by Alison Booth
He ran down the hill and into the drawing room without being seen by anyone. For several hours he scribbled and played the piano.
But afterwards he knew that the composition wasn’t right and he tore up the notes he’d written on the lined paper. So angry was he with this failure that he took the matches from the kitchen and set fire to the scraps of paper in the basin in the cloakroom. Slowly he burnt them, a piece at a time. The flames flickered, orange and blue.
It would be easy to burn himself, along with his disappointment. He put a finger in the fire. For several seconds he left it there. When the pain got too intense to bear, he flung the piece of paper into the basin. Perhaps it would be better to burn down Woodlands. He put the last few scraps on top of the burning paper and blew hard. They caught and flared. But in a moment it was over: the flames were extinguished, along with his anger.
All that remained was an intense self-loathing.
Chapter 20
Unwelcome sunlight fell on Zidra’s face and she pulled the sheet over her head. Several minutes later she felt strong enough to open one eye and squint at her wristwatch; already it was after ten and she’d slept for nearly ten hours. Going to the pictures did that to you, made you relax, especially a film like Gidget that she’d seen twice before. She and Sally had giggled about Moondoggie all the way home in the back seat of the Hargreaves’ car, until finally Mrs Hargreaves said – though you could tell she was joking – it was definitely the last time she was driving them into Burford.
Later, after a quick shower, Zidra dressed and found her mother in the kitchen. ‘I’ve invited Philip Chapman to spend a couple of days with us,’ her mother announced without any preamble. ‘Didn’t have a chance to tell you yesterday before you went out.’ She had her back to Zidra and was doing something complicated with the electric egg beater that involved measuring and whisking simultaneously.
‘Hmmm.’ Zidra decided to reserve judgement on this announcement until after a cup of tea.
‘You will be delighted at this opportunity,’ her mother declared, once she’d turned off the mixmaster. Deftly she folded some sifted flour into the bowl. ‘Can you believe that he has not yet been to the beach these summer holidays that will so soon be over? Tomorrow we will collect him. It is apparently not convenient for Mr Jones to bring him here.’
‘Do I have to come too?’
‘Is it not convenient for you either?’ She turned to look at Zidra rather sternly, her mouth a horizontal line.
‘It’s all right.’ Zidra knew it was always best to humour her when she was in one of these moods.
‘Afterwards I’ll drop you both at Jingera Beach for a while and return in the late afternoon. You will need to watch Philip of course. Then we will have a barbecue on the beach. All of us.’
‘Can I ask Sally too?’
‘Yes, of course. And Jim and Andy.’
‘Jim’s friend Eric arrived yesterday.’
‘Ah, the boy from Walgettt. Yes, we shall invite them all to the barbie.’
‘Barbecue,’ Zidra corrected. This abbreviation in her mother’s accent sounded quite ludicrous.
‘It will be convenient for Mr Jones to collect Philip, however,’ her mother said, ignoring the interruption, ‘after he’s stayed with us for several nights.’
‘You won’t get a look in at the piano, Ma.’
‘That won’t matter. I can listen to Philip all day and never tire of it. But he will come to us for a little holiday and not to practise all the time. It will be up to us to create distractions for him.’
Zidra eyed her mother with incredulity. She really meant it would be up to you. While Zidra was fond of Philip, there wasn’t much of the holiday left, and she certainly hadn’t planned on spending that time playing nursemaid to a ten-year-old. At that moment she remembered the little green elephant and Lorna. This, and the cup of tea, put her in a better frame of mind. ‘Sure thing,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and do some phoning about the barbecue.’
‘Barbie,’ said her mother, before switching on the electric beater again.
