by Rafe Posey
* * *
• • •
As expected, June is not back for dinner, but Alec had hoped she’d be home in time for Penny’s bath. Alec sits on the low wooden stool by the tub while Penny sails a small wooden tugboat in circles around her. The boat is a scale model of one of the boats he thinks of as his at Livingstone & Gray. Sanjay’s children have toy boats from the shipyard as well, Alec reflects, although he rather doubts Sanjay has ever had much to do with his children’s baths. Of course, Sanjay has a wife who holds their family as her entire focus.
Once Penny’s clean, Alec slings her onto his back like a monkey, galloping obligingly through the upstairs while Ursa bounds alongside, barking. He tucks her in with her worn stuffed bear, mildly relieved that she doesn’t ask where her mother is.
“What story would you like, darling?”
“The bear and the rani, please,” Penny says.
Alec grins at her. “Not the one about the elephant and his trunk?”
“No,” Penny says. “Not tonight.” She smiles up at him sleepily.
“Yes, all right,” he says. “Then we will save our Kipling for another night.”
Penny snuggles close to him and hugs the worn mohair bear.
“Once upon a time there was a river,” Alec says, “and on that river lived a bear.” He pauses. “Perhaps one day you’ll see where the black bears live in the Himalayas.”
“But I want to do that now,” Penny says. She shifts impatiently. “Tell me about the princess, Daddy.”
He laughs. “Very well.”
The bear had been at his princess’s side for as long as he could remember. When she laid her fingers against his ears, the world would quiet away from them. You are my bear now, she said, and I will never let go.
When the thaw came, and her frigate could groan away out of the ice and out to the open sea, the maharani asked him to choose—north, to the aurora and the mythic white ice bears, or south, to the unmapped oceans that, as far as any of her sailors knew, were full of dragons. The bear chose south.
It wasn’t long before the estuaries and islands were left behind. The days lengthened; on the tenth day, a pod of whales surfaced alongside the frigate, their powerful flukes casting an imposing shadow across the deck. When the whales began to sing to their calves, the bear leaned closer to the princess, letting her tears fall into the soft fur behind his ears, his heart beating much too fast.
Penny is almost asleep, Ursa snoring lightly on the rug beside her bed, when Alec looks up to find June standing in the doorway watching them, her face awash with emotion. He smiles at her, glad to see her despite the small bristle lodged in him over her absence.
“You’re from India, too,” Penny murmurs. “Like in the story.”
“Yes,” Alec says. “And my mother used to tell me these stories just as I tell them to you. They’re part of our family.”
Penny nods, struggling awake as June comes in.
“Hush,” June says gently. “You sleep, darling girl. I love you.” She leans close and kisses Penny’s forehead. Alec hugs Penny and tells her he loves her, then follows June out into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind them.
“I’m sorry I was so late,” June says quietly, as they descend the stairs.
Alec nods and steps into the kitchen to start the kettle for their evening cup of tea.
Following him, June continues. “We were working on a piece about Euler’s number and probability, and it all got rather away from us.” She brightens. “I’m glad I got back for saying good night, though. And for the story.” Her face fills with feeling again. “She loves that bear.”
“Of course she does,” Alec says. He smiles. “Speaking of animals, I thought I saw a polecat in the garden the other night.”
June nods. “George’s last letter said they’ve been having trouble with one getting into the chickens.”
“Spring in the Fens,” Alec says, shrugging philosophically. “In any event, I thought we might talk a bit about our holiday.”
“Our . . . Ah, right. This summer.”
“It will do us all good to get away, get some sea air.”
June points roughly eastward. “The sea is just there.”
“You know what I mean. The open ocean. Waves and sand and whatnot.”
“I suppose,” she says. She steps around him, getting out two teacups and the sugar.
“I wish I could take the pair of you to India,” Alec says, the story still on his mind. “Take a proper holiday with a warm beach. Palm trees and coconuts.”
