The Last Kings of Sark (12 page)

‘Report cards.'

The agency had asked me to fill in weekly progress reports. I hadn't done a single one; they were hidden in the drawer with my ticket home. We took all of it out. Pip had things to fill in too. He was supposed to give me marks out of five for competence and professionalism. We filled them in at the table as Sofi hoovered around our feet in odd patches, just the bits that looked messy. When Pip was finished, he pushed the papers over to me and got up to get a glass of milk. He'd given me fives for everything.

Sofi had decided to leave the Chateaubriand out in the sun rather than microwave it so she'd hidden it behind the shed, perched on an old bird bath. I was sent to go and turn it.

‘If it looks like it's cooking,' she shouted as I left the house, ‘if it's going grey-y, Jude, whack it under a bush.'

The meat was fine, hard as ice and just as cold, though beads of water rolled off the vacuum pack.

Next to the stone bath, though, there was a bird, the colour of suede shoes, but softer, tiny. It was completely tame and it looked up at me. I started whistling the Carpenters' ‘Why – do – birds', then called for Sofi, who ran out, thinking it was about the beef.

‘It must be an island thing, Sof. Come, look how tame it is.' She got down onto her knees, then got really close. ‘Beautiful baby,' she said, then stage-whispered for Pip.

He came out slicking his hair with water in that way of his. He knelt right in between us, and then, without even looking properly, he said it was dying.

‘No it's not,' I said, joining them on the ground. ‘It's…'

‘Dying.' (This was Sofi.) ‘Fuck, man.'

‘No,' I said. I wanted to say we could feed it water or worms, that it wasn't too late, but Pip had gone to find a spade.

They did it together, and put it in a bag, with the rubbish, by the porch.

Pip came to find me after it was done. He said that I knew about science, that you had to when it's like that. He said that line about stopping it from suffering. And then he did this half-hug thing – it was more him draping a bit of his shoulder near mine – and said he was sorry. He looked at my hair like he was tucking it behind my ear for me, and said he really was sorry.

Just then Sofi came in to wash her hands. ‘He smacked it on the head,' she said. ‘Ka-pow. Out like a light. Stone cold soldier-boy this one.'

18

We saw them first from the window. They'd taken the Toast Rack up from the harbour, and now they were walking up the garden path.

I don't actually think they were wearing dark colours – the boys at least were in bright beach shorts – but when I think back, I see them in black or brown. I also think I can remember hearing them through the windows, and that their voices were loud and in chorus. And I don't think that can be true either, because the windows were closed, and you could never hear anything through them.

But when I think back, it's
Lord of the Flies
again. I see a choir in black and hear a chant that cut through our kitchen glass. That's not what happened. I went out to meet them and say hello. I shook everyone by the hand, kissed the most important cheeks, and, just like that first day, I spoke in my voice for friends' parents, and parents' friends.

The pack poured into the kitchen. The office, the kingdom, overtaken.

Sofi was introduced once by name, and her name was said quickly: ‘Say-fay'. She was prepping the dessert for that evening, so she threaded through the crowd, excuse me, head down, shorter than I thought she was.

‘This is my brother,' Eddy said. He was called Caleb and he was Eddy again, but bigger; the kind of man it's impossible to imagine in a caravan or loo or anywhere small, because he seemed so big. He wasn't fat, but his presence wasn't a vague thing. It was hard and unbending, a huge blocky coat. There were also his four boys, an arpeggio of ages from about thirteen to seventeen. They were so different to Pip, with their bulgy faces and big, blunt bodies. Pip was taller than them though, and everyone kept on saying how much he'd grown.

It was definitely a situation where you hear names but they fall through your ears. Who were these boys, so much less graceful than Pip, touching things in the kitchen and opening cupboards? They were octopus-like: flailing, sprawling, impossible to see what all their trunky arms were doing.

I could tell Sofi was unhappy by the way she was pushing her pastry into the ruts of the baking tin. Her fingers were hard; she'd left nail marks in the base. I saw her think that it was her kitchen and there was no room for these new people here. I thought it too. But I went to offer Eddy's brother one of Sofi's shortbreads.

