“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s awful, Maddy. That’s worse than Gran dying.”
“Yes. It’s pretty bad.”
“My God! If my dad left!” A new thought came to him. “Dad’s the one who’s going to miss Gran most.” Then, absorbing the significance of this news for Maddy, “Are you totally traumatized?”
“Probably,” said Maddy. “I talked to him. He’s kind of sad. He says he feels useless. He’s despaired.”
Rich gazed at her in sympathetic dismay.
“But he’s your dad. He can’t despair. Not until you’ve grown up and left home.”
It was funny really. Delay the despair, Dad. Fulfill your duty. But it was exactly what Maddy felt.
“I suppose I’d better buck up and grow up.”
“If you have children you have to stick around and look after them. You don’t have the option of walking away just because you feel like it.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Tell him the pope says so too.”
“What is it with you and the pope?”
“I just like his style. He says he’s infallible. You have to be pretty sure of yourself to say you’re infallible.”
“Do you think you’re infallible?”
“No way. Not by a million miles.”
“But secretly you’re quite arrogant, aren’t you? You like to say you’re not like other people, but what you mean is you’re superior to other people.”
Rich thought about that.
“Maybe I do mean that. I never quite thought of it that way.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. You probably are superior to most other people.”
“And yet there are times when I’d give anything to be someone else.”
“Who would you rather be?”
“Oh, someone who sails through life with a smile on his face. Joe Finnigan, maybe. The one you fancied.”
That brought back all the confusions of the day for Maddy. Rich saw her frown and look down.
“Sorry,” he said. “None of my business.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s just that I had a long talk with Joe today. He’s not really the way I thought at all. He’s nicer, but he’s more ordinary somehow.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Rich the whole story. It was too shaming. “I like him more and fancy him less. Also he was so sweet about his girlfriend. He said she was innocent.”
“In a way that meant he approved?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Then he must be a good person.”
“I think maybe he is.”
They remained for a few moments in a companionable silence. Maddy was struck by Rich’s sure touch. He had understood at once the new perception she had of Joe, and had found better words for it. She had called him more ordinary. Rich called him good.
She stretched out, lying down on the bed of leaves. Above her and to one side Rich was partly in silhouette against the sky, framed by the old roof beams. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, his expression meditative. She found herself studying his features. He had an interesting face: a high brow, wide-set eyes, a nose that seemed a little too small for his face, a beautiful mouth. A perfect mouth, really, the lips delicately curved and clearly outlined. He looked young for his age, younger than her; but at other times she felt he was much older. She wondered whether to tell him about Grace. Except she hardly knew what to tell him.
“So are you still dreaming of Grace Carey?”
He threw her a reproachful look.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I told you about Joe.”
“I suppose I do think about her sometimes.”
“She’s not right for you, Rich.”
“You mean she’s out of my league.”
“No. She’s a game player. She manipulates people. You don’t.”
“I’m like Gemma. I’m innocent.”
She could tell from the way he said this that he didn’t like it.
“Not innocent. Apart. You don’t seem to me to be down in the mess with the rest of us.”
“Maybe I should be down in the mess with the rest of you. Maybe it would be more fun.”
“It’s not fun at all. You’re better off where you are.” Then, although it didn’t really follow, she said, “There’s no one else I can talk to like this.”
“Same,” he replied.
“I wonder why.”
“It could be because I’m so wise and perceptive and mature for my age. Then again it could be because I’m a loser.”
He gave her a funny smile.
Here I am, Maddy thought, alone in the woods with Rich. Why have I come here?
“Why would I want to talk to a loser?”
“Because I’m no competition. No threat. You don’t have to mind what I think about you.”
“Honestly, Rich. The things you come up with.”
“I don’t care, actually. I’ve decided not to mind what people think about me too. I’ve decided to just get on and do things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Life being short and so on.”
“Like what?”
“Like having a girlfriend. I mean, a real one. Not an imaginary one like Grace.”
“So what have you decided to do?”
“Nothing, so far. It’s not so easy. I’m out of practice. Or rather, I’ve never been in practice.”
“Then you’d better start.”
“Sure. But how? It’s not like there’s a class you can go to.”
“I wish there was.”
“Really?”
“Why should you be the only one?”
“Everyone can’t be useless at it. I mean, the human race would die out.”
“Let it.”
But she didn’t mean it. Lying there on the bed of leaves looking up at the fading sky she felt at peace in a way she hadn’t known for days. For weeks, really.
Rich slipped down to sit leaning against the flint wall, his knees folded up by his chest.
“Mr. Pico should start up a class,” Maddy said. “The art of loving.”
“I don’t want it to be all theory.”
“No. Not just theory.”
“You know what?” he said, hugging his knees. “I’ve never really kissed a girl. Not a real kiss.”
