The Last Summer of the Water Strider (30 page)

‘Hmmm? Oh yes. Of course. But you said she was OK, right?’

‘For the short term.’

‘No, you’re right. I should go and see her.’

He stood up.

I made my way out of the boat and stared blankly in the direction of Strawberry’s cabin. Henry followed, then started taking leisurely, casual paces towards the clearing.

It was then, as I watched the infuriating slowness of his stride, that I decided what I had to do next.

It took me fifteen minutes to pedal into town. When I reached the rectory, I banged on the door furiously with my fist. I realized I was in a panic, and started to take deep
breaths to try and calm myself down.

Wesley Toshack opened the door. He almost entirely filled the doorway. I still hadn’t quite got used to how huge he was. His black hair was thick and crinkly and oiled back. His jaw was as
angular as a chair-back. I was still breathless from the bike ride, despite my attempts at deep breathing.

‘Adam.’

‘Reverend.’

‘Call me Wesley. Please. I assume you’re here to see Ash.’

I wasn’t sure why I was there, or what it was I had to do. I just knew I had to come here.

‘Is she here?’

‘She’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so. She’s popped down to the shops.’

He looked at me shrewdly for a long moment. ‘Are you all right, Adam?’

I made no reply. He gestured for me to come in. I hesitated, then stepped across the threshold. The room, with its old, dark wood, rugs and religious icons, had the air of a confessional
booth.

Toshack made me a cup of coffee and brought it to me with a sugared biscuit. We sat and made small-talk – how my revision was going, how things were on the boat, what my life was like when
I was in London. He was clearly practised in listening, and asking questions that might open you up. It made me faintly uneasy, but I was also aware that at some level I welcomed it.

After twenty-five minutes, Ash had still not returned. Wesley tapped his finger three times on the wooden arm of the chair he was sitting in, regarding me curiously.

‘There’s something wrong, Adam, isn’t there?’

I felt a stab of loyalty towards Henry, who, I knew, would be mortified to know that I was talking to Toshack like this. But then I thought of Strawberry. Her blank, staring eyes. Her tiny body
shaking as if caught in a cruel wind.

‘Perhaps we should wait until Ash comes back.’

‘You can never tell with Ash. When she says fifteen minutes, she can mean anything up to an hour. But you probably know that already. So what’s the matter, Adam?’

I sensed that some invisible clerical vestment was being slipped on. His body language opened, inviting me to open up in return. He leaned forward slightly.

‘It’s hard to talk about.’

‘Your uncle told me about the death of your mother. Tragic, tragic. Is it that which is troubling you?’

I shook my head.

‘No. Well. Yes. That’s always there. Always with me. But no.’

Still I held back. But Toshack held me steadily in his gaze, which was like a tractor beam. It seemed to leave me no place to hide. He said nothing, but eventually the silence became
unbearable.

‘It’s Strawberry.’

‘Strawberry?’

‘Yes. The girl you talked about. Skinny.’

‘Yes,’ said Toshack. ‘I remember her. She didn’t look well. Skin and bone. Has she some kind of disease?’

‘Not exactly. She’s just very determined.’

I paused. Then the words tumbled out, the words that I knew marked the early gradient of a hazardous slope.

‘I went to her cabin today. She was having some sort of fit. She’s recovered, but I think she’s in a serious condition.’

Ash walked into the room, carrying two shopping bags.

‘Hello, Dad. Adam! What are you doing here?’

She kept moving, depositing the shopping bags in the kitchen.

‘There’s a bit of trouble down at the boat,’ said Toshack. ‘Nothing to worry about. Nothing we can’t sort out. What kind of fit, Adam?’

‘What’s happened?’ said Ash, sitting down beside me on the sofa.

‘She said it was
grand mal.
Some form of epilepsy.’ I told them about the scene that had confronted me.

Ash put her hand on mine. It was comforting.

‘You must have been terrified.’

‘I think she may be very ill. Dangerously so. And she won’t go to a doctor.’

‘What does Henry have to say about this?’

‘He doesn’t know how to help.’

Ash and Toshack exchanged glances.

‘We have to do something. Don’t we, Dad? We have to?’

‘As Henry says – what can we do?’ I said.