‘Call yourself a brother,' Caleb said. ‘Drink on arrival's not much to ask, fuck. Oh, sorry boys.' Then he did this face like a wisp of smoke coming out of a lamp: one must go through the motions.

Eddy told Sofi to run and fetch a nice little bottle from the cellar. He always used diminutives when things were particularly expensive.

‘Rosé – yes, that
is
the pink one – Monte Fiorucci, lots of gold on the label. And beers for the boys.'

When she came back, two bottles under one armpit, her other hand pulling out her skirt to turn it into a cradle for the cans, Caleb asked if us girls wanted to join them. He moved his eyes down Sofi's back like a zip. She didn't turn around.

‘It's rosé,' Caleb said. ‘Practically fruit juice.'

Because it was sunny, and I thought Sofi would say yes, I said OK, just an inch.

‘An inch from the top,' Caleb said, then, ‘Sarah?'

He had one of those Dickensian mouths, like an oyster left out in the sun. One side of his lip arched more than the other, like even his lips looked down on you too.

‘It's Sofi,' she said, and said no. The men and boys made their way to the door, apart from Pip, who stayed sitting at our table.

‘Pip,' said Eddy, gesturing with his head to make his son stand up. Pip rose – taller than his father now – hands in his pockets.

‘Sofi,' Eddy said. ‘Where's the beer for my one?'

She asked Pip if that's what he wanted. He said no, and could he have a can of Minute Maid, please. Then he followed his father to the gazebo in the garden, as slowly as I've ever seen a person walk.

19

After lunch, I found Sofi behind the shed, smoking a cigarette.

She stubbed it out into the vegetable patch and said she was keeping an eye on the meat.

‘Fark? It's
fuck.
Ff – uh – cuh. Fuck. It shouldn't rhyme with Sark.'

‘He's just one of those men, Sof. You should have come and had wine, it was nice in the sun.'

She said she didn't know ‘those' men. I said she did. Friends' dads; rich, bit pervy, harmless really.

‘The dads I know aren't like that.' She lit another cigarette.

‘Oh come on. Men are men. You know men. You smile, they like it. It's just men, Sofi. If anyone knows men, it's you.' I said ‘men' many times.

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘That you're so … easy…'

‘Fucking
hell.
'

‘Not like that. You know what I mean. Easy, meaning – relaxed. Meaning, not like me.'

‘You seemed OK in there, just then.'

I took the cigarette out of her hand, had a drag, then felt like I'd stood up too fast.

She said she needed to get out of the house. ‘Can we go? Bring Pip. Tell Eddy you're going to teach him about the sea, whatever, I just need to go.'

When I got back to the gazebo, the men were opening their third bottle and talking about Caleb's third wife.

‘Sorry to bother you, gents,' I said, shifting my top slightly, smiling, ‘but Eddy, shall I take Pip to the study now, or…?' And I left the ‘or' high in the air, for him to take it.

‘Inside?' Caleb barked. ‘Sunny day! Young boys shouldn't be inside on a sunny day!' He stretched out his arms, leaning back in his chair.

Eddy looked at all the cousins, the middle two chiselling a ball at each other, the oldest giving the youngest nuggies. Eddy told me to run along. ‘No school today,' he said, ‘the boys'll play rugby.' Caleb yawned, ‘Good man,' and curled his big arms back in, bottle in hand.

I told them to enjoy their wine and the sun and their sons, and walked away. I'd almost got back to Sofi when Pip came out from inside, hair slicked back with water.

‘I was looking for you,' he said. ‘The kitchen's not safe. Can we go to the study? Those boys … where do they
come
from?'

I said Warwickshire, but I knew that wasn't what he meant. Then I said no to the study.

‘Sorry. It's just that dads want sons to play rugby.'

‘But I don't play rugby. I've never played rugby.'

‘They're your cousins.'

‘I hardly know them at all.'

‘I'm sure they'll play nicely,' I said. I couldn't look him in the eye when I said that.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Nowhere. We're just going to cycle for a bit. Give you family time.'

‘You and Sofi?'

I nodded.

‘Can't I come with you?' (I looked away. Sofi would be waiting. I hoped she'd waited.) ‘Please?'

