Chapter 4: Wheels on Grass

Daniel had not been outside in five months.

He sat in the doorway of the east terrace with a blanket over his knees and looked at the morning with deep suspicion.

"It's only air," Johnny said.

"It has pollen in it."

"It's got a little of everything in it. That's why it's good."

The whole Silver family was already on the balcony above, in dressing gowns, holding coffee.

Daniel's mother waved. His grandmother lifted her cane. His father raised a newspaper to hide a smile.

"Why are they watching?"

"Because you're outside," Johnny said. "They've waited five months for this. Wave."

"No."

"Then I'll wave for you."

Johnny waved with both arms, and the balcony burst into applause.

Daniel closed his eyes.

"Fine," he said. "The path only. Sweep it first."

"It's a gravel path. You can't sweep gravel."

"Then I'll go around it."

"There isn't an around."

"There is always an around."

There was not.

Johnny pushed him down the ramp and onto the gravel.

Every small stone under the wheels made Daniel flinch.

He counted them.

He got to two hundred and twelve before the path curved, and then he lost count in the sight of the garden.

It was enormous.

He had grown up in it, and he had never looked at it.

There were clipped hedges, a long pond and an orchard of old apple trees in full leaf.

The grass was green in every direction.

"No," Daniel said. "Not the lawn. The wheels will pick it up."

"Pick up what?"

"Grass."

"That's what grass is for."

Johnny crouched by the chair and unlaced his boots.

He pulled them off, then his socks, and stood up barefoot on the lawn in his good trousers.

"Look," he said, and walked out into the middle of it and turned around. "Nothing happened to me."

"You'll have to scrub your feet."

"I'll scrub them. Come on."

"I don't have to."

"You don't," Johnny said. "I'll ask again at the next tree."

He asked at the next tree, and at the one after.

By the fifth apple tree, Daniel said, "Fine," in a very small voice.

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