by Penny Feeny
‘I see,’ he said, although he wasn’t sure that he did.
‘So anyway,’ said Julia. ‘Here’s the number. When you ring it you’ll speak to a woman called Teresa Hogan and you’ll tell her you’re paying for a week’s rental of Dolphin Cottage. Oh, and if you’d settle up with her for the nights I’ve spent in her B&B.’
He made a note of the number and tried to calculate whether he would need a temporary overdraft. ‘You should ring Bel too, you know.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘I might not have time this afternoon and she needs to know you’re okay.’
‘Fine, I’ll do that. I’ll speak to you later. Bye, darling.’
*
Strolling home from the station, Matt was looking forward to the restoration of normality and devoting time to his son. He wanted Danny to have more than he’d had as a child, so he lavished him with praise and attention, with small toys he’d pick up from the corner shop. He worried that Danny’s sense of satisfaction was shaky: there was a yearning in his wide brown eyes that never cleared for long. He seemed uncertain of his place in the world – beyond the sphere of his parents, at any rate – and he was shy with other children, which was why Matt was pretty sure he needed a brother or sister.
There was no reason why they shouldn’t have one more child, even if not the large brood he’d envisaged in his mind’s eye: a gaggle of little Wentworths jostling for his favour. Then, as he turned into his street, he was surprised to see them materialise in actuality: five children sitting on the low sandstone wall at the front of the house. He quickened his pace.
They couldn’t all be described as children, he realised as he drew nearer. The first two were adolescent girls, rhythmically chomping gum. One was Kelly, who’d come calling yesterday; the other was presumably a friend, wearing, if possible, an even shorter skirt. Her glowing coppery skin accentuated Kelly’s pastiness. Next in line, the brother, Nathan, was gripping the handle of a round bat attached to a ball on a length of elastic. Matt recognised it as one he’d recently bought for Danny. Nathan was hitting the ball with a regular staccato action and Dan was watching in admiration. The fifth person was not a child at all, but Bel. She was the only one who left her spot on the wall to greet him.
She slipped her arm through his and upturned her face. ‘I knew you were right,’ she said joyfully. ‘About Mum I mean.’
‘Well,’ he said, pleased with himself. ‘No need for the doom-laden scenario after all. She rang you then?’
‘Yes, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Fire away,’ said Matt. Then, seeing the four pairs of eyes staring at him: ‘Is something going on? Where’s Rachael?’
‘Oh…’ Bel squeezed his arm a fraction tighter. ‘She had to nip out. Some crisis over a christening that’s been moved to a venue that doesn’t allow outside caterers and she’s trying to talk them into a deal. I’ve been left in charge.’
‘But what are you doing here?’
Flicking her ponytail, Kelly spoke up. ‘She says we can’t go in the house.’
‘She doesn’t want to be responsible for other people’s children,’ said Bel. ‘It’s quite reasonable really.’ Though the way she arched her eyebrows indicated that she thought Rachael was over-reacting.
Matt looked at the teenagers. ‘Are you children?’ he asked.
‘No way!’ said Kelly in indignation. ‘Me and Sheba, we’re nearly fourteen.’
Sheba crossed one lean leg over the other friskily. Both girls – and the boy too, come to that – had an edgy tension about them, a smouldering that might leap unexpectedly into life. Matt had had a long day and although buoyed up with relief that the Julia situation had been resolved, he didn’t want to deal with any more demands. He wanted a shower and a shot of alcohol and maybe a silly mindless game with his son who was, unusually, ignoring him.
‘Hey there, Danny boy,’ he said. ‘Time to come in.’
Dan hesitated, but his new friends made no attempt to hold him back so he jumped off the wall and let his father ruffle his hair. Kelly, Nathan and Sheba stayed on their perches.
‘Don’t you want your bat and ball back?’ Matt said.
Danny rubbed his foot along the back of his calf and looked wistfully at Nathan. The boy carried on batting without a break in the rhythm.
