Tim paused. ‘You really believe that?’ he asked.
Jamie nodded. He left the shop. Tim turned the sign to CLOSED and went upstairs.
‘Margot?’ he said.
On Saturday afternoon Robert arrived home in the Space Cruiser, towing the caravan. Louise came out of the house to look at it.
Robert climbed down. ‘Hope nobody I know saw me.’
‘Why?’
‘So Bognor, darling.’
‘You’re such a snob.’ She gazed into the dirty window of the caravan. ‘Nothing wrong with Bognor. Just because you spent your holidays in the South of France, sipping champagne in the Sipriani.’
‘Cipriani,’ he said, correcting her pronunciation. ‘And that’s in Venice.’
‘Well, there too.’
The dog greeted him, pushing his nose into his groin. Robert shoved him away. ‘Think it was fun, trailing after my mother’s latest bonk, being ignored by them or nauseatingly sucked up to, I never knew which was worse. Hanging around while they got pissed?’ He pushed Monty away again. ‘Think it was fun being baby-sat by the chauffeur?’
Louise ruffled his hair. ‘Poor diddums.’
He pointed to the caravan. ‘You lot were probably quite happy there. In your own little way.’
‘Robert!’
‘Still, it doesn’t solve the problem of its incredible ugliness.’ He looked around. ‘Where shall we put it so it can’t lower the tone? Behind the stable?’
‘We were happy, actually,’ she said. ‘At least, I thought so. I mean – Maddy and Dad quarrelled, things like that. But I always thought my parents loved each other.’
‘They probably did,’ he said.
‘In their own little way.’
He walked towards the front door. ‘Seems a miracle a marriage can last twenty years. Let alone forty-four.’
She looked at him sharply. Just then Jamie and his friend Trevor came out of the house. They were dressed up for their night in London. Jamie’s hair was sleeked back with gel; Trevor’s stood up in spikes. They both wore black.
‘Lo, the princes of darkness,’ said Robert.
Jamie looked at the caravan. ‘What’s that doing here?’
‘I told you,’ said Louise. ‘Now that Granny and Grandad are selling the house, they said we could keep it.’
‘Wicked,’ said Jamie. ‘Can I have it?’
‘You cannot,’ replied Robert. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Trevor,’ said Jamie.
‘Hello, Trevor,’ said Robert, extending his hand. ‘Love the nose-ring. Is your father a farmer?’
‘Dad!’ said Jamie.
Louise interrupted: ‘They got an offer yesterday. On the house.’
Robert raised his thick black eyebrows. ‘Somebody actually wants to live in Purley?’
‘God, you’re a snob,’ she said.
‘You, if I remember, couldn’t wait to leave.’
Jamie shifted onto the other foot. ‘Mum, we’ll miss the train.’
Robert said suddenly: ‘I’ll take you.’
Louise stared at him. ‘You?’
‘Can we go in the BMW?’ asked Jamie.
Louise gazed at her husband. ‘Why are you being so nice?’
‘I want to bond with my son,’ said Robert. ‘And his friend.’
Robert, accompanied by the two boys, walked to his car. Jamie said to Trevor: ‘It’s got a car phone in it. We can ring people up.’
‘No you can’t,’ said Robert, unlocking the door.
Jamie peered into the car. ‘Where’s it gone?’
‘It broke. It’s being repaired.’
‘We’re not going then,’ said Jamie flouncily. ‘Are we Trev?’
They grinned and climbed into the car. It drove away.
Louise, who had been mildly surprised by this but who suspected nothing, gazed at the trail of horse droppings across the gravel. Couldn’t Skylark wait until she got into the stable? It was impossible to dig them out without taking half the gravel with them. She thought of calling Imogen, but she was shut away in her bedroom doing her homework. Louise sighed, and went to fetch the trowel.
Robert dropped the boys off at Beaconsfield station. He hadn’t managed to get a word out of Trevor, who seemed to be a deaf-mute. Still, that wasn’t his problem. He had other things on his mind.
Driving home, he stopped at a phone box beside the road. He went in, inserted his phone card and punched a number. How generous he had been to give the boys a lift.
