Big Low Tide

by Candy Neubert

  Out in the lane she remembers her shoes. She pushes back through the hydrangeas and feels about in the flower beds. Guilty as a thief she breaks out of the shrubs and runs away.

  It is almost one o’clock. The beer drinkers and the darts players have all gone home long ago. One car passes on the main road and in a distant lane Brenda flattens herself into a bush. If Peter had a car he would pick her up and take her home. Or if he should just walk by, he would pick her up and take her home.

  _____

  The doves trill on the roof. Patrick sets the table for breakfast, two bowls, two spoons, and the milk. Then he opens the second drawer under the cutlery and takes up the brown envelope that holds his father’s pay packet from last week. Often he has seen him slide the drawer, consult his envelopes and return them to their place. It is good money, the safe, solid money of potatoes and carrots ready to be exchanged for cornflakes and oranges and things from other soils. There are three crisp ten pound notes left. Patrick removes one and folds it into his pocket and closes the drawer. The tap drips into the sink; the doves trill on the roof.

  – Danny!

  – what?

  – come on, it’s ha’past.

  – coming.

  All day at school, the folded note is in his pocket. It has a voice of its own which only Patrick can hear. In the lunch break he locks himself in the toilet and unfolds the note, quietens it and slips it away again. Through the afternoon lessons it sits in the cloth at his hip, humming its soft little chant.

  After class he is away at a run, too quick even for Melissa. No one is waiting at home, anxious if he should be late, but he has never been to shop in St Stephen’s on an errand of his own before, and the thing is itching to be done.

  _____

  On still summer evenings the west coast paints an image of beauty and happiness. The Duncans walk from Les Puits down to the coast, Elsa too – drawn to the flat ink sea and the crusts of rock and the soft sun lowering down. Elsa sits on the slipway and Danny wades into the pools with a bucket while his father and brother row out to the boat.The Nan rests in water so shallow that they can see the crabs walk the sand beneath.

  – seems we’re almost done. Let’s get a second coat of varnish on the tiller. This weekend I should find out about that engine – then we’ll start loading up with supplies, eh?

  – I’ve got something for you, Dad.

  – ah! I wondered what you had in that bag of yours. Hey! Chocolates? What’s...

  – they’re your favourites.

  – they are.They are, right enough.

  – so you won’t just have beans and stuff.

  – just a minute – how long have you been saving your pocket money?

  – I found it.

  – found it?

  – the money. In the hedge. On the way to school.

  – just lying there in the hedge?

  – yes.

  – ah. Okay. Tomorrow morning we’ll have a walk along and you show me just where.

  – aren’t you pleased, Dad?

  – with the chocolates? Of course.Thanks, mate.

  – don’t ruffle my hair!Your hand’s all varnishy.

  – but we’d better take them back, all the same.

  – back?

  – to the shop.

  – what for?

  – it wasn’t your money. Someone’s missing it, maybe.

  – oh.

  – we’ll see.

  – there’s all flies stuck in the varnish.

  – poor little devils.We’ll sand them off when it’s dry.

  Later, when the grains of sand they have brought from the beach have settled into the carpet, Peter goes up to the room where the boys are asleep. Danny is curled with his face to the wall, Patrick on his back with one arm flung outward. For a while the father stands over each child. Then he goes back to the kitchen and opens the second drawer.

  sixteen

  – what’s the matter, love?

  – I’m okay.

  – quarrel with your boyfriend?

  – honest, Hen, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.

  – a bit tired! Jeez, Brend, you’ve got bags under your eyes I could fetch the shopping in.

  – aw, shut up!

  – Keep yer pecker up, eh? I can’t spare you tonight, or I’d send you home.

  – that better?

  – awful! Here’re your mates.They’ll cheer you up.

  – ’evenin’, ’Enry. Evenin’, Brend. Cor blimey, look at yer!You ’ad a barney with yer fancy man, you?

  – don’t you start, Franklin.

  – I don’ mean nothing, you know me. Aaah, th’s better. Nivver insult a lady that pulls a good pint.

  – you never remembers to pay for it, neither.

  – it’s our Michael’s shout, tha’s why. Oi, Mickey, me lad! Git yer ’and in yer pocket. You ’eard the news, Brend? She’s got ’im!

  – who?

  – gettin’ wed, ain’t they? Ain’t that right? October, prob’ly. First ’Amon to go under!

  – don’t listen to ’im; ’e’s wild wiv jealousy.Ta, Brend. ’Ave one yerself.

  – congratulations, Michael.When you bringing her in?

  – tomorra, if these two behave themselves.

  – course we won’t. Let the poor lass see yer in yer true colours, eh, Johnny? What do you say?

  – I say it’s the end of a great pool team.The ’Amons from ’Ell will never be the same.

  – don’t be daft. I’ll still be playin’ Fridays.

  – tha’s what you say, that’s what you say! No, sirree... You’ll be too busy fixin’ things...

  – an’ mowin’ the lawn...

  – at night?

  – yeah, at night! An’ feedin’ the baby...

  – what baby?