Maddy said nothing. Strange thoughts were stirring within her.
“That’s how much of a loser I am.”
“That’s not being a loser.”
“I bet you have. Kissed a boy, I mean.”
“Yes.” She thought of the times she’d kissed boys at parties, on darkened dance floors, wriggling in each other’s arms. “Not real kisses, though.”
“What wasn’t real about it?”
“A real kiss is one you really want.”
“I’ll settle for actual lip contact with an actual girl.”
“Oh, Rich. You wouldn’t. You’d have to want to kiss her.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He sighed a long sigh. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
She felt the leaves under her hands. She grasped a small handful and threw them up in the air, so they came floating down again all over her body. Then she threw a handful at Rich.
“What’s that for?”
“Nothing.”
He reached his hand out between them.
“See that?”
His hand was shaking.
“Why’s it doing that?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes something happens inside me. I just start shaking.”
She took hold of his hand to stop it shaking. She held it in both her hands, and felt how he was shivering all down his body. She knew without him having to say it that he was shivering because of what they were talking about, and because she was there, close to him. It gave her an odd, warm, protective feeling.
After a few moments the shivering stopped.
“There. You’re not shaking now.”
She let go of his hand and rolled over onto her side, facing him. He stretched out his bent legs and wriggled about until he too was lying full length on the ground. He turned to her and smiled his funny smile.
She reached out one hand and touched his cheek.
“Your face didn’t do any shaking.”
“No. It’s all inside my chest, and my tummy.”
She touched his chest. She could feel his heart beating.
“That just means you’re not dead.”
He reached out his hand and touched her cheek.
“You neither.”
His touch was so light she hardly felt it.
Next she touched his brow with one finger, traced it down over his nose to his lips. Then he did the same. She felt the soft pressure of his finger on her lips.
She looked at him. He was so intent, so grave. He’s beautiful, she thought. Why didn’t I see it before?
She leaned her face towards him and touched his cheek with her lips. Barely a kiss at all.
“Practice,” she said.
He kissed her cheek in his turn.
“Is that what you meant?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
She moved her body so she was right beside him.
“We need to be closer.”
She moved her lips to his and, barely brushing them, they kissed. She felt his body start to shiver again.
“You’re shaking again.”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.”
She kissed him again, once, twice, three times, short and light kisses, both restrained and intimate. She felt his lips move against hers. Such a delicate touch, like whispering to each other. Moment by moment she could feel an emotion welling up from deep within her, but she didn’t know what it was.
He put his arms round her, burrowing one arm through the dry leaves.
“Do you mind?”
“No. That’s good.”
He held her cradled in his arms, not tightly, but it made them both more comfortable. She put her upper arm over him.
This time he drew her close and their kiss lasted much longer. They were so close that Maddy could feel his heart beating, and the shivering all down his body. Their lips searched and nuzzled each other, still gentle, still respectful, but growing bolder with each passing moment. They both had their eyes closed.
Then his lips moved to kiss her neck, her cheek, her temple. She lay still and let him explore her, while the feeling inside her grew and grew. He lifted his lips away.
She opened her eyes. He was looking at her, and silent tears were rolling down his cheeks.
“I’m so happy,” he said.
All at once the feelings broke within her, and she began to sob. She clung to him, pressing her face against his chest, and cried and cried. All the grief and the hurt came streaming out of her in a flood she couldn’t control, the loss of Joe, the loss of her father, the loss of all the love she’d wanted so much and now would never have. She cried because she knew she would always love more than she was loved. She cried for all the hurt to come. She held Rich tight and she cried in his arms.
He said nothing and made no move to stop her.
Slowly the wave of emotion passed. She brushed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She found a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose.
“You cried too,” she said in self-defense. “I don’t know why I did that.”
But she did know. Too many bad things had happened to her recently. She needed something good. And kissing Rich was good.
“Maddy,” he said. He kissed her softly.
“Yes,” she said. “Me too.”
They got up and brushed the dead leaves off each other’s backs. They walked down through the steep wood, hand in hand, in silence. When they reached the gate that led from the farm track onto the road they came to a stop.
“Will you be going to the hospital tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Could be.”
She took his hand and pushed up his sleeve and wrote her phone number on his arm.
“Call me.”
“Of course.”
“And get a bloody phone, you loser.”
27
Imo in tears
Maddy found her parents side by side at the kitchen table going through the shop accounts.
“Jenny’s quite right,” said her father raising worried eyes from the columns of the spreadsheet. “Things are looking a bit grim.”
“Don’t say that, Dad. You know how Mum worries.”
“You mustn’t stop him,” said her mother. “It’s so much better than telling me it’s never going to happen. That just makes me worry more.”
“What do you want us to do, Mum? All start panicking together?”