Dan said, ‘No, Daddy, it’s all right. I’ve given it to Nathan. He likes it.’ He slipped his hand into Matt’s. Bel took the other. The two girls waved cheerfully and showed no signs of moving on.
Once they were indoors and settled on the sofa with a good view of the back of Dan’s head and a patchwork of cartoon characters hurtling across the television screen, Bel began, ‘Did Mum tell you she’s renting a holiday cottage in Kerry?’
‘Yes.’
‘D’you know why?’
‘Because her kitchen and bathroom aren’t finished.’
‘But… Kerry! Didn’t that surprise you?’
‘Yes it did. God knows what happened in France but there must have been a cock-up somewhere along the line. Shall we blame Leo?’
‘It’s like she’s doing a sort of stock-taking of the past, don’t you think?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Anyway, here’s the thing. She’s asked me to join her. She doesn’t want to be alone and she thinks it will be good for me. Help me get better.’
He grinned. ‘She probably wants you to be her courier, take her some more spending money.’ He couldn’t help finding it amusing, the notion of his efficient parent stranded and destitute.
‘Do you think I should go?’
‘Why not? Don’t you want to?’
‘I’m not sure, to be honest…’
In Matt’s view the opportunity for himself and Rachael to have some privacy was too good to miss. He said encouragingly, ‘It’ll be a break for you. What else are you going to do next week?’
‘Well, actually there’s Dad.’
‘What do you mean? Has he been in touch?’
‘We had this weird exchange of texts. I told him that Mum was okay. And he said he was planning to make a flying visit. Could he tempt me with quality time or a few drinks.’
‘He’s feeling guilty, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, I reckon. That’s what they rowed about apparently, him neglecting me. He made out he was coming to my rescue.’
‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
Bel scrolled through the messages on her phone and read the screen: ‘No worries, pet. I’ll have it out with them, fight your corner. Any idea what that means?’
‘Not a clue. Just tell him you aren’t going to be here.’
‘He says he’s setting up some meeting with the Tate too.’
It was typical of Leo to talk about a flying visit when half of Europe was trying to work through a backlog of cancelled flights and postponements – though he did have a feline knack of falling on his feet. Could he really slip ahead of the queue and into an aeroplane seat that other people had spent days trying to negotiate? It was a chance Matt was prepared to take. ‘Look, Bel, if he shows, he shows.’
‘You’ll handle him?’
‘Sure we will. Anyway, it’s more important to find out what Mum’s doing. You can play detective.’
‘Then tell me, how am I going to get there?’
‘Ireland?’
‘Yes. See, I’m skint.’
So this was the crux of it: another subsidy. But it was worth it. ‘Guess I could lend you a few quid. I’m already bailing out Julia. You can get one of those cheap rail/sail deals. It’ll be a long journey, but time’s something you’ve got at your disposal isn’t it?’
She beamed at him: the wide smile that hadn’t changed since she was a little girl, tugging at his sleeve, begging for his complicity in one of her schemes. ‘Thanks, Matt. I knew you’d come up trumps.’
PART TWO
Saturday Sunday
5
The Crossing
The rail track passed so close to
the sea Bel could have felt its spray on her face (if she’d been able to open the train window). She loved travelling. She loved the thrill of stations and airports, the notion of so many different destinations, so many different destinies. She liked to strike up conversation with fellow voyagers, people she would never meet again. And if they turned out to be dull, she would enliven the journey by creating an exotic persona for herself: investigative journalist, solitary yachtswoman, prima ballerina.
She had mixed feelings about the enterprise she’d embarked on, but it beat sitting around getting bored. Winkling a subsidy from Matt hadn’t been as difficult as she’d feared. He was so relieved at the low cost of the fare and so mortified about cancelling Julia’s credit cards that he’d given her a wodge of notes. ‘Whatever you don’t spend on the journey, you’re to give to Mum,’ he’d said. ‘And she can pay me back. It’s not carte blanche to drink yourself silly on the boat.’