‘I’ll think of something,’ said Toshack. ‘But I need to pray first.’ He stood up. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about this girl, Adam?’

‘Nothing that matters.’

‘Are you sure?’

I felt Ash pressing my hand. At the same time, words fizzed on my tongue, demanding utterance. Before I allowed myself to think any more, I blurted them out.

‘She’s Henry’s daughter.’

Rationalizations crowded my mind, trying to obliterate the sense of betrayal I immediately felt, like heartburn. Vanya had known, and therefore probably all her group knew – Pattern, Troy,
probably Moo. What difference did it make anyway?

‘Henry’s
daughter
,’ repeated Ash slowly, as if tasting the information, feeling it on her lips for flavours.

‘Does it matter?’

Toshack’s face was dark, but there was another look there, beneath the darkness. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it worried me. Wesley was again exchanging glances with Ash. It
was as if they had suddenly excavated a deep common purpose.

‘Come and see us tomorrow, will you, Adam? Once I’ve had a chance to sleep on it. We’ll work something out. Come at around noon.’

I agreed. Wesley shook my hand, and Ash walked me back to my bike.

I wanted to tell Henry of the meeting, but my shame choked me. When I returned to the houseboat, I went to my room and stayed there, without speaking a word, until the light died in the sky.

T
he next day, as I had promised, I made my way back to the rectory. The benefit of a night’s sleep had reassured me somewhat. Yes, Strawberry
was Henry’s daughter. But she was twenty-three years old. She was not Henry’s responsibility.

The heat shimmer that hovered over the tarmac as I cycled towards Lexham gave the ride an eerie, premonitory quality. It was eighty-seven degrees. We had seen no rain for a fortnight. Forest
fires had caught on the Somerset Levels, even coming close to Bath on occasion. I thought of the Long Hot Summer of 1914, before everything incandesced. How forces built up and then, when some
mysterious tipping point was reached, released themselves uncontrollably.

I arrived at midday. Wesley and Ash were outside waiting for me. To my consternation, there was also a policeman, standing by an Austin Allegro squad car. It was the same tall, skinny policeman
with bum fluff under his nose who had cautioned Henry for ‘exposing’ himself on the river. The passenger door was open.

Wesley was wearing his clerical garb. Ash was in an innocent cotton dress, white punctuated with tiny blue flowers. Wesley held a large black bible in his right hand. He spoke in a low, even
tone that somehow implied absolute determination.

‘I’m sorry, Adam. You had something of a wasted journey. We’re going to head down to the boat. We had no way of letting you know.’

‘We couldn’t turn up without you. It didn’t seem right,’ said Ash.

I stared at them both, uncomprehending. I gestured towards the policeman.

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Constable Urquhart is concerned there may be issues of abuse and neglect,’ said Toshack. ‘And it may be that, if we cannot talk sense into the girl – let me speak
plainly – we will have to compel her to seek treatment.’

‘Abuse and neglect by who? She’s a twenty-three-year-old woman.’

Ash and Toshack exchanged glances.

‘We have information that she is only seventeen years old, and therefore technically a minor. As such, she is in her father’s care.’

I laughed.

‘That’s ridiculous. She told me herself that she was twenty-three.’

‘And you find her testimony entirely reliable, do you, sir?’ said the policeman. The way he pronounced the word ‘sir’ made it clear that he was entirely without respect
for my viewpoint. He was Toshack’s man all right.

‘But how would you know different?’

A flicker crossed Ash’s face. She would not meet my eye.

‘We have access to . . . certain documents, which make the facts . . . unassailable,’ said Toshak.

‘What documents?’

I looked at Ash again. Still she was looking at the ground.

‘Have you been through Strawberry’s things?’ I said, grabbing her by the shoulder. She shrugged me off and glared at me defiantly.

‘It doesn’t really matter where the documents come from. They show that her eighteenth birthday is still a matter of months away,’ said Toshack.

Something clicked.

‘Ash,’ I persisted, ‘where did you go when you disappeared at the lecture on the boat?’

Her gaze didn’t falter.

‘You must see that this is for Strawberry’s own good.’

Puzzle pieces were falling into imaginary spaces.

‘Did you go to Strawberry’s cabin?’