Maybe he could have, if we'd asked. He probably could have. But I said no, and never told Sofi he wanted to come too, and we left, and left him behind again.

20

Neither of us planned on going to the sea, but on an island, if you don't fancy cycling uphill that's where you end up.

Sofi seemed her right size again, once we were out of the house. She slowed up and let me cycle beside her for once. ‘Fuck! As soon as I'm out – bam! – I'm fucking fine again.' Then ‘Fuck!', a bookend, and she sped off into the lead.

That afternoon, there seemed to be no one else on the paths. I didn't look left, I didn't look right. I looked at Sofi from behind, followed her path exactly and made my legs move at the same time. I looked at her and looked at her, because she couldn't see me, so I was allowed to.

When we came out onto the beach, the sea was beaten metal and we walked towards it. The sun was so strong. It hadn't been so hot before, and it wasn't so hot after, but for about twenty minutes, it was the kind of heat that won't let you talk about anything else. Sofi said it was because I was still wearing jeans.

We were lying on the sand. The light bounced off pools of water on the beach and left sun scars in my sight. I tried to look at them, dancing blotches, bigger then smaller, yellow, red.

Sofi pulled my hand to her face; feel this. She had a dry patch on the peach of her cheek, and she looked into my eyes as she held my hand to her face, trying to read what I was thinking.

‘What's it from, do you think? Will it go away?'

How was I supposed to know? I told her that seawater would be good for it.

‘We're going to swim then?'

‘No,' I said, ‘we can't, we don't have our things.'

But she said we had the sun; come, I should come.

And because it was so hot, and because the rosé made everything less hard, and because, still, she was holding my hand to her face, I said OK.

It was hard to get my jeans off. Sofi, bra undone at the back, grabbed the hem round the ankles and yanked them. She fell backwards, and pulled me a metre down the beach. I grazed my back on stones, but I didn't realize it at the time. Sofi stood either side of my ankles and pulled a necklace off over her head. She told me to give her my top and then she weighed it down, next to hers, with a rock.

‘Bra!' she said, her own flung behind her, somewhere near her shoes. She was running down towards the sea in high, light, half-stride tiptoes, the way you do, with the ball of your foot to the beach, because that's how the stones hurt least.

When Sofi reached the edge of the sea, she looked back over her shoulder at me. Her hair was stuck to her lips and caught in her smile, and I wish I could have taken a picture of that, just then. I don't know what it is about someone looking back over their shoulder at you; even if they're smiling, there's something sad about it. I think it says goodbye. And I wish I had a photograph, because all of summer could have been in that shot.

Then the sea came over her feet and she did a silent scream, arms over breasts, elbows over nipples. She said it was freezing. She waited until I was standing beside her. I did the same thing with my arms over my breasts, because it kept you warm where your heart is, and it's what your arms do when you're cold and naked and a girl.

She asked me if I was ready, took my left hand off my chest, held it in her right, and then she ran.

We ran as fast as we could, but it got deep slowly and our torsos moved much faster than our legs. We got stuck in seaweed and trod on sharp rocks, both of us making a noise that was somewhere between screaming and laughing.

When the sea got up to our pants, we stopped and faced each other. And then I realized that her breasts were right there and my breasts were right there and so I turned out to sea and dived in.

You feel it on your head first, like a vice. And your teeth are tight and your tummy feels empty and icy and you have to make a noise when you come up, you have to.

I turned back to Sofi, safe underwater now, and shouted that it was warm once you were in. She wasn't used to being second; she dived in deeper than I had, and stayed down longer. I didn't know where she would come up. My head felt like a magnet for the wind. Sofi found my legs underwater and pulled herself up to the surface.

It's true though, that it's fine, once you're in. She splashed my face and I splashed her in return and we swam in semicircles, through pools of warmer water and rushes of cold. We swam out till it was deep and dark, and then back to where it was shallow and we could do handstands.

Sofi got out first. She held her hands up to the sky, making a Y, and said, to the world I think, that it was beautiful. And then she walked slowly to shore, diagonally, so her face and hands were pointed straight at the sun.