Such a self-contained boy, Zidra thought, sneaking a sideways look at Philip, who was sitting on a striped beach towel laid out on the sand next to her own. The others – Jim and Sally and Andy and Jim’s friend Eric – were still in the surf. Philip had become rather beautiful, she thought, with pale skin and short spiky blond hair. It was a striking combination with those asymmetric eyes and dark brown eyelashes. Surreptitiously she felt her own eyebrows. She’d plucked them for the first time that morning and hoped she hadn’t overdone it. A slightly surprised look was what her mother, who didn’t miss a trick, had said and added that it made her appear touchingly innocent. Zidra wasn’t sure she liked that. Sophisticated seemed more appropriate.
The thing about Philip was that he didn’t require you to talk much. In fact, it sometimes seemed as if he’d prefer you not to talk at all. Maybe that was because they’d known one another for so long and had played together sometimes at Woodlands. Nearly half of his lifetime ago, she’d given him the fossil that her mother had found, and he’d told her he still had it displayed in his bedroom. She liked that. While naturally you wanted to be valued for yourself, it was pretty good when your gifts were appreciated too.
The first hour after Zidra and Philip had been dropped off at Jingera they’d spent by the lagoon. It was when Zidra was watching Philip swim in the sheltered water that she’d heard Jim calling her name. So intent had she been on making sure Philip didn’t get into difficulties – he was rather a poor swimmer – she’d missed seeing Jim and the others walk over the footbridge. The boy from Walgett wasn’t someone you’d easily overlook. Pushing six feet tall, he was spattered with freckles that were golden rather than brown. These and his gingery hair lent him a glowing appearance. Involuntarily she’d pulled up the front of her swimming costume, without thinking that this would draw attention to that part of her anatomy most constricted by the bathers. Only afterwards did the boy from Walgett glance at her face – he had deep blue eyes the colour of the sky – and he’d grinned. When she saw that, she looked away at once, feeling she’d made a discovery, although whether it was about Eric or herself she couldn’t say.
Once Philip had tired of swimming in the lagoon, he’d insisted on showering under the standpipe near Hairy Harry’s canoes to wash off the salt. Dried again and in shorts and T-shirt, he was at last willing to catch up with the others, who’d already stationed themselves on the beach. Sally had wanted Zidra to go into the surf with them but she’d declined; it was clear that Philip wasn’t interested in surfing. He was content just to sit on the sand next to her and observe the waves, or at least that’s what he appeared to be doing. And listening to something too – the breakers or the gulls or some inner rhythm – and occasionally jiggling his feet.
Hugging her arms across her chest – the afternoon was becoming cool – Zidra watched the others emerging from the breakers. At once Andy fossicked around at the edge of the waves. Soon he picked up a long strand of seaweed and, flourishing it around his head like a lasso, began to chase Jim and Sally. Eric was not so easily distracted; he marched straight up the beach towards where Zidra and Philip were sitting. As soon as Philip saw him approaching, he lay down on his back on the towel and closed his eyes.
After spreading out a towel, Eric sat down next to Zidra.
‘What have you been up to over the holidays?’ he said, as if he’d met her beforehand and was resuming an earlier conversation.
‘Nothing much.’ She might have told him about Lorna if she’d known him well enough to gauge his sympathies. But just because he was Jim’s friend didn’t mean he’d share Jim’s views about Aboriginal people, and anyway some things were too private to discuss with strangers. The approaching trip to see Lorna at Jervis Bay, for instance. She said, ‘Reading and riding and relaxing. The three Rs.’
Eric laughed. ‘I haven’t been up to much either but that’s the best sort of holiday, I reckon, Zid.’
Effortlessly Jim’s name for her slipped off Eric’s tongue and she wasn’t sure she liked this. There was a moment’s pause, during which she wondered what Jim might have told Eric about her, while Eric ferreted around in the pile of clothes that had been discarded earlier. Eventually he retrieved from the pocket of his shorts a bottle of suntan oil. After spreading some over his arms and legs, he asked Zidra, ‘Can you rub some of this on my back?’