Meanwhile, in Hackney, four women lounged on cushions in Erin’s living room. Mugs of tea and a half-eaten cake sat on the hearthrug. A woman called Lesley was talking.
‘Last week, when we were talking about our fathers . . .’ She laughed. ‘Well, we’re always talking about our fathers –’
‘Question is,’ said another woman, ‘are our fathers talking about us?’
Erin smiled. ‘If they were, we wouldn’t need to sit around talking about them.’
Lesley yanked up her socks. ‘Well, I’ve been working on my feelings of rejection. Did I tell you about when I was ten, and he bought my brother a Red Indian outfit?’
Erin nodded. ‘He took his photo in it, for the Christmas card.’
Lesley nodded. ‘I pretended I wasn’t hurt, but the thing is, I’m still seeking his approval.’
The other woman nudged her, smiling. ‘It’s the little girl in you, Les.’
Lesley pointed at the plate. ‘That piece of cake, for instance. He’s telling me not to take it because I’ll get fat.’
‘Wish I looked like you in your swimsuit.’
‘Yet this cake is calling eat me!’
They laughed. Erin gave her a slice.
Upstairs, Maddy was sitting on the floor in Allegra’s bedroom. They were playing with the Barbie doll. Allegra held up a gold lamé evening dress. ‘Should she wear this on a first date?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Maddy. ‘Maybe the trouser suit.’
‘But she doesn’t like purple.’
‘Why’s she got it then?’
‘It came in the box.’
Maddy leaned back against the bed. ‘I used to knock my sisters’ dolls over with my bulldozer.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I didn’t like them.’
Allegra sat the naked doll on her knee. ‘Shall we wash her hair again?’
The doorbell rang. Maddy jumped up and ran down the stairs. ‘Pru! Come in.’ She put her finger to her lips. They walked past the living room.
‘What’s happening?’ Prudence whispered.
‘It’s Erin’s group. They come here after swimming.’
They walked upstairs. Prudence pointed to the doll. ‘She looks pretty.’
‘She looks stupid,’ said Allegra.
The two women went into the other bedroom. Prudence sat down on the bed. ‘Maddy, I’m desperate. I couldn’t phone from home because they’re both there. Anyway, I needed to get out.’ The bedcover was embroidered with little mirrors. She picked at one. ‘Please take Mum for a bit.’
‘Pru –’
‘It’s been two weeks now. I’m going mad.’
‘Why can’t she go back home?’
‘She can’t. Anyway, it’s being sold.’
‘Why can’t she stay with Louise?’
‘She can’t leave London,’ said Prudence. ‘She’s trying to sort out the business – find somebody to take it over. Dad’s useless. Half the time he’s not there. Please, Maddy. It’s messing things up with Steve.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think!’
Allegra came in, carrying the doll. It was dressed up in chiffon. ‘Does this suit her?’
‘Very nice,’ said Maddy.
Prudence shook her head. ‘Beige is awfully Rotary Club.’
Allegra went back into her bedroom. Maddy stood at the window, looking out. Prudence addressed her back – jeans, yellow T-shirt. Was Maddy putting on weight? She seemed squarer, somehow. Robert said th
at all lesbians were fat because then they could look as unattractive as each other, but Robert said things like that.
‘Mum brings out the worst in him, I can’t describe it, or he does in her, who knows – We’re all on top of each other –’
‘Why doesn’t he get a job then?’
‘Why are you so hostile towards him?’
Maddy picked at the wax in a candlestick. ‘He’s not good enough for you.’
‘That’s not true –’
She turned round. ‘You never look happy. Even now he’s living with you you don’t look happy.’
‘That’s because Mum’s there. Look – take her for tonight. Please! Steve and I want to have dinner together, just us two. He didn’t leave home to live with our mother.’
‘That’s his fault.’
‘God, this place is getting to you,’ said Prudence. ‘All that sisterhood stuff downstairs.’
‘She can’t come tonight,’ said Maddy. ‘The group always stays for supper.’
‘They’re pretend sisters. We’re real ones.’ Prudence urged her: ‘Come on, be a real sister to me. Take her tomorrow then, have her for a few days. She’s looking for a flat, she’ll be off our hands soon.’