“No. Just so long as I know someone else is doing some worrying.”
“Something’s got to be done,” said Maddy’s father. “That’s for sure.”
“Well, I’m worried too,” said Maddy. “And not just about the shop.”
This was the closest she could bring herself to speaking about the family crisis.
Her mother said, “Mike’s agreed to put that on hold for the time being.”
“On hold?”
“You know, like a phone call.”
“Yes, I know, Mum. Where they play you Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’ and tell you how important your call is that they’re not answering.”
“We don’t want to do anything in a rush,” said her father.
Maddy wanted to shout at them both. What was this anything? What was happening? How could they both be so quiet? But then came the sound of a car pulling up in the yard outside the house, and the slam of a car door.
“That must be Imo,” said Maddy’s mother.
Imo had been away for four days. She came in looking exhausted, but as soon as she saw their father she threw herself into his arms.
“Dad! You’re back! Oh, I’m so happy!”
She kissed him again and again. He was taken aback by the intensity of her greeting.
“There’s a welcome. How’s my best girl?”
“Still your best girl. Oh, Dad. I’m so glad you’re home.”
She burst into tears. She clung to her father and wept uncontrollably, while he held her tight and bent his head over hers. He made no attempt to console her other than to rock her gently in his arms.
“What is it, Imo?” said her mother, glancing at Maddy. Her eyes asked: Did you tell her? Maddy shook her head.
Imo stopped crying at last.
“What is it, Im?” said her father. He spoke very quietly as if he might startle her.
“Nothing, Dad. I’ve just missed you. I didn’t realize how much.”
“I’ve never had tears before.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop myself. But I’m okay now. I’ve had a few bad nights, that’s all.”
“Home now. Home now. Sleep as long as you like.”
“And you’re home, Dad. So everything’s going to be all right.”
Imo went up to her room, saying she needed to have a shower.
“She’s upset about something,” Maddy’s mother said. “You haven’t told her, have you, Maddy?”
“No. Nothing.”
They both looked at Maddy’s father. He shrugged his shoulders.
“For once it seems I’m not to blame.”
But something was wrong.
“Go and talk to her, Maddy. She’ll tell you.”
Maddy went up and knocked on Imo’s door.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
“Just a minute.”
Maddy waited. She heard Imo draw back the bolt on the inside of the door.
Imo was in her kimono bathrobe, with her hair scraped back. She’d been cleaning the makeup off her face and looked pale and fragile. Maddy sat on her bed while Imo sat before her dressing-table mirror and finished scouring her face bare.
Imo’s room was so different from Maddy
’s, mostly because she was away so much. It looked both messy and unused. Long ago they had shared a bedroom, whispering secrets across the space between their beds, planning in great detail the birthday parties of their cuddly animals. Imo’s equivalent of Bunby was a panda called Princess Pandy. Like Bunby, Pandy had always been tucked up beneath the bedclothes, head on the pillow, ready for bedtime. But now Pandy sat on a cushion in the corner with a pretty necklace round her neck, a princess in exile.
Maddy waited in silence until Imo was finished. It was always best with Imo to let her start the talking. That way you knew what sort of mood she was in. Imo could be prickly.
At last she turned round from her mirror and spoke.
“Men are shits,” she said. “They’re all shits, every last one of them. Except Dad.”
Maddy said nothing.
“I was wrong telling you to get a boyfriend, Mad. Don’t bother. Boy and friend, that cancels itself out. It’s a—what is it?”
“Oxymoron.”
“Oxymoron. Clever Maddy.”
Imo always became spiteful when reminded that Maddy was cleverer than her. But she forgot almost at once.
“I should go to the police. Except they’d be no use.”
“The police!”
“You wouldn’t believe what that fucking shit did to me.”
“Is this Leo?”
“What Joe said about Leo, that was spot on. One up for you, Maddy.”
What Joe said: Leo’s unstable. Leo hurts girls.
But the emails hadn’t come from Joe at all. They’d come from Grace. And here was Imo telling her they’d been right.
“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”
“Please tell me, Im. Something bad’s happened.”
“You could say that.”
“Can you tell me?”
Imo stood gazing at Maddy in silence. Tears rose to her beautiful big blue eyes.
“I’ll show you.”
She untied her kimono and opened it to show her naked upper body. Faint bruises discolored her chest and breasts. She turned round, pulling the kimono clear. There were bruises on her buttocks.
“Oh my God!”
Imo wrapped the kimono back round herself and sat beside Maddy on the bed. She began to cry again, but noiselessly. Maddy put one arm round her, timidly at first, expecting her to shake it off. But Imo pressed herself into her sister’s embrace.
“He did it last night,” she said. She whispered through her tears. “It was so horrible. So frightening. I couldn’t stop him.”