“Well.” She pauses, staring down into the beveled glass jar that holds the sugar. “That seems a bit extravagant. I don’t see how it could possibly be an option.”
“Are you quite all right?” Alec turns so he’s looking right at her, holding her gaze. “You seem a bit . . . not here.”
She shakes her head briskly, her lips tight. “No, I’m fine. Thank you. Just preoccupied with the Euler.”
“I see,” he says. While he works on the tea, June settles herself at the kitchen table, reaching for the deck of cards and the cribbage board they keep by the breadbox. Despite her frequent absences and her endless preoccupation with mathematical formulae he can’t begin to understand, the two of them have managed to build their routines. And one of them is a cup of tea and a game of cribbage every night before bed.
“I thought perhaps Skegness,” he says.
June looks up from the cribbage board and its pegs. “Lincolnshire? You want to take our holiday at the Wash?”
“It’s not the Wash,” he says.
June stares into the distance, mapping it in her head. “It’s hardly fifty miles. I’d call that close enough.”
“Fine,” he says, “but Cornwall and Cardiff are too far, and if we went to Skegness, there’s a grand holiday camp there, and then I thought we could take Penny to Fenbourne after.” He pours the boiling water into the teapot and sets it and the cups down on the table. “We could start her building memories about the family.”
“But, Alec, what will we tell her? How do we explain when she asks where our families are? She’s awfully young for learning about the war, never mind understanding any of it.”
“I don’t know exactly,” Alec says, taking his seat.
June regards him for a moment. “I expect there are parents all over Europe trying to explain those things to children.”
“Undoubtedly,” Alec says quietly. It’s a daunting task, trying to wrap his head around all the losses, when she lays it out like that. How to explain, even to a four-year-old, the set of stones with the same final year for June’s parents and his aunt? The dreadful fate of his own parents? At least there’s Roger still alive, out in Kenya, who has visited just frequently enough that Penny has grown attached to him.
“At any rate,” June says, pouring the tea, “we can do Skegness, if you like. But next year perhaps London or York, take Penny to a museum.”
“Perhaps. We’ll talk about it more,” Alec says. “Hardly writ in stone.”
“All right. Now. Once more unto the breach, hmm?” June turns her attention back to the cards, shuffling the deck before setting it facedown beside the board. “Come cut for dealer.”
* * *
• • •
In the middle of August, they load up the Morris and make the slow trek down the coast to Skegness. It’s a long day’s drive in the best of conditions, but made much longer by the unseasonable weather—it’s been cold and wet all month, the afternoons peppered with thunderstorms, and now there are gales coming in off the North Sea, rain welling up underneath the car and vanishing the tarmac as Alec creeps along. The world outside the car is a blur of green and gray and yellow, towns and fields alike invisible in the rain. But despite the weather, and despite his vague concerns about June, who is distracted by her need to prepare for
the incoming batch of students in the autumn, Alec is excited. Mrs. Nesbit and Ursa will watch the house for the near-fortnight of absence, and perhaps a change of scenery will do him and June some good.
* * *
• • •
Penny is dazzled by the holiday camp from the very first moment, when they are greeted in the chaos by a young man in a green-and-white-striped blazer. He introduces himself as Arthur and whisks them away in a cart to a pale blue chalet. There is so much noise, so many people clamoring at one another, and somewhere a baby crying, and the rattling small engine sound of the carts. Penny is wide-eyed, clinging to Alec’s hand even as she pulls to the end of his reach, trying to see everything.
Arthur leaps to the porch and opens the chalet’s door, then goes back to the cart to collect their valises while Alec and June stand in the cozy front room with Penny, looking over the space. When he’s brought in everything, the boy hands Alec a key with a flat tab made of Perspex, the chalet’s number embossed upon it.
“That’s everything, then,” Arthur says cheerily. He points to a toggle switch by the door. “If there’s anything else at all, you can ask anyone in a blazer to look me up, or you can flip that. It lets the switchboard know we’re needed.”
