Boys and Girls (47 page)

‘Morning, Blackie – morning morning. Your Earl Grey is all set out, look – you just have to boil up the water. Sleep well, I trust?'

‘Like a lamb, dear boy, like a lamb. Eventually. By golly though, hey? Those two little firecrackers …!'

‘I know. Are you having toast? I thought we might have an early lunch, if that suits you. Sort of picnic affair, maybe. Gorgeous day – I could set it all out in the pergola.'

‘Capital idea. What time is it, Alan? Not that it really matters …'

‘Not sure. Tennish, I think. Which one did you prefer?'

‘Tennish, hm. That's a very interesting question, Alan. A very interesting question. Anything in the papers?'

‘Not really. Murders, war, higher taxes. The lies of dullard politicians. I only really look at the weather and the crossword. Obituaries, of course.'

‘Don't think I shall – bother with the toast. Not if it's tennish. I think on balance it has to be Lucy, really, if only because I've always had a particular thing about blondes. Well we all have, I suppose. Especially in that dinky little uniform. But Crystal's curves … dear me. Dear me. And the kiss … so much more than a meeting of mouths. It was as if she was supplying a taste of her lips as the sweetest sample of all that was next to come. How old do you reckon, Alan? Crystal, I mean.'

‘Hm – she's the younger one. Twenty-two or so, I'd say. Not her real name, of course. Lucy, well – I don't have to tell you about Lucy, do I? Just knows every trick there is to know. She could be twenty-five easy, maybe more. Who knows? But she's in beautiful condition. Not cheap, of course, but you'd hardly expect it, would you? Not if you want a decent sort of a show.'

‘It was just so good of you, Alan, to set it all up. So terribly thoughtful. What a treat! And you divined it exactly correctly, you know – well of course you know. What I – like, and everything. Thought I'd take my tea out on to the terrace. Coming?'

‘Mm. Why not? Have a glance at the crossword. What are you up to today? Anything? I've got to see to the beach. Took a bit of a pounding. What was that …? You hear that? Was that in the hall …?'

‘What? Didn't hear anything. Not too surprising. Can hardly hear
you
. Got to take this thing in …'

‘Mm. Could have sworn I heard a …'

‘Could be the post. Could it have been the post?'

‘Could have been, I suppose. Oh … better take a look …'

Alan wandered into the hall, expecting only the usual slew and clutter of plastic-wrapped catalogues to be littering the doormat (don't get much in the way of regular post these days, and that just suits me fine). But what he saw there instead was a large and grimy canvas bag, recently rifled and spewing rumpled denim and magazines. Also on the floor – quite recently polished by Alan in the old-fashioned way, hands and knees and beeswax – were kicked-off and streaky wellingtons, the track of the soles thick with dried-on grassy divots. A dented can of Diet Coke was on its side and askew on the hall table, harming the arrangement, and it had dribbled its dregs on to the surface, brownish globules shivering. Alan heard Black now padding out behind him and he whirled round to gaze at him, aghast and open-mouthed. The returned expression on Blackie's face was one of at first uncertainty, and then a cold and looming horror. Not only would it appear, then, that Amanda had returned to the
bosom of her family, but going by the yelps, initially, from the floor above, and then the more outright screaming … it would further appear that she has just encountered, mm – Lucy, yes. And also Crystal. Asleep and sprawled out Christ knows where, almost certainly naked (more bosoms to her family than Amanda could frankly shake a stick at) … or – and Alan now winced as he acknowledged a rather stronger likelihood: in rucked-up pleated skirts, and strewn about them with the abandon of the hot now so cold moment, cobalt knickers and pink-piped blazers. Mm.

What, thought Alan, next …? Well next, Amanda had hurtled back down the staircase, her hands clasped over her ears and was shrieking out the word ‘dis-
gusting
!' over and over and over again. And then the word ‘
sick
!', repeatedly. She streamed through the hall, knocking aside Black and colliding into Alan – and lest there be the slightest doubt as to just who in this house formed the butt of her repulsion, she drew back the lips from her teeth and in a shrill now cracked voice she was screeching that
both
of you, oh God yuck yuck
yuck
! You are both so totally sick and fucking dis-
gusting
 …! Her face seemed caught in a panic of revolt. She ran out of the house, crashing shut the door behind her.

