Diving Belles (14 page)

‘Your teeth are all brown,’ he told her. The knife and fork had raised patterns on them. Grandma had given him a bit of sandpaper and he’d managed to rub away most of the rust and dirt. The metal underneath was a dark, silvery colour and there were leaves and swirls. He wanted to eat dinner with them but Grandma said no. ‘Who lost these?’ he asked suddenly. His bare toes, hanging over the chair, just grazed the cold, damp sand. ‘Someone must have lost them.’

‘People are careless,’ Grandma said. ‘Anyone could have lost them.’

‘Sometimes it’s an accident, though,’ Oscar said. He had lost his favourite saucepan because he’d left it on the bus, so he was very sympathetic about other people’s losses. ‘It’s an accident sometimes. It was probably a picnic and then a shipwreck. And everything sank right to the bottom except these.’ Grandma nodded but didn’t say anything. Her hands fiddled with the thread but didn’t do anything with it. She was good at fixing things and didn’t even feel the cold. You could tell she didn’t feel the cold because of the fact that she lived outside all the time, on the beach. She was very old and old people did die, Oscar knew, and some that were younger, but he didn’t think Grandma had even been ill before and usually you were ill before you died, although sometimes it was sudden. The knife and fork felt very heavy. ‘I think they’re made of silver,’ he said. Grandma broke some thread with her teeth. She was strong. She could crush a whole apple in her fist. Oscar got out of the chair and crouched down to poke at some shells and pebbles with his fork. The beach was empty and quiet. It was a long, pale stretch of sand, with high cliffs behind it that curved inwards like the bit of the spoon you ate with, and they sheltered quieter, crescent moons of sand like this one, where Grandma lived. Dark drifts of bladderwrack had heaped up at the tideline and were drying in the air and the wind.

Grandma watched Oscar while she stitched. He looked like a little owl crouched over like that, with his feathery hair tufting up behind his ears. His ears stuck out like his mother’s, which was a pity. She could tell he was cold but he didn’t like to admit it.

‘I think I’ll get a jumper on,’ she said. He turned round and followed her into the cave, where she kept all her things. He had a spare set of everything there because he visited so often.

‘Well, if you are, I suppose I might as well,’ he said. He was still clutching the knife and fork, and they poked through a loose part of the wool so that one arm got trapped and Grandma had to get it out. ‘What about that cow that fell on the beach?’ he said. ‘Did you see it?’

‘I told you I didn’t see it.’

‘Who did see?’

‘I don’t know. All the people on the beach, I suppose.’ Last summer, a cow had fallen off the cliff and on to the beach and Oscar wished that he had seen it. He didn’t know anyone who had. He looked at his knife and fork. He didn’t let go of them all afternoon, then later, before he went home, he laid them carefully down in the corner next to his other precious things.

Bucca Trails

Grandma showed him how to spot bucca trails. It was important information to know. Buccas had been during the night, Grandma said, although it was calm now and still. It was mid-morning and the tide was right out. There were bucca trails everywhere. ‘Did you hear them, in the night?’ Oscar asked. Grandma nodded. In fact, they had poked their heads right inside the cave to take a look at her. Now that they had gone, you could see exactly where they’d come from and which direction they had left in. The sand was covered in the wide, arcing imprints of their movements. It looked like someone had swept a huge broom in a curve from the sea up to the cliffs and then back again, or someone had rushed across the sand wearing a long, heavy skirt.

Grandma showed him how the disturbed sand was sitting loosely on top, waiting to be packed back in. She bent down slowly and poked at it and said a few things to herself. ‘South-westerly,’ she said. ‘Force four.’ Oscar nodded. He knew about south-westerly and force four. Grandma straightened up and then stared out at the sea. She was very still. Oscar found a stick and started to draw a pattern. Grandma stared out to sea. Her back was very straight and aching down at the bottom.

‘Why can’t we ever see them?’ Oscar asked. This is what he knew about buccas: you can’t actually see them; you can only see what they do to other things. So, if the sand is whirling around and the waves are white and choppy and your hair is whipped up and around then there is probably a bucca. And if the rain is pushed one way or the other, like curtains. And they like to eat fish, and if you leave a fish on the beach the buccas will leave your boats alone, but if you don’t they get very angry. And sometimes you can hear them, especially when there are hundreds of them rushing in off the sea so that their bodies brush against the waves and the sand and the air rushes through their open mouths. But still, he wasn’t exactly sure why you couldn’t see them. This is what he wanted to know: were they invisible?