‘Listen, Adam,’ said Wesley. ‘Let me speak plainly. Anything Ashley did, she did under instruction from me. And it’s as well she did.’

‘I found her passport,’ said Ash, very quietly, still looking at the ground. ‘Her name really
is
Strawberry Shortcake.’

The policeman laughed.

‘But her date of birth shows she still three months shy of being a legal adult,’ said Toshack.

I could feel the sting of acid in my throat.

‘You can’t just turn up at the boat without Henry’s permission and drag Strawberry out of there forcibly. She still has a right to her own choices.’

Ash looked at me sadly, but with a tinge now of defiance, of disdain even.

‘Is this something Henry has told you?’

‘He does say that, yes. But I agree with him.’

‘Even if she is still technically a child?’

I felt my confidence evaporating under the weight of the sunlight.

The policeman looked at his watch.

‘Shall we get to it?’

‘What are you going to do? Handcuff her and drag her screaming out of the cabin?’

‘It may not come to that,’ said Toshack.

‘”May not”? You mean it could come to that.’

Now another disturbing thought occurred to me.

‘Will this have any effect on the outcome of Henry’s court hearing?’

‘I don’t suppose it will help his case.’

‘Shit. Oh, shit.’

‘You’re being melodramatic, Adam. We’re just going to talk to her. Having a policeman with us – well, it’s for show as much as anything else. I think probably
Strawberry hasn’t had to deal with too much authority in her life. Perhaps Constable Urquhart will provide her with the shock she needs to start to see sense.’

‘And if she doesn’t “see sense”, what then?’

Instead of answering, Toshack began to intone: “‘Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”’

He exchanged glances with Ash.

‘The harvest must be gathered in,’ said Ash.

They were both looking at me. There was nothing in their eyes but will and judgement and determination and triumph.

There was no compassion at all.

‘You’re a spy. A Judas,’ I said bitterly to Ash.

‘I’m simply someone who knows the difference between right and wrong,’ she replied.

My fury overwhelmed me. She had been playing me. All that had passed between us had been artifice, the unfolding of a larger scheme. Now she was being pious, unbearable.

‘But not, apparently, someone who knows the difference between her arse and her fanny,’ I spat back.

‘Don’t use that filthy language here,’ barked Toshack, rising to his full height. ‘Don’t you dare speak about Ashley in that manner.’

‘Why not?’

‘Using such vulgar metaphors is revolting.’

Ash shot me a pleading look.

‘They’re not fucking metaphors.’

‘Whatever they are, shut up about it.’

‘They are literal descriptions of your daughter’s behaviour.’

I could hear the echo of Henry in my own voice – only it came out pompous and green rather than easily auth oritative.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Do you
want
to know? Because I understand you’re very keen on the truth.’

A shadow passed across Toshack’s eyes, a faint glimmer of dawning understanding.

‘You had better not say another word. You are treading on thin ice, Sonny Jim.’

‘Then let me speak plainly. As you are so fond of doing. Your daughter is a catamite. An enthusiastic one.’

‘Don’t be absurd. You’re hysterical.’

‘What’s a catamite?’ said Urquhart.

‘A catamite is the passive partner in anal intercourse,’ I answered.

‘Adam . . .’ Ash was looking at me desperately now.

‘It’s a lie,’ said Toshack. ‘A filthy, revolting lie.’

But the confidence had left his voice. He sat down on the edge of the police car’s passenger seat, knitting and furrowing his brow.

‘Anal . . .?’ said Urquhart. ‘Cata-what?’

I felt myself in the final act of some weird cross between a Joe Orton farce and a 1960s horror film. Toshack was sitting absolutely still. His eyes swivelled slowly towards Ashley.

‘Catamite,’ I said, looking at Urquhart’s plain, stupid face. ‘There’s probably a dictionary inside the rectory. I suggest you go and look it up. Permitted as part
of God’s perfect plan, apparently. So long as it’s a daughter that’s being taken up the aisle and not a member of the same sex.’

‘Shut your filthy mouth!’

‘If you don’t believe me, go and look under her bedside table.’

Toshack stood up. He raised his hand to strike me. I didn’t move. His hand drew back at the last moment, a half-inch from my face. I carried on looking at him steadily.

Urquhart did nothing to reprimand him. He walked round to the driver’s side of the car.