  – what baby, he says! You got a lot to learn, Michael! Lo, Bill. What you ’avin’?

  – pint top if yer don’ mind, Franklin. Congratulations in order I hear, Michael. Mac the Knife tol’ me. Good lass, is your Louise. Ta, Brenda. I came to see you boys about that Lister.

  – ah yeh. It were Brenda’s ol’ man that were askin’.

  – I hear you, talking about me.

  – nah, yer ol’ man.Want’s to buy Bill’s engine.

  – only maybe, like.

  – he on the phone, love?

  – what’s he want an engine for?

  – ’is pushbike, yer reckon?

  – very funny. Didn’t he say?

  – doing up ’is boat, ain’t ’e. Going off somewhere mebbe.

  – Brend! Need some service down ’ere!

  – right you are.

  _____

  He didn’t come into the bar; he wasn’t even waiting for her outside. There is almost relief with the disappointment – Brenda needs to be fresh for him, sparkling fresh and at her best. Now she is drained and hollowed out where she has wanted him, now, for more than a fortnight.

  She sits on the edge of her bed, peels off her clothes and hunches her shoulders. At this moment she might cut out of her life this no good thing – instead she wants the very opposite. Had she ever told him how she feels? Has she proved herself sincere, committed to him no matter what? No. So he too must be full of uncertainties. Perhaps he can’t see it clearly until she, Brenda, reveals it to him.

  The eyes of her sister-in-law have stared back at her since last night. Even those sudden breasts stare with their nipple eyes and connect with her own and her own dark ache.

  Soon after two in the morning there’s a knock on the door which she does not hear. She’s sleeping a restoring sleep, clear of dreams, but Mrs Pickery hears it and sits up in her bed. She ghosts into the next room and wakens her husband.

  – Wilf! Listen! Wake up! Wilf !

  – eh?You what?

  – shh! Listen!

  He blinks for a moment at her nightie and a happy memory almost asserts itself but not quite.Then he too hears the knock.

  – it’s ’im, come for ’
er.What a time to be a-prowling! Sixteen past two it is. I can’t quite see...

  – come away from the window, woman!

  There is an urgency in Wilf Pickery’s voice.The magazine he found in the next door’s rubbish last week is tucked behind the curtain.

  – there he is! I see him plain as day. Oh Lord – hark at that!

  Brenda wakes up now to the rain of gravel chippings on her window. She is dredged up from the thick of unconsciousness, running half awake to the door. He is here, of course. Of course he is here. Sleepily she falls back into bed, wrapping herself around him. This is having and holding, for better or for worse. He hasn’t taken off his shirt, silly boy.

  seventeen

  In the morning the boats have unloaded and half the catch is already sold from the market place before Brenda and Gerry stir. Mrs Pickery has passed Number 5 with her eyes straining, and now sits in the minibus on her way to the Co-op, annoyed that the news of last night’s late visit is a morsel not big enough to be worth telling.

  Brenda opens her eyes first and knows that they look puffy. She consults the mirror; yes, they are. She rearranges the pillows to support herself in a sitting position to help the puffiness subside, moving carefully, not to disturb him. She kisses his shoulder. She is as clear as a scoured-out bell. When he turns and slides a hand across her, she offers him anything in the whole wide world.

  – two sugars.

  – oh, you!

  She will do it, then. He comes to her for tea; he shall have tea.When he is fully awake but with the pockets of his mind still empty from the night, she will sense her moment and slip into it.

  – Gerry?

  – mnrr.

  – you know the kids?

  – mnrr.

  – school holidays next week.

  – and?

  – and I thought we could ask them to stay for a while at your place.They’d love the garden.

  – you getting all mumsy, are you?

  – no. I just thought it might be fun.

  – sure. I’m easy.Where’s my tea?

  _____

  Patrick is walking with his father along the back lanes. He never walks this way on a Saturday; everything looks the same, although it feels quite different. His father talks about nothing in particular, but the silence between his words is as loaded as a gun.

  Peter senses the drag in his son’s feet and wonders if he is doing the right thing. He doesn’t know how to bring this out into the open; he has not met deceit in the child before. He trusts him. He has the box of chocolates in a bag under his arm.

  – so where did you find the money – round here somewhere?

  – there.About there, I think.

  – sure?

  – not really... I... not really.

  Peter sits on a low wall and pulls the boy towards him gently.

  – Patrick.We’re past the turning to school and you said you found it on the way to school. What’s going on? Mm?

  – I just... I don’t know... I’m sorry.

  – hush. It’s all right. It’s all right. This going away bothering you, is that it?

  – we’re not.We’re not coming.

  – not?

  – it’s Danny. He wants... he doesn’t want... oh...

  – don’t cry. Here. Poor lad.What’s Danny been saying?

  – says he wants to live with him.You know.

  – does he now. And you?

  – you said brothers can’t be separated.

  – I did? I guess that’s so.What do you think? Patrick?

  – I don’t know.

  – come on. We’re sitting on a wall and getting ourselves into a bother. One more thing to do.

  – what’s that?