‘Not invisible,’ Grandma said.

‘But how come we can’t see them, then?’

‘They don’t have bodies like us. You have to see them in other ways.’ Grandma looked down at Oscar, who had started to scratch around with his stick again. ‘We talked about that before.’

He shrugged and carried on scratching. He was hungry. They sounded invisible to him. And if they weren’t invisible, how come that thing about Grandpa and Uncle Jack?

‘It’s important to be able to see the signs,’ Grandma carried on. She coughed a few times, loudly and hard and with a wheeze at the end. She really did need to teach him all the signs. She started to explain about the direction of the tracks and what they meant, and if the sea is very calm but there’s a sickly green light then you have to be particularly careful. Oscar was humming to himself. ‘You’re not even listening, are you?’ Grandma said.

Oscar jumped up. ‘You’re not listening to me!’ he said. ‘It’s you who isn’t listening to me.’ He ran crazily around her legs, flinging sand on to his jeans.

Grandma didn’t watch him running. ‘You can go if you want,’ she said. He was boring when he was like this. Oscar stopped running and leaned against her legs. He wouldn’t go yet. They ought to follow the trails right down to the tideline and see what happened. But first, Grandma had to cough some more, and she rubbed the bottom of her back and bent her back down and coughed so hard it sounded like she was going to be sick. Then she spat something out.

‘Gross,’ Oscar said.

‘Don’t be wet,’ Grandma told him. She covered the thing over with sand and they followed a line of shells and seaweed and sticks that the buccas had bowled along the beach. Oscar kept stopping and poking, stopping and poking, and Grandma waited for him. The beach leading up to the tideline was covered in purple and grey pebbles, and as the sea pulled back from them, it sounded like a million people were popping bubble wrap all at once. There was sea foam floating at the edge and it looked like bits of old omelette. Oscar thought about throwing some at Grandma but decided not to. She hadn’t liked it before and then she had thrown some back and it smelled like drains.

The buccas had gone away now, but they would be back. They lingered right out at sea and waited. Grandma knew everything about them. She sniffed the air and knew when they’d come back. She was wearing one of Grandpa’s big jumpers. It was dark blue and probably had never been washed because it was salty and stiff when you touched the wool, and smelled of two hundred things, including smoke. He touched the fraying sleeve.

‘This was his favourite,’ Grandma said. ‘He used to wear it whenever . . .’

And the smoke was like the smoke from frying sausages. ‘What’s for lunch?’ Oscar asked. It wasn’t time yet but he was so hungry. Grandma sighed and rubbed her back once more. Then they turned round and started walking home.

Three Feathers and a Pair of Glasses

Grandma’s cough got worse so she couldn’t go out on to the beach. She had to stay in her chair at the mouth of the cave with a blanket over her knees. Sometimes she kicked it off and stamped on it and said ‘damn thing’, but she always put it back on again. Oscar had brought it with him the day before with the milk, plus some medicine and instructions to tell Grandma that she would die if she didn’t stop being a stubborn fool and move off the beach. It was all from Oscar’s parents, who, although they refused to visit Grandma and hadn’t spoken to her properly for years, still kept her room ready in the house for when she wanted to come back.

‘The doctor says I’m fine. As strong as a horse,’ Grandma said. ‘A cough could happen to anyone.’ They were eating clementines. It was early spring and still chilly. Grandma had to pick off all the pith before she could eat a segment. It took her a long time. Oscar ate his, pith and all, and Grandma couldn’t watch. After a while, Oscar wandered off a little way to investigate a heap of bits and pieces that he had seen. The water was choppy today and the gulls were restless – bickering and not settling down. They would land on a rock and then take off again straight away. They were getting bigger. Grandma was sure they were getting bigger. They interfered with her concentration. Everything seemed damp today as well, and cold, and sounds had an almost-echo. She felt like she was in a church; she felt like she was constantly in a church. She had thought that winter was over, but here it was lingering like sea mist over the beach. It had been an especially hard winter this year and she was trying not to think about the next one.