She could hardly refuse, although she couldn’t help thinking this should be done by someone who’d known him longer than half an hour. Anyway it was now late afternoon and even someone of his colouring would no longer burn from the sun. Yet in spite of these observations she wanted to do what he asked. She wanted to feel the texture of those golden freckles and touch the exposed shoulder blades. After glancing at Philip, still lying on his towel with his eyes shut – whether asleep or awake she couldn’t tell – she took the proffered bottle. She poured some oil onto the palm of her hand and began to apply it to Eric’s shoulders. His skin was warm from the sun. The golden down covering his back was so fine you would never see it unless you were this close. Evenly she rubbed the oil into his shoulders, over the shoulderblades and the vulnerable bumps of vertebra, stopping occasionally to tip more oil onto her palm. Slowly she worked down his long back towards the waistband of his board shorts. She stopped an inch short of these, and began to rub the oil remaining on her fingers over her bare legs.
Aware that he’d turned to look at her, she carried on rubbing her legs even after the oil had been absorbed. At length she stopped and caught his blue stare. It was impossible to halt the blush that started at the base of her neck and advanced up her face. She averted her eyes. The meaning of this moment was unclear, although it was significant in some way she had yet to determine.
As the others joined them, she wondered why he’d asked her to oil his back. If not for sun protection, it was to draw attention to his very beautiful body. Yet he was hardly someone who needed to adopt such stratagems: she couldn’t stop herself from returning to a contemplation of all that radiance, though was unable to decide if she was attracted or repelled by it.
Jim’s hand had somehow caught hold of Sally’s when Andy was chasing them with the skein of seaweed that he was brandishing about like a stock whip. Together they ran along the edge of the surf until Sally tripped and fell to her knees, dragging Jim with her into the ebbing water. Sprawled next to her, he saw beads of water trickling down her forehead and her dark hair spreading like seaweed in the shifting shallows. He was about to kiss her when Andy, confounded pest that he was, jumped shrieking over them both. At once Jim began to help Sally to her feet while Andy started to flail his legs with the seaweed. Grabbing it from him, Jim happened to glance up the beach and was therefore a witness to Zidra’s anointing of Eric’s back.
His stomach turned. That Eric might use the opportunity of their brief absence to good effect hadn’t occurred to him. Eric was far too old for Zidra and Jim should have warned her about him. He could have told her about the last school formal when, in spite of the close supervision, Eric had managed to snog three different girls in the space of one evening. It simply hadn’t crossed Jim’s mind that Eric would find Zidra attractive. She was two years younger, after all, and Jim still thought of her as younger even than that. Although these holidays it certainly hadn’t escaped his notice that her figure had developed, her face still had that mix of proud independence and innocence. Now he thought about it, this was bound to appeal to Eric, who would be certain to rise to such a challenge. All these thoughts sped through his mind as he guided Sally back up the beach towards the others.
He arrived in time to witness Zidra’s blush and the intense scrutiny that Eric was giving her, that look that seemed to make even the most clued-up girls go weak at the knees. The fact that no words were being traded gave the little exchange even greater import. Jim’s irritation at this tender scene manifested itself in a strong desire to kick hard at something, Eric preferably, even though he was his best friend. Instead he contented himself with hurling the seaweed he’d earlier confiscated from Andy as far as possible towards the sand dunes. Andy, like a determined dog in need of exercise, at once gave chase. You’d imagine Eric would behave himself in front of young Philip, Jim thought, even though the boy did appear to be sound asleep. Jim knew he’d have to keep a close eye on Eric for the rest of the afternoon and evening. That this might spoil his own developing romance with Sally served to increase his annoyance.
‘What’s up, Jim?’ Eric asked, grinning.
Zidra was so obviously avoiding looking at Eric that Jim became suspicious of her feelings; surely she wouldn’t be so foolish as to fall for Eric. At this moment she was smiling rather fatuously at the receding tide. Despite the presence of Zidra’s chaperone, as Jim now felt himself to be, Eric picked up a handful of sand and dribbled it over her ankles. She laughed and stood up to shake herself.