‘Fuck off, Matt. I already told you I’m not supposed to drink at all.’ (Although Guinness was such a healthy iron-rich product it was almost medicinal. She thought even Julia might allow her to make an exception for Guinness.)
She’d stashed the money in her wallet, which had bells on it so no thieving hand could slip into her bag and withdraw it without her noticing. That was another aspect of frequent travelling: you could pick up some useful tips. Rachael had lent her a suitcase on wheels. It was a very Rachael suitcase, an expensive and floral Cath Kidston. Nobody could look at Bel and the suitcase and think they belonged together. Nevertheless, the combination of its bright pattern and Bel’s purple jacket and red leggings offered a splash of colour to the dismal docks of Holyhead. North Wales was absurdly tame compared to Sudan, its palette restrained to half a dozen shades of grey: slate, graphite, pewter, gunmetal, steel, dove. It was quiet and thinly populated and no one was walking around with a rifle slung casually over their khakis.
She trundled through the terminal and onto the high-speed hydrofoil. When the engines started churning and the ferry nudged into the Irish Sea, she prowled its corridors in search of something to spark her interest. Unrewarded, she joined the queue at the sandwich bar and bought a hummus wrap, which tasted like paste rolled in wallpaper, and a mug of green tea.
She sat down at a table. Around her, fruit machines juddered and flashed; war escalated between two toddlers; an old couple struggled with a crossword. She couldn’t pick out anyone interesting to talk to. She’d deliberately stowed her headphones away so people wouldn’t think she was trying to shut the world out. Bel was keen to engage.
A small black face popped above the rim of the seat in front of her and rested its chin on the padded red plastic. The child’s hair was braided in neat cornrows, her eyes were round as toffees and she reminded Bel of the kids she’d been working with, who’d been so cute and enthusiastic, so eager to improve their English. When the little girl’s tongue flickered through the gap in her teeth, Bel’s tongue flickered too, licking her lips with brio. The child was delighted. For several minutes they held each other’s gaze and played the copycat game, mimicking every dart and quiver until, abruptly, the head disappeared.
Bel waited for a few moments to see if this were a new phase of the game. Then she rose to tip the debris from her lunch tray into a disposal bin and check the neighbouring booth. It was empty. If even a six-year-old kid had been bored by her company, how could she expect to keep herself entertained? She loitered by the pulsing games machines to absorb some of their warm energy. She fished in her purse for change, pulled the lever and rang up three lemons. A shower of coins toppled into the tray. It took her about ten minutes to lose them again, but there was still nearly an hour to kill.
Beyond the bar at the back of the boat she noticed outdoor access to a limited deck area. She pushed through the doors and leant against the rail, letting the wind lift her hair from her face, inhaling the salt tang of the sea. A man in a leather jacket was also leaning out, gulping air. He had his back to her, his collar was turned up and his knee was bent, raising his foot so she could see the sole of his trainer worn thin. He turned his head as if he’d felt her stare piercing him. It would be too awkward to look away, to pretend to be fascinated by the horizon or the creamy wake of their progress, so she met his eyes and smiled. He smiled back, but then left his spot to return inside, walking in an oddly rigid manner, as if he were in pain.
Before he reached the glass doors he stumbled, or else some motion of the hydrofoil caused him to lurch towards her. The collision took her by surprise. They reached out simultaneously to steady each other, hands on arms. Bel wasn’t easily embarrassed. She laughed and apologised, joked about her feet – her red ankle boot inter-locking with his trainer. His face wore an expression of alarm.
‘Are you okay?’ They both stepped back, a little clumsily.
‘Sure,’ he said in a soft Irish whisper, but then bludgeoned away from her into the bar, leaving Bel with the feeling that she was toxic. He had dropped a cigarette lighter, as they tangled, an orange cylinder that fitted neatly into her palm when she picked it up. She wondered if there was something in the air to cause his bizarre behaviour. Causing other bizarre behaviours, come to that. Some chemical in the volcanic particles that encouraged a certain freakishness?