She watched Oscar further down the beach. He was stamped darkly on to the wide stretch of sea like a single footprint. After a while he came back up holding a handful of things. ‘It has been a very good day for finding things,’ he said solemnly. ‘One of the best, probably.’

‘Don’t rub it in,’ Grandma told him. ‘What have you got?’ Oscar put everything down then picked out his first item. It was a feather. He gave it to Grandma, who inspected it and nodded, confirming that it was a good one. ‘Black-backed gull,’ she said. ‘Good condition.’ The feather was shiny and dark with a white tip at the end. It was big, too, bigger than Grandma’s hand-span and she had big hands; maybe it was as long as her feet. She handed it back and Oscar gave her the next thing. It was another feather. This one was smaller and a purer black. It was slightly raggedy and threadbare – the edges were askew and worn. ‘Chough,’ Grandma said. ‘These are rare. There are only two nesting pairs. Pity it’s not in better nick.’ Oscar took it back and tried to smooth everything the right way. He wanted to know whether it hurt birds when their feathers fell out. Grandma said it didn’t. It was just like when Oscar’s hair fell out – he probably didn’t even notice it.

‘My hair doesn’t fall out!’ he said. ‘Look.’ He pointed at his head to show there weren’t any gaps. Grandma snorted but didn’t say anything else. Oscar looked at her warily and rubbed over his hair a few times, checking his palms afterwards.

‘What else is there?’ Grandma asked. There was one more feather, which was Oscar’s favourite. It was white and small and quite fluffy around the edges. Grandma looked at it for a long time. There was a pale grey streak veining through it. She didn’t actually know what this feather was. She recognised it, but she couldn’t think of the name. She used to know the name. She stroked it and stroked it and struggled to think of the name but she couldn’t. ‘Juvenile guillemot,’ she said, which was all she could think of.

Oscar nodded and took it back. ‘Guillemot,’ he said to himself. ‘Guillemot.’

Grandma coughed a bit and cleared her throat. ‘Is that everything?’ she said. Oscar shook his head and then picked up something else. It was an old pair of glasses. They didn’t have any lenses in them and the frames were thin and black. The right arm was bent outwards and the left arm was bent inwards. It was an excellent find. Oscar put them on and they slid down to the end of his nose. He wouldn’t let anyone else try them on.

Grandma felt drawn to the glasses although she didn’t know why. There was something morbid about them because they were probably a dead person’s glasses, but she did very much want to try them on. ‘Can I try them on, Oscar?’ she asked. Oscar pretended that he hadn’t heard. Grandma decided to bide her time. After a while she suggested a game of blackjack. She had taught Oscar how to play a year ago so she could win his pocket money off him.

‘OK,’ he said. He got the cards and another chair and the board that they balanced on their knees as a table. Grandma dealt two cards each. Oscar studied his cards. He studied the coins Grandma had next to her. Then he laid down the gull feather. He asked for another card and frowned when he got it. He counted on his fingers then asked for another. He got an eight, so Grandma got the feather. At the next deal he beat Grandma and won two pounds. He lost both feathers after that but he’d counted wrong so it was a let. But he lost them again straight after. Grandma dealt again and Oscar grinned. He had good cards. He put the glasses down on the table. He was confident. ‘Hit me,’ he said. Grandma turned a card over. It was a three. ‘Hit me,’ he said again. It was a seven. ‘Hit me,’ he said. It was another seven. ‘Arse cheeks,’ he said and threw his cards down. Grandma raised her eyebrow at him. He scowled and pushed over the glasses. ‘They don’t even work, anyway.’ She put the glasses on and wore them for the rest of the afternoon. They fitted her quite well, although the arm dug in behind her ear and after a while it got annoying so she took them off. She would play Oscar again later and let him win them back.

Fish Bones

When Oscar found the fish bones, he put them straight into his pocket and didn’t tell Grandma. They had been walking over the other side of the beach and Grandma had gone behind a rock to do some private business. At first he thought they were smooth white stones, sea-battered stones, but then he saw that they looked very much like a head and a spine. On closer inspection, this was exactly what they were, and there was a small fin that looked like a fragile comb. The skull still had the jaw intact and had holes for eyes. The spine was longer than his middle finger and had spikes and ridges down it. He looked around for Grandma but couldn’t see her. Then he picked up the three bones and put them in the pocket of his school trousers.