‘I’ll have to ask Erin. It’s her house.’
‘Tell her it’s an emergency,’ said Prudence.
‘Mum’s angry with me at the moment.’
‘She’s angry with everybody.’
Maddy ran her fingers through her hair. She had cropped it shorter; perhaps that was why she looked bigger. ‘She’ll find out.’
‘What?’ Prudence paused. ‘Don’t worry about that. She thinks you’re just flatmates. Housemates.’ She got to her feet and stood at the window, next to her sister. ‘She’s got to know sooner or later.’ She looked at Maddy’s profile. ‘Come on, Maddy. You’ve always been brave. Much braver than me or Louise. You’ve stood up to Dad. You’ve worked in a bloody war zone in Africa.’
‘This is different.’
‘If I was starving and black you’d help me.’
Night had fallen. Jamie and Trevor sauntered along Brixton High Street, trying to look cool. The place was seething with people – mostly black, mostly kids – out for Saturday night. Trevor lit a cigarette and flicked the match into the air.
A man, leaning in a doorway, muttered something to them. They stopped and looked at each other. A bus rumbled past. It was Trevor who finally nodded. They rummaged for some money. The man slipped a small package into Trevor’s hand.
Maddy was washing up. The front door slammed; the last of the women were leaving.
Erin came into the kitchen and put her arms around her. ‘Stop that, Cinderella, I’ll do it in the morning.’ She kissed Maddy’s earlobe. ‘I thought they’d never leave.’
‘But you like them.’
Erin’s voice was low and thrilling. ‘All I could think about was you . . . how I was going to touch you here . . .’ She slid her hand under Maddy’s T-shirt and fondled her breast. ‘And here . . .’ She touched her mouth. ‘My darling, my honey . . .’
Maddy’s throat closed up. She stood there, unable to move. Erin pulled the T-shirt over her head. Maddy shut her eyes. All she could hear was the dripping tap.
Erin dipped her finger into a pot of honey. She anointed Maddy’s nipples, one and then the other. She bent her head and licked Maddy’s honeyed breasts. Maddy, swooning with pleasure, stumbled against the sink.
Jamie was impressed by Trevor. Trevor came from the dodgiest estate in High Wycombe. His father had a prison record. Trevor nicked things from Tesco and had been banned from every pub in Beaconsfield. He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of drugs, which he mixed and matched with a connoisseur’s precision. Jamie was deeply flattered to be his friend and longed to impress him.
They arrived at The Fridge and joined the queue. Suddenly, Jamie stared. Walking towards them was a man who looked like Grandad. It was Grandad. With him, arm-in-arm, was a black woman.
They drew nearer. Jamie knew, of course, that his grandfather had shacked up with this April person and come to live in Brixton. However, he wasn’t prepared for the shock of seeing them together; he was so used to seeing his grandfather with Granny. Suddenly, he felt a surge of pride. He stepped out of the queue and greeted them.
They said they had been out for a meal. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ said April, shaking his hand. She had a round, vibrant face – big features crowded together. ‘Straight As and all.’ She indicated Gordon. ‘He’s very proud of you. When are you going to York?’
‘In October.’
She pointed to The Fridge. ‘Who’s playing?’
‘Adrenalin Village.’
‘Mmm. Just feel like a dance.’
Gordon squeezed her arm. ‘Go on then, go and enjoy yourself.’ He grinned at them both. ‘I’ll just tuck myself up with a hottie.’
Maddy and Erin lay in bed, skin to skin. Maddy stroked the slippery channel of sweat between Erin’s breasts.
‘You’ve learned a lot, my little mouse,’ murmured Erin. ‘How shy you were once . . . shy and timid, afraid to come out . . .’
‘It’s you who taught me.’ Beside them the candle guttered and expired.
‘I want to tell the world, tell women, what they’re missing.’
‘Don’t tell my mother.’ Maddy spoke into the blackness. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind her coming?’
‘Aren’t you proud of us?’
‘I’m still a mouse in that respect,’ said Maddy. ‘Give me time.’
Erin rolled over to face her. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world, my love.’
‘Can I sleep in your study? It’ll only be for a couple of nights.’
