I feel the pricky weight of Pop's gaze, and so does Nat obviously because we press our knees against each other at simultaneously, trying to convey exactly the same thing by the action. Instead of vocalising anything we just slide a breath in through our noses and well, ignore it. We are pros at that. Not so much from practice against Pop but from Angus and sometimes Dad and Daryl quite frequently. We both watch Sam as he continues to grasp his throat like it was a deadly poison, not a beer and garlic soaked potato slice that he ingested incorrectly, all the while Pop's attention never shirks from us.
Nathan finally lifts a massive arm and thumps Sam on the back and instead of bestowing Nat a snarling glare Sam seems grateful.
"Sam," I drawl, raising an eyebrow and allowing all my scorn to heave into that one word. He glares back at me like it is my fault! Nathan, his idol, faultless. Poor Seth when he stumbles across this new mesmerised Sam.
Harry was continuing on in reply to someone's question about his children being lost along with his wife, my heart lurches against the pit of my stomach and I felt Pop's gaze waver in it's intensity. Pop would never have let Nan be buried anywhere than where she wanted to be bloody buried. There is no way in hell. Pop is fun, passionate and quite out there at times, Nan always said Nathan and I had been generously trickled with those genes way more than our brothers, so I knew he would do what we were thinking. He must have considered that too because all of a sudden the feeling of his stare changed. Nat and I instantly and simultaneously swing to him.
He rolls his grey eyes, huffs and turns to Harry. We grin, excitement and purpose welling up inside me to obliterate any vestiges of tiredness and the tiny niggling aches of my annoyed ribs.
I listen to Harry describe the many efforts he had exhausted to be granted rights to returning his family home until he had just given up. I also knew what he wasn't saying... that it literally killed him every day. That there was something missing. It seemed that he couldn't stem the tide of words pouring out and I got the feeling that he had had enough of the subject, so, apparently, did Pop, he extended a hand and squeezed Harry's shoulder, just as I rose to give him a hug. The next moment it was a massive group hug and everyone there, including Sam, had arms around him. We all gasp from the lack of oxygen and seriously experience asphyxiation when Chops and Nathan join in.
"Stop," NAt's voice bellows. "My sister's in there!" From the sounds of the ooompfs he is panicking and throwing bodies left, right and centre.
When it's just me and Harry, Flea and Pop making a hasty retreat of their own accord, Harry's eyes are shining with moisture. His gaze drops down and hands begin picking at a thread on his moleskins.
"So," Pop starts flicking his gaze over the others, "which of you young reprobates are joining the forces?" His hands rise in a WTH movement and his brow not happy either, furrows at the lack of enthusiastic response. Pop is enthusiatic.
"No way," Wade grouses. "You have to iron yourself!"
I pfft, "Iron yourself! Don't think we'd have much of army if that happened."
"You know what I meant," he deadpans, folding his arms to make his stance clear. "How boring, getting up and ironing all the time, everything you own. Even your undies!"
"Yeah," Jaime chimes up clapping his hands together rapidly three times, I have no idea what for. "They make it all exciting on the ads, but come on, really... no soccer or anything ... who would want that?"
"We did, so much so that we changed our names, our ages and ran away to be enlisted," Flea flourished a hand at Pop. "Best adventure of our lives! And there is soccer, boofhead." He aimed at the two skeptical boys.