She is lovely, Jim thought with a sudden shock and realised that he didn’t want her this way. He didn’t want her growing up; it was one of those Jingera changes that he’d prefer not to happen. The town was diminishing, the old fixed points were changing, and Zid Vincent was no longer an androgynous child but on the threshold of becoming a young woman.
It would have been better for his peace of mind if she’d been more homely.
He sat next to Sally, who’d spread out a towel. She put her hand on his knee, a gesture that five minutes earlier would have filled him with delight. While he responded in a predictable way, and put an arm around her shoulders, he felt no emotional reaction. But there was only one week of holiday left and he needed to make the most of it.
Chapter 21
The pine cones in the fireplace in the Ferndale living room ignited easily, and blue and orange flames flickered around the kindling. Philip watched Mrs Vincent as she fed small pieces of wood into the flames. After a while they began to die back. That was when Mr Vincent got up from the sofa and started to rearrange the wood. She didn’t seem to mind but stayed kneeling next to him, smiling.
It had been Mrs Vincent’s idea to have a fire. There’d been a sudden cold change in the late afternoon and the temperature had dropped right down to fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit, according to Mrs Vincent and the thermometer on the back verandah. ‘What a marvellous excuse!’ she’d said. The fire also seemed to be a reason to bring them all together. He liked that about her, that she made a real effort for people. And the odd thing was that the sunburn made you feel hot and cold at the same time, so he was even gladder about the fire, though after a while it became so warm that they had to open all the windows again.
Once Mr and Mrs Vincent had got the wood burning to their mutual satisfaction, glowing but not flaming, Mr Vincent sat down again on the sofa. After Mrs Vincent slipped off her shoes and curled up next to him, he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
Zidra had got out the Monopoly set. Philip helped her put the cards in the right places but refused to be banker. He would have preferred not to play, but he could tell she felt responsible for his entertainment. Anyway Mrs Vincent had thought it would be a good thing and he’d got to know her well enough to see that she generally got what she wanted, although in the nicest possible way. Maybe that was because what she decided would happen was what everyone else wanted as well, but they just hadn’t quite realised it yet.
So it was with Monopoly. He began to enjoy the game after a while and luck seemed to be going his way. Soon he was amassing a small fortune in property, on all these sites distributed across London. That city to which his parents would be flying next week, the day after they dumped him off at Stambroke College. He tried not to think about it. Instead he focused on the moment, with Zidra teasing him about his property empire, and Mr and Mrs Vincent joining in, w
hile keeping up murmured conversation with one another and slowly sipping at the ‘postprandial snorter’ that Mr Vincent had poured for each of them.
Philip began to feel almost content. The first day away from Woodlands he hadn’t enjoyed so much, apart from that swim in Jingera lagoon and the time sitting with Zidra on the beach when he’d been listening to a piece of music that was playing in his head. Music based on the thumping of the breakers and the wailing of the seagulls against which a melody of haunting beauty had abruptly presented itself. Of course Eric had spoilt it all by making Zidra rub oil on his silly back and she, who should have had more sense, had gone all moony-spoony over him. Jim and Sally weren’t much better, and he’d been glad of the arrival of Mr and Mrs Vincent, with a hamper and a portable barbecue, that had put an end to all such nonsense.
Today had been much better. Zidra had taken him for a walk and they’d ended up on the beach near the homestead. He’d loved that, partly because she’d left him alone while she read a book. You’re not allowed to swim at this beach, it’s too dangerous, she’d said, but he didn’t mind that because he hated surfing and much preferred paddling about at the edge of the water and examining bits and pieces thrown up by the waves. When that had palled, he’d inspected the rock pools and those spiky things that Zidra said were sea anemones, and the periwinkle shells stuck to the rocks, and pink starfish and, in a deep crevice, even an octopus. Zidra had intervened only to make him keep his shirt and hat on. Mrs Vincent had given strict instructions to both of them about that, and she’d been right, because he had caught a bit of sun.
