books," Sylvia said and clasped her hands over her midriff as though to contain her impatience. "There's one called A Description of a Journey through the English Shires on Foot and Horseback."
"I was scanning it the other day. I don't remember anything in it like that."
"Then you can't remember this," Sylvia said, enclosing a paragraph with her fingers and thumbs like a gate until Heather craned to read.
I have it from the indefatigable Mr. Lyndsey, who had it from a Grandam of the Shire, that in bygone Years the Traveller betwixt Berkeley and Gloucester might spy within the Woods West of the Roman Road the Crown of a Dwelling taller than the Trees and circular in Section. What Occurrence laid this Folly low, the Grandam would not tell.
"Don't say you don't know where that was," Sylvia said.
"Where you used to run off when I was supposed to be in charge of you, you mean."
"Our secret place."
"Only because mother would have been unhappy knowing we'd gone that far into the woods. It didn't matter that the place had been made safe."
"You liked it too," Sylvia insisted. "You liked pretending it was a circus ring with all sorts of strange animals. And sometimes it was a moat around a fairy castle, or the inside was the top of the highest mountain or an island that had just risen out of the sea after millions of years. Sometimes the ring was just a path we walked round and round and tried to see what was around us, only all you ever said was it made you dizzy. I never believed that was all."
Heather found it disconcerting to have forgotten most of that, and felt defensive as she pointed at the notepad. "Sylvie, what's all this for?"
"Dad wanted it, if you remember."
"Of course I do, but what use is it to him? How is it going to affect him?"
"He isn't getting high on it if that's what you're afraid of. It's more like it confirms what he thought."
"How can that be good, Sylvie?" Heather lowered her voice and thrust her head forward.
"What's the point of letting him think what he imagines is true? That isn't going to bring him back."
"The doctor seems happy with how he is."
"That's only considering, isn't it? Dad came here to sort out a delusion and ended up its worst victim. Once he'd have said all these references you've found show how there was some kind of mass delusion over the centuries. I expect he'd have written a wonderful chapter about it, possibly even a book. Now all he's doing is storing it up inside his head, and how do we know what shape it's taking? Isn't there anything you might want to keep from him?"
That appeared to provoke a reaction, though none that Heather would have hoped for.
Sylvia jerked a hand away from her midriff and pressed her fingers to her lips and stood up so abruptly the chair tottered on her behalf. As it clattered to a standstill she vanished into the toilets that exhibited above their entrance a plaque carved with leeks. Heather gave several diners who'd witnessed the incident a grin that tried not to look too perplexed while she considered following her sister. She was gathering their bags when Sylvia reappeared, her forehead glistening with traces of water she'd splashed on her face. Heather dabbed them away with a paper napkin as Sylvia sat down, gazing steadily at her.
"What's wrong?" Heather said.
"Why does anything have to be wrong?"
"I don't know if it has to, but it looks as if it was."
"I'm okay now. I hope you're going to eat some more, otherwise I'll feel guilty for dragging you here."
"You didn't. I'll have some more if you do."
"I may in a while. Right now I'm wondering what I may end up eating."
"Sorry, you're saying you've had enough of being vegetarian?"
"I don't know if I have or not. I should think you'd know how it is."
At last Heather grasped what her sister's gaze was willing her to realise. Her mouth fell open, she had no idea in what shape. "Sylvie, you're saying..."
"There's going to be another price."
That would
"I was scanning it the other day. I don't remember anything in it like that."
"Then you can't remember this," Sylvia said, enclosing a paragraph with her fingers and thumbs like a gate until Heather craned to read.
I have it from the indefatigable Mr. Lyndsey, who had it from a Grandam of the Shire, that in bygone Years the Traveller betwixt Berkeley and Gloucester might spy within the Woods West of the Roman Road the Crown of a Dwelling taller than the Trees and circular in Section. What Occurrence laid this Folly low, the Grandam would not tell.
"Don't say you don't know where that was," Sylvia said.
"Where you used to run off when I was supposed to be in charge of you, you mean."
"Our secret place."
"Only because mother would have been unhappy knowing we'd gone that far into the woods. It didn't matter that the place had been made safe."
"You liked it too," Sylvia insisted. "You liked pretending it was a circus ring with all sorts of strange animals. And sometimes it was a moat around a fairy castle, or the inside was the top of the highest mountain or an island that had just risen out of the sea after millions of years. Sometimes the ring was just a path we walked round and round and tried to see what was around us, only all you ever said was it made you dizzy. I never believed that was all."
Heather found it disconcerting to have forgotten most of that, and felt defensive as she pointed at the notepad. "Sylvie, what's all this for?"
"Dad wanted it, if you remember."
"Of course I do, but what use is it to him? How is it going to affect him?"
"He isn't getting high on it if that's what you're afraid of. It's more like it confirms what he thought."
"How can that be good, Sylvie?" Heather lowered her voice and thrust her head forward.
"What's the point of letting him think what he imagines is true? That isn't going to bring him back."
"The doctor seems happy with how he is."
"That's only considering, isn't it? Dad came here to sort out a delusion and ended up its worst victim. Once he'd have said all these references you've found show how there was some kind of mass delusion over the centuries. I expect he'd have written a wonderful chapter about it, possibly even a book. Now all he's doing is storing it up inside his head, and how do we know what shape it's taking? Isn't there anything you might want to keep from him?"
That appeared to provoke a reaction, though none that Heather would have hoped for.
Sylvia jerked a hand away from her midriff and pressed her fingers to her lips and stood up so abruptly the chair tottered on her behalf. As it clattered to a standstill she vanished into the toilets that exhibited above their entrance a plaque carved with leeks. Heather gave several diners who'd witnessed the incident a grin that tried not to look too perplexed while she considered following her sister. She was gathering their bags when Sylvia reappeared, her forehead glistening with traces of water she'd splashed on her face. Heather dabbed them away with a paper napkin as Sylvia sat down, gazing steadily at her.
"What's wrong?" Heather said.
"Why does anything have to be wrong?"
"I don't know if it has to, but it looks as if it was."
"I'm okay now. I hope you're going to eat some more, otherwise I'll feel guilty for dragging you here."
"You didn't. I'll have some more if you do."
"I may in a while. Right now I'm wondering what I may end up eating."
"Sorry, you're saying you've had enough of being vegetarian?"
"I don't know if I have or not. I should think you'd know how it is."
At last Heather grasped what her sister's gaze was willing her to realise. Her mouth fell open, she had no idea in what shape. "Sylvie, you're saying..."
"There's going to be another price."
That would
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