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‘Do you know what they eat?’ she asked.
‘Um...insects? Mice? Maybe other spiders?’
‘Right.’ Flávia nodded. ‘Know what other insects come out at night? I’ll give you a clue—they build living fortresses, known as bivouacs.’
‘Army ants!’ Brady shouted out.
‘Well done, mate,’ Jake praised as Flávia gesticulated wildly over his head. ‘So, did you know that army ants send out thousands of ants at a time to hunt prey?’
‘Yes.’ Brady eyed him, unimpressed. ‘They’re called raids. And by the way, there are about two hundred subspecies of army ants.’
‘Well, we saw army ants and a wandering spider come face-to-face.’
‘Wow!’ Jake had hoped to capture Brady’s interest, but he hadn’t been prepared for the level of attention his nephew was now directing at him. ‘Did they battle? Who won? Was it incredible?’
‘Ultimately, the spider—’
‘We’d love to hear who you think might win a battle like that,’ Flávia cut in swiftly, and belatedly Jake realized he needed to prolong the moment, and get himself and Brady to engage with each other on a level that his nephew would love.
‘Hmm.’ Brady knitted his forehead together. ‘Well, I think that the army ants are fearless and fierce. They can inject venom to paralyse their prey using a stinger, and they have sharp mandibles which cut insects and crush them. They could tear the legs off the spider.’
‘Yeah, we saw how ruthless they are.’ Jake nodded, trusting that Flávia knew what she was doing and it wasn’t going to give Brady nightmares.
Then again, with everything he’d been learning about the boy lately, he was beginning to realise that whilst the human world may hold painful experiences for his nephew, Brady could cope far better with the concept of survival in the natural world.
‘The wandering spider has the most potent venom of any spider, though. It even kills humans. The spider would have to win over the ants, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I thought that, too,’ Jake agreed. ‘But actually, when we watched, we saw the sheer number of ants overcome the spider, and they ended up taking it down within minutes.’
‘That’s so cool,’ Brady enthused. ‘I wish I could have seen that. Can you take me into the jungle next time, Uncle Jake? Please? I know Flávia will look after us.’
Jake hesitated. He wanted to agree, especially because he was starting to understand why it meant so much to the kid. But he needed time. He wouldn’t be rushed into it. The objective was to bond with Brady, true; it had to be the responsible thing to do. And right now, he couldn’t be certain that agreeing wasn’t just him leaping at the opportunity to spend more time with Flávia.
With each day that passed, his return to London got closer, and yet with each moment spent with Flávia, it was getting harder and harder to imagine his old life back in the UK.
He didn’t want to imagine it. And he knew, without Brady even having to say a word, that his nephew felt the same. Which was, ironically, some sort of progress.
But Jake couldn’t shake the ridiculous notion that progress meant nothing without that one, unique woman.
He felt tied up in one of her friction hitch knots. He knew there was an easy release, but if he pulled the wrong way he’d end up bound tighter than ever.
‘I honestly don’t know, mate,’ he answered, and this time, it didn’t feel so odd using the nickname. ‘I can’t promise you that we will, but I can promise you that I will seriously think about it.’
And even though Brady sulked, he realised that he didn’t feel as guilty, or as lost, as he might have done in the past. He was setting appropriate boundaries and he was sticking with them, the way Flávia had told him he ought to do.
He noticed that Flávia was deliberately staying out of it, and he was grateful for her tact, even if a part of him wondered if she would have handled it differently.
But then, to Jake’s surprise, Brady’s sulk lasted only a few seconds before he bit his lip and seemed to pull himself together.
‘I’m
sorry, Uncle Jake,’ he managed, delving into his bag and pulling out a sheet of paper. ‘Vovô Eduardo says he doesn’t like sulking. And Julianna says that I look like a baby. So I want to give you this.’
He looked down and saw the bird picture and it was as though someone had sat on his chest. It felt tight. Or full. Or both. Brady had never given him anything before, let alone one of his precious wildlife drawings.
This one was yellow and black, and whilst it might not be artist quality, it was nonetheless an impressive representation.
‘It’s a saffron-cowled blackbird,’ Brady qualified.
