just as wide as Dave’s, and he was kind of shifting about on his
feet as if he couldn’t quite keep still but he was forcing himself
not to – well, not to just grab Dave and hug him, Dave
imagined.
“ So,” said
Dave. “You managed not to lose a limb or set fire to your tent or
anything?”
“ Seems like
it,” Nicholas agreed. “But I –”
“ But you
what?” Dave prompted after a pause, though somehow he knew it
wasn’t anything serious.
Nicholas had his mouth
pressed tightly closed, and just shook his head to indicate he
wasn’t saying anything further for fear of incriminating
himself.
Dave had a stab at it.
“But you missed me.”
Those lips remained
pressed together, but widened and quirked into a flat version of
the man’s wicked grin, while his deep blue eyes danced and his
shoulders quivered with laughter.
“ You’re never
going to stay behind again.”
Nicholas shook his head
emphatically. Never.
“ Good,”
said Dave. He let his smile turn affectionate for a moment, risking
the man reading that as I
missed you, too .
And indeed Nicholas’s lips
parted on a silent huff, and then turned sweetly poignant
…
Oh God, thought Dave, and there’s another of The Thousand Smiles of Nicholas
Goring. Why on earth hasn’t he found a man yet who can see the
wisdom of devoting a life to cataloguing them all?
Nicholas was standing there with
his hands hanging free now, standing there so very still, watching
Dave. Hardly even breathing, apparently.
It was the first time that
Dave had been conscious he might actually be in some danger
here. When did that
happen? he asked himself. And how?
There was no answer, of
course. The moment lengthened as they considered each other;
Nicholas waiting, and Dave’s brow beginning to wrinkle with
puzzlement.
But Dave soon cleared his
throat and turned away. “Right. Groceries. Let’s get these unpacked
and stowed,” he said, heading around the back of the Cruiser. “And
then I got one of Billy’s homemade meat pies for our dinner. To
celebrate, you know?”
“ Celebrate?”
Nicholas asked in a neutral tone. He was standing there beside him
now, uncomplainingly letting Dave load him down with grocery
bags.
“ Celebrate,
yeah. My safe return. You being whole and well. The camp not being
destroyed.”
Nicholas nodded, as if still not
quite trusting himself to speak.
Dave was the opposite,
though, babbling on and unable to stop himself even though he knew
it was just an avoidance tactic. “So we can continue enjoying our
inalienable rights,” he said.
Warily, Nicholas asked,
“Which would be … ?”
“ Life,
liberty, and the pursuit of butterflies, of course. What
else?”
Nicholas guffawed quite happily,
and they were all right again. They were fine. Everything felt easy
between them. Nothing need change.
Even though Dave was
visually charting Nicholas’s post–guffaw contentment, and
thinking, One thousand and
one .
Seven
During their third week,
they decided, they ’d concentrate on
trying to find the waterhole where the Barcoo grunter ancestor was
dreaming through his long sleep. They had historical maps as well
as current ones, and Dave had worked out an itinerary that took in
any water feature whatsoever, whether it still existed or not. If
that didn’t work, they would start exploring any ground at lower
levels. The landscape appeared quite flat, but it wasn’t really;
there were gradual rises and falls, there were folds and creases
between them where any rare rainfall would collect and run off. The
waterhole might be more myth than reality, but they had to
try.
The search was
disheartening, though. “I hadn’t realised everything was so dry out
here,” Nicholas commented on the third afternoon, as Dave steered
the Cruiser up out of a dent in the landscape and back onto an
unsurfaced track. “Butterflies need
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