Dhani brushed himself off with a little frowning look after having been climbed on, but was far too polite to upbraid the girl. He took her offering and played with it in his hands for a bit, not particularly hungry. ‘Yeah.’ he laughed. It was something of an understatement to say his dad ‘plays the guitar’. Sometimes Dhani would come downstairs and find George asleep on the sofa with one still under his arm. He had once spent the best part of a week with no sleep and no meals, trying to repair a nickel-plated resonator guitar someone had given back to him with the sound all broken. George had even got a shrine to guitars in one of the rooms in the house, which Dhani felt like he could sit in for hours just looking at them all, mounted up on the walls, and never get bored. ‘Once Uncle Rings was over, and he had a drum kit set up in that room there,’ he pointed, ‘and he called me in and tried to get me to play with him, but as soon as he started drumming I ran out the room screaming,’ he grinned; this was one of his favourite stories he’d been told about himself that he liked to repeat to people. ‘I’ve got a mini one upstairs, if you want to see it. Or we could go out to the lake in the garden.'
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