In the shimmering silence, Black was idly massaging the shoulder that had borne the full brunt of a rioting Amanda. He glanced across to Alan, his eyebrows raised. And then he looked up at the sound of a voice from the landing above.

‘What was all that then, boys?' Crystal was calling. ‘The
day
shift …?'

Her jumpy breasts were dangled down over the banister rail, their rosy nipples singling him out. And Black could only sigh. Alan held a hand across his eyes. My waters, he thought,
are turbulent … they are rapidly becoming a thunderous stew: the walls of the dam are being hammered by the boiling of the mountainous waves.

Amanda, for once, had sounded genuinely distraught, and so I rather rashly told her to come straight over. Already regretting it. I could just slip out, I suppose – be gone by the time she gets here … but that would seem a little cruel. I said to her on the phone: Amanda, my darling – five days now and you haven't called. I am your
mother
. Remember that? You said you'd call me every day. Didn't you? Didn't you, darling? Don't ask me if she heard or not – wailing and babbling, she was. Distraught, as I say – and not, I thought, her usual teenage ‘freaking', as she terms it, and general overreaction to even the very slightest thing. Something clearly was amiss – and I felt quite fond, I suppose, that it was me she sought to talk to. But then she'd hardly ring her father, would she? What use has he ever been in a crisis? Or at any other time, really.

But I didn't want her here. Because we hadn't spoken, not properly, about my moving away. And oddly, she hadn't bombarded me with an eternity of questions and all of the customary recrimination. Seemed wholly engulfed by something of her own, which at the time I must admit was something of a relief. Because whatever questions she might have asked me, I doubted whether I had the answers. I had been quite flighty – hadn't thought things through, and perhaps deliberately. One of the curses of growing older is that you are forever doing that, thinking things through, pursuing the course to its logical end, investigating the possibility of alternative avenues – yes, and judging how the mood will take you. And then either ducking the whole thing, ditching
it completely, or else trudging on through it with a lowering sense of premonition and the expectancy of doom. And so yes, it is entirely possible that I willed myself into my current irresponsibility, and I must say it did feel so good. Just to leave all the old behind – hurry away with my brand-new lover. Yes. It seemed, as they say, a good idea at the time. But now, whatever had so selfishly consumed Amanda had clearly withered away, or else exploded, and so now of course, when I have done with consoling her, there will be nothing between us to protect me. She will be ‘on my case', as she so horribly says. Well … it has to be faced some time. Maybe just talking about what I have done might help me to understand it. She will, quite naturally, be furious. And possibly even revolted. Which I would expect, in the circumstances. I don't, of course, have to tell her. And that is the doorbell.

‘God,' was the first thing Amanda said, dropping her jacket on to the floor. ‘This is so like
creepy
 …'

‘I can't see why you think that,' sniffed Susan, while seeing it exactly, for she felt it herself. ‘You lived here for years. It's not as if it's strange to you.'

‘I know. That's what's so creepy. What are you doing here? Why have you …? I thought this place was let or like sold or something.'

‘Do you want tea? You look perfectly ghastly. What have you been doing to yourself? It was to be let out, yes. Or sold. But I didn't get round to it. Quite a good thing, as it turns out. I mean, quite apart from anything else it has already considerably risen in value. Tea? Yes or no.'

‘Don't want tea. I just want to
die
 …!'

‘I don't recall a single year passing when you didn't, at one point or another. What is it this time?'

‘You don't care. So long as you're all right, you just like so don't care about me.'

‘That hurts, Amanda. And it's quite untrue. You're here, aren't you? And I've asked you what's wrong. How much caring do you want?'

Amanda just threw herself on to the sofa and held a cushion across her face.