  – see if they’ll give you the money back for these.

  – me?

  – I think so, yes.

  – could you?

  – we’ll both go.

  _____

  The land has healing properties, and the tides can be applied like a leech to draw out poisons, maybe. But Peter sits in his kitchen, set apart from the earth and sea and the sureness of himself, and doubts if these things were ever sure at all.When the telephone rings he’s not surprised to hear Brenda’s voice; he almost believes that he draws her words fatefully down the line.

  – Peter! Hello. I want to take the boys tomorrow.

  – take them?

  – for tea or something.You know. Christ, any objections?

  – no objections.

  – what’s the matter with you?

  – nothing. Is that all?

  – no, it isn’t, as a matter of fact.They’ll be staying with me in the holidays.

  – staying with you?

  – I just said that.

  – not: can they? Or: would it be all right?

  – oh, if that’s quite all right with you, of course.They are my children too.

  – I hadn’t noticed.

  – what?

  – nothing. What about them?

  – what about them?

  – what do they want? Where will they sleep, anyway?

  – they won’t be at my place.We’ll be at Gerry’s.

  – ah.

  – Gerry’s very generous to them.

  – I know.

  – that’s settled, then.Tell them we’ll see them tomorrow after lunch.

  _____

  At midday he calls the children to the table, reminding Danny to wash his hands. He bows his head for a moment in thanks for the food. He pours tea and adds extra milk to Danny’s to cool it; he slices bread and they help themselves to bread and butter and eggs from the big red hen which are boiled and warm in the bowl. He asks Danny four times to eat with his mouth shut and twice to take his elbows off the table. In his head he sees horses pulling his limbs in different directions and knows that soon everyone will see the split.

  The boys clear the table and Danny runs outside and Patrick upstairs. He calls them back and says oh nothing and then says goodbye. He takes yesterday’s wage packet from his coat pocket and three bills from the Toby jug and divides the money between the envelopes. He lifts the oilskins from the hook and folds them into a canvas bag, adding a sweater, a woolly hat and a towel. He checks that the £10 is still in his pocket from the return of the chocolates. Then he swings the bag over his shoulder, wheels the bicycle out of the shed and rides away.

  eighteen

  In the bedroom Patrick lies on his bed with a book; Tintin and his dog run through the pages. Outside Danny stalks through the long grass waiting for a big black car, while in her room Aunt Elsa sleeps the sleep of the night walker.

  In town Mrs Pickery sorts out the ironing while her husband watches the 2.30 at Doncaster. Mr Chandramohan stocks up his fridge; Franklin and Johnny Hamon sleep in their chairs after a liquid lunch and Michael studies a catalogue of bathroom suites.All over the island men move up and down their greenhouses and lift their lobster pots and mow their lawns.They watch the afternoon sport and drive towards tearooms that smell of cigarettes and chips. Saturday afternoon.

  Brenda and Gerry arrive sometime after three.Who’s watching the time? Nobody yet.They step into the hall and Gerry runs a finger over the clock. Danny clatters in.

  – hi, Danny! Guess where we’re going.

  – his house!

  – not today.

  – when are we going to live with him?

  – what’s that?

  – next week.

  – they’re not coming to live with me.

  – you said!

  – for the weekend, maybe. They’re not going to live with me. Nobody is.

  – want to! Want to!

  – I don’t have anyone live with me. Especially kids.

  – just for the weekend to begin with, Danny.

  – not beginning anything! I’m not taking over your kids so don’t get any ideas. I don’t like kids and I never will.

  – Gerry!

  – and if you think you can change me th
en you’re making a big mistake.

  Elsa is slowly descending the stairs. She holds her gown about her with one hand and pushes her hair with the other. Brenda feels a lid flip up and all the little devils fly out.

  – I’m not letting the boys live in a house with her any longer.

  – her?

  – I know all about it.

  – what do you know?

  Danny looks from one to the other and makes a strange animal noise. He calls for his dad. Patrick, standing in the doorway of his room and drinking in every word, drops the book from his hand. His dad. His dad said goodbye. He runs down, three steps at a time, pushes past the grown-ups in the hall and out of the door.

  Past the wells and over the church wall is the quickest way. Through the churchyard and the hedge and the lane to the pine trees at the top of the hill and then down. Friday low water at five, clear the reef by three.Today low water six clear the reef by four. His watch says half past three just gone. Downhill his feet trip and skid under him and the cows slowly turn their heads. Brothers can’t be separated we’re not coming what do you think not if the law says otherwise keep it to yourself. Bye, son. Clear the reef by four. His watch says twenty to as he hits the flat road by the coast and the bay is hidden behind a hedge of tamarisk. His chest hurts as if it is packed with ice.

  Over the sea wall he sees the orange buoy floating over the mooring. It’s his job always to catch the rope with the boat hook as they drift in – he used to miss it out of nervousness but now he gets it every time. The Piqûre Rocks show their teeth against the sea; the Avaleur stands silhouette at the end of the cliffs.

  The boy leans on the wall to catch his breath.There is no sign of the Nan, or of his father.