The Devil's Interval
“Because, for as long as he could remember, Dr. Armstrong had taken a stroll along the shore of Derwentwater every Sunday, come rain or shine, and he always timed it so that his walk finished precisely at sunset. It was, Armstrong thought as he drove from Carlisle to Keswick, his dad’s equivalent of a religious observance. A lifetime passing, week by week, and measured out in the transit of the seasons and the stiffening of the joints. Henry had checked when sunset would be that day, and calcula...ted exactly where his father would be at 3.05pm. When he reached his destination he sat on a bench, the welcome winter sun barely warming his cheeks, and rehearsed, once again, what he intended to say. ‘Hi, dad’, he said, when his father came round a corner, walking at his usual brisk pace. Henry rose, fell into step alongside him and was immediately reminded of how fast his father walked, as if he was trying to escape from something, but without ever actually running. His dad didn’t look especially pleased to see him, but that was no surprise.MoreLess
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