‘I can't hear you, Amanda. If you want to talk to me I suggest you don't hold a cushion across your face.'

‘ I
said
 …!' bawled Amanda, hurling the cushion aside, ‘that just everything everything
everything
's wrong, just like
all
of it, OK? And I so just want to
die
 …! And you! And you! Why are you back in our old bloody house? What are you
doing
here? I just don't
understand
 … And listen, right? Before you say like anything, you've just got to tell me this because I've got to
know
, OK? And you've got to tell me the
truth
. Yeh? Right? Right, then: have you ever … oh God
yuck
, I can't even
say
it, it's so …!'

‘What on earth are you talking about, Amanda? Have I ever what?'

‘Oh God. Have you … ever been with Harry? Oh
God
 …!'

‘Harry? That odious little shit, you mean, who took advantage of you? Well yes.'

‘
Yes
 …?
Yes
?!'

‘What are you so upset about? I told you I went to see him. I told you that.'

‘I don't mean –
that
, I don't mean then. I mean again. Have you? Like – you and Harry … did you ever …?'

Susan just stared at her.

‘Am I picking this up correctly? Are you seriously asking me – me, your mother … may I yet again remind you,
Amanda, that it is your
mother
now you are talking to? Are you completely
mad
 …?'

‘Well
did
you? Just like
tell
me, OK?'

‘I find the very suggestion quite utterly repellent and deeply, deeply insulting. Christ – I can't even understand how you could have borne him to be even near you. His skin is appalling. What put this perfectly slimy little idea into your head? Did
he
say so? Did the lying little
shit
say so? I'll have him arrested if he did.'

Amanda sighed – a mixture of fractured and tainted relief, creeping weariness and a tumult of confusion.

‘No … he said you didn't. It was me who thought … I don't know. Maybe I am mad. I don't know … I just don't know
anything
 …!'

But it is like a thought – could be, couldn't I? Like, crazy or something? Because I really did believe he, like – cared for me? A bit, anyway. And at first it was just so great because what we did, Harry and me, is we like got on the Eurostar? To like Paris? Which I'd never been to, and it was just so cool. And he got us this most amazing hotel and we went up the Eiffel Tower, like just so scary. He bought me this so cool scarf from a really expensive shop called Hermès and it had like red and yellow flowers on it and it felt like heaven. Food was great and we got so like smashed, you know? It was great. And then one evening in this like brasserie – famous one, can't remember – he just starts chatting up this
girl
, if you can believe it. In like
French
? Me just sitting there. Touched her hair and stuff and they were both like
laughing
? And I was just so angry I copped off with this boy at the very next table and I walked right out of the place with him and I was thinking yeh well screw
you
Harry, you bastard. And it was awful because
the boy, right? He was called Pascal which is a pretty geeky name, I think, and we went to a bar and we were on, like – Pernod? Which tastes like sweets and medicine and oh man, I was just so out of it. And he got me up to this room and I was so like woozy and he shoved me up against the wall and like pulled down all my things and just fucked me then and I couldn't stop him and it was only for like less than a minute but it really hurt me and I was crying. He got me a taxi – oh yeh
great
Pascal, you fuck – and I went back to the hotel and Harry wasn't there. And when he came in just like hours and hours later, I told him what I'd done except I made it sound all like kind of romantic? I did it so he'd be jealous, but he wasn't. He just said – Cool, babe. Grinning, eyes all wild and crazy, like high on some shit. So next morning I just like hated him and I hated me and he gave me some of Black's money – there was so little left – and I got the train back to London. And before I left, I went to him Yeh and I bet you
did
 – you did, didn't you Harry? You did go with my mother – you were lying. And he said Haven't, I swear I haven't … yeh, and I so like didn't believe him. And why did you go with that
girl
? Why did you do that to me, Harry? And he just went, she was ‘kinda cute'. Yeh – like my mum. I chucked the scarf right in his face just before I ran right out of there, and I so like wish I hadn't, you know? It was just so beautiful, and it felt like heaven.