‘I’ll creep in and ravish you on my fax machine.’
Maddy said: ‘If you ravished me on your computer, I could be a computer mouse.’
Maddy had cracked a rare joke. Erin smiled, and held her in her arms.
There is always a moment of embarrassment when you first see somebody dance. It is like the first time you hear them speaking French. Jamie was gratified to see that Trevor, despite the dope he had smoked, was even more inept than he was. Trevor was weedily built and belonged to the limp puppet school of dancing. Scowling into the middle distance, he jerked around to his own private rhythm, just disconnected to the beat, as if pulled by invisible strings. April, however, was a terrific dancer. Jamie could hear his father say natural sense of rhythm but his father was thankfully absent. Her joy was infectious, however, and Jamie felt himself loosening up. Trevor even smiled – a sight Jamie had only seen once before when, after work, he had pulled out a side of smoked salmon from his jacket.
Jamie was proud, too, to be dancing with a black woman and mouthed at her like a goldfish so that people could see she was with him. The place was crammed. April, perspiring in a short skirt and knitted vest, mouthed back. She was a well-built woman; Jamie tried not to stare at her breasts. They moved up and down within her vest as if they had a life of their own. How weird, to think that his own grandfather handled those each night! Grandad was an old age pensioner. Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and gave himself up to the music. It thrummed through his brain; it shook his bone-marrow to jelly.
Afterwards, they spilled out into the night. Trevor left; he was going to stay with his sister in Streatham. April had invited Jamie to stay the night at her flat.
They walked down the street. ‘Does he ever talk?’ she asked.
‘No.’
April opened the front door. They climbed the stairs and she let him into her flat.
He looked around. ‘Wicked place. Wish I lived here.’
‘Don’t you like living in the country?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not even the real country, it’s full of stockbrokers and people who’ve had golden handshakes. There’s nobody like you there –’ He stopped. ‘If you see what I mean.’
She laughed. Now he could see her in normal light – not the strobes of The Fridge o
r the sodium orange of the street – he saw that April’s skin was beautiful. It was the colour of the polished conkers with which he used to play. Her teeth were white as milk. Her broad lips were a colour for which he had no words. Blushing, he wondered what it would be like to kiss them.
April went into the other room and brought back an armful of bedding. She pushed the bedroom door shut with her bottom.
‘He’s sleeping like a baby,’ she whispered.
Jamie took the duvet and put it on the sofa. ‘It’s weird,’ he said.
‘You mean, me and your grandad?’
‘What do you see in him?’ he asked.
‘You been in love yet?’
He shook his head.
April sat down on the duvet. ‘When it happens, it may not be the prettiest girl you know, or the cleverest. If it was like that, what would the rest of us do? Love doesn’t work like that, thank God.’ She plumped up the pillow. ‘Nothing matters – their age, nothing. You just know, when you’re with that person, you’re utterly yourself. You’re the Jamie you like the best.’ She looked at him. Her face was open and frank. ‘I don’t care what other people think. Maybe he’s looking for another daughter and he’ll get it right this time. Fathers always think, if only they had done this, or that. Maybe I’m looking for a father. I don’t know. I don’t care.’
Jamie blushed. He spoke to the carpet. ‘I think he’s really lucky.’
‘We both are,’ she said. ‘Believe me.’
It was the next day, Sunday. Imogen was riding her horse. They galloped along the edge of a ploughed field, up along Cobbett’s Rise. Her village lay below her, shrouded in mist. Poor souls, she thought, living there so blindly in their fog. Up here it was sunny; she was free. Skylark’s muscles moved beneath her; twin plumes of breath pumped from the mare’s nostrils. Lapwings rose up, their wings flickering black and white, and skittered down in the next field like glitter shaken from a Christmas tree.
Skylark’s neck was damp with sweat; her body heaved for breath between Imogen’s thighs. Imogen reined her in and headed left, towards Blackthorn Wood. With her hand, she checked that the saddle-bag was still there. She had even brought some cans of lager.
Karl’s van was parked in the clearing. Imogen’s heart jolted. He leaned against a tree, smoking a cigarette. She rode up to him and dismounted.