“Early in the morning, after a heavy night of babysitting, I’m watering out the back when I hear a shuffling sound. Olive comes up behind me in her spotted dressing-gown and slippers, looking hunched and dramatic, and holding a sheet of paper in one hand. ‘Read this,’ she says. ‘Dear Nanny I feel really Embarrased about last night and Ted got all the Books he wanted, all the games, and all the things he wanted and I didn’t even get one single thing! And I would like you to acknowladge that. Lots... of love Olive xxoo.’ I acknowledge it (it’s true). She straightens her spine and runs off cheerfully. When I come inside I find her on the couch watching the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Together we gaze at those bizarre sequences: the tiny ‘scientists’ in shirtsleeves and ties swarming everywhere on the landing site; François Truffaut in his neat, pale-tan bomber jacket; the communication by music, the mysterious riff played on a keyboard by the young nerd; the advance guard of smaller vessels; then the shimmering into view of the colossal spacecraft.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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