“Brilliant,” Alec says, and tips the boy a crown. June thanks Arthur, who nods and smiles, telling Penny he’ll see her later.
“Well,” June says, her tone a bit dubious, looking around and stepping into the slightly larger of the two bedrooms. “This is pleasant enough. Awfully noisy out there, though.”
Penny says, “Daddy, what about me?”
“Your room is just here,” he says, leading her to the second bedroom.
Penny climbs up on the single bed. “Mummy?”
“Yes, love?” June meets Penny’s serious gaze. Alec smiles, watching them.
“Did you see the horses going ’round?”
June puts her head to one side. “Horses?”
“The carousel,” Alec says.
“Ah,” June says. “I did, yes. Aren’t they lovely?”
Penny nods as if this is the answer she’d expected. “Daddy, can we go on them?”
“I should think so,” he says. “Plenty of time. We have the whole week here, before we go to Fenbourne.” Penny accepts his answer, and yawns. Alec realizes with a pang how exhausted she must be even after dozing half the ride down.
“You were brilliant in the car,” he says. “Let’s have a bit of a rest, shall we? And then we can see what else is here.”
Penny nods. “Lie down, Daddy.” She pats the pillow next to her.
“Very well, darling,” he says, obeying. Penny lies down next to him, her thumb slipping into her mouth.
June regards them with a smile. “Okay, sleepyheads. You rest. I’m going to get a walk, stretch my legs a bit, if I can find somewhere at all quiet.” She leans down and kisses Penny’s forehead, then Alec’s, a strand of her hair falling against his cheek.
“We’ll see you soon,” he says. She nods and lets herself out, and Alec lies still, listening as Penny’s breathing evens out and she drifts into her nap.
* * *
• • •
For most of the week, time at the camp passes in a blur of dodgem cars and carousel rides, Penny perched on her wooden palomino’s withers and clinging to the pole in front of Alec. Despite the sporadic rain, they let Arthur guide them through the innumerable entertainments the camp offers, from the crowded lunch tables to the rickety carts like mining cars shimmying along the rails. Sometimes in the evenings, they leave Penny in the chalet to sleep, despite Alec’s vague concerns about the so-called Nurse Patrol, and go to the vast, hangar-like halls for the cabarets and dances. It’s been a long time since he’s seen June in a frock like this, or since he’s had to remember how to dance.
One day, Alec impetuously enters and then wins a ridiculous knobbly knees contest, his trousers rolled up to his thighs. Penny is beside herself, convulsed with giggles. But June’s bemused expression is rather less than Alec had hoped for. When Alec and Penny sign up for another round of follies, June begs off with the start of a headache. But for the most part, he and Penny and June are almost always together, like a planet with two suns, but right there, within grasp.
* * *
• • •
Friday morning Alec wakes up to a slow fog coming in off the sea. It seems like the kind of ground-heavy mist that will burn off with the sun, so he agrees when Arthur comes to find him at breakfast and suggests they go to the beach once conditions have cleared. Penny has heard from an older child at the playground that there are donkeys at the beach, and has been tugging at him for days about going to see them.
The North Sea is laid out before them, gulls and terns spinning on the breeze, waves grooming the horizon. Penny leads Alec and June over to the paddock where the donkeys are standing together, their ears back against the wind.
“I like that one,” she crows, pointing to one wearing a band across its brow that reads winnie. Alec eyes Winnie dubiously, but once he’s paid the fee and Penny has been lifted into the small, worn saddle, he feels more certain. Winnie is plodding and deliberate, and he and June walk her up and down the strip for a bit, Penny perched proudly atop the donkey.
“Such a princess,” Alec says, “with your noble steed.” Penny beams.
By the end of their afternoon with Winnie, their shoes are full of sand and Alec’s jacket pockets bulge with collected shells.
Alec has been happy here, the three of them together. It has been grand, despite the chaos, and he’s not eager to leave, though it’s clear that June’s interest has waned. The next morning, Saturday, they’ll continue the trek to Fenbourne. He has no idea how to feel about that and is glad not to have to suss it out in the next few hours. Penny is exhausted after the sea air and the excitement, and falls into a deep sleep almost immediately. June lightly brushes Penny’s pale hair away from her face, smiling, and goes to the sitting room, where she drops onto the sofa and pulls the low coffee table closer.
She’s brought two decks of cards in with her, and starts laying out a game of patience. Alec likes a game himself, but his are simpler affairs, with a single deck and a reasonable chance of success. June’s version is something she learned from Floss Corbett, who claims to have been taught it in a wartime bunker under Downing Street by its inventor, Winston Churchill. And even June, as brilliant as she is, wins only one hand in every four or five.
“I thought I might get a drink,” Alec says. “If you wanted to come along.” He glances at the cards. “I mean, before you really get started.”
June looks up from setting down the Devil’s Row, six cards that must be played in a particular order and can’t be used anywhere else in the game. “Oh, I thought we were in for the night.”
Alec frowns. “It’s just that it’s our last evening, and I’d hate to miss anything.”
Her shoulders tense. “I could do with half a moment without all those people, Alec. It’s been nonstop all week.”
“I thought you were having fun,” he says.
“Alec, all the balloon races and posing for photographs with strangers . . .” She sighs and turns away. “I’ve really tried to be a good sport about it all.”
“I hadn’t realized it was such a trial,” he says, a bit defensive, and startled by the intensity of her feelings.
She regards him sadly, her face tight. “I’m sorry. It’s not really my cup of tea, and I’m knackered.”
Alec studies her, startled and dismayed. “I suppose I thought this would be grand for the family.”
“It was a lovely idea.” She sets down the cards. “But why must there be a parade for the Home Counties? What does it matter if this set of people come from Kent and that set come from Bucks? Why must we all be forced to be friends for a week?”
“I don’t know,” he s
ays, deflated. “I thought the idea was to make the best of it, get away from our regular lives for a bit.”
“Well, we’ve succeeded,” June snaps. She rubs her forehead and picks up her cards again.
He blinks, stung. “I suppose you’d rather have stayed at work.”
She looks back up at him, opens her mouth to speak, and falters. In her hesitation Alec hears her answer. For a long, silent moment neither of them says a word. The distant sound of revelers drifts in, the noise only enhancing the silence between them. And then, without another word, Alec crosses to the door and leaves the chalet, the door clicking firmly shut behind him.
1957, Fenbourne
It has rained in the Fenlands too, and the landscape is thick with the clotty stink of mud and reeds. Bulrushes line the high-water ditches, their bristle brush heads crowned with dragonflies and buntings. The roads run as straight and flat as they ever have, and as the landmarks and miles tick away in her head June steels herself for the moment the lane becomes the high street and the village surrounds them. The drive from Skegness was only a couple of hours, and she wishes it had been longer.
She is still unraveling Skegness itself, the exhausting suburban rites of forced entertainments. She had been glad enough to try; she doesn’t begrudge Alec her time away from the university, exactly. And it had been good for Penny—so good, and June has loved watching her daughter make her way through the complicated world of the holiday camp. She thinks of Penny on the donkey at the seaside, the broken scallop shells Penny had collected to decorate a sagging castle, the sand slipping back toward the tide or lifted on the wind.
But the camp itself . . . The endless games, poor insipid Arthur . . . She had hated it, and she had tried so hard not to. But now that the week of Skegness is behind her, June can feel relief uncoiling in her belly even despite the tightness wrapped around her heart after her argument with Alec. He has hardly spoken to her since. She had been so tired, and the last thing she had wanted in the world was to go back out into the evening. Such a small request, really, and yet it had slid right through her reserves like a blade. She had snapped, and now here she is, redolent of the guilt of that dreadful moment as they drive through the afternoon.