She began to spin a fantasy to herself, compelling enough to drive her back to her seat and take out the notebook she devoted to her graphic novel ideas. As she sketched she became aware of breathing at her elbow, the light quick breathing of a child. Bel’s pencil halted; she looked up. It was the little girl again and this time she spoke, a faint twang of south London in her voice.
‘What are you drawing?’
‘I’m drawing a story.’
‘Is it about me?’
And Bel saw that, inadvertently, she’d sketched a character with a headful of dainty plaits. ‘Would you like it to be about you?’ The child nodded. ‘Then tell me your name.’
‘Clementine Alice Beaumont.’
‘Hey, cool! Is that Clementine after the fruit or the song?’
‘It’s for my granny, but you can call me Clemmie.’
‘Okay, Clemmie. You can call me Bel.’ She glanced around for a handy parent. ‘Where’s your mum?’
‘She’s not on this boat – she’s not coming.’
‘Oh… right. So who are you with then? Your granny? Your daddy?’
‘He left me,’ said Clemmie in a matter-of-fact way. She was a tidy well-dressed child, a vision of pink candyfloss; she didn’t look the type to mislay parents. Nor was she rattled. ‘My daddy was being sick,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘Yeah, I can see that would be tricky. Is he in that Gents over there? Does he know where to find you?’
‘What’s going to happen next in your story?’
‘Well, everybody’s been breathing magic dust,’ Bel explained. ‘And it’s made short people grow very tall and it’s given some people special powers while others have sprouted horns or started speaking in strange languages and—’
‘Have I got special powers?’
‘Sure. What would you like them to be?’
Clemmie considered. ‘I want to fly,’ she said at length. ‘We was going to fly on an aeroplane. I never been on an aeroplane.’
‘Well a boat can be fun too, you know. Let me draw you some wings. Do you want little fairy ones or big feathery wings like a bird or an angel?’
Naturally Clementine Alice Beaumont chose angel wings. She flapped her arms. ‘Like, massive!’
They were both engrossed in watching the soft plumy strokes of the lead pencil, the cross-hatch shading of the sky, the little earthbound figure soaring like an eagle into flight. As Bel worked, they debated the content of the next frame: how would Clemmie use her magic powers? Gradually they became aware that the other passengers were gathering their belongings together, getting ready to disembark.
‘Watcha know,’ said Bel. ‘I think we’re nearly there.’ She had assumed that at some point the child
’s parent would arrive in search of his daughter. It seemed preferable to keep her safe and occupied rather than hand her in like lost luggage. There was a risk that a monstrously irate father would come and bellow at her, but hey, he’d just been vomiting – how scary could he be?
What concerned her more, as families funnelled themselves towards the stairs to the car decks, was that no one appeared at all. Surely the guy couldn’t have forgotten her? Was it possible that his illness wasn’t seasickness but something more serious? Wouldn’t the crew have noticed a body passed out in the toilets?
‘I’m going to have to take you to the help desk,’ she told Clemmie.
‘Where’s that?’
‘It’s near where you board if you’re on foot. Or did you come in a car?’
‘In a car.’
‘Okay, well maybe we should go and find it then.’ Curiously, the tannoy announcement she kept expecting never came. ‘I can’t think why he isn’t looking for you. Can you remember what make of car it is?’
Clemmie shook her pigtails solemnly. ‘No.’
‘But you must know the colour,’ persisted Bel. ‘Haven’t you ridden in it loads?’
‘No. Just today.’
This was becoming troubling. ‘He is your dad, isn’t he? You do live with him?’
‘No.’ Then she added, ‘It’s my uncle’s car.’
‘What, is he like a real uncle?’
Clemmie cocked her head as if she were giving this some thought. ‘I don’t know. What d’you mean, real?’
‘Oh Lord…’ Bel took the child’s hand and patted it. ‘Well, you’d be related to him by blood. You might even look a bit like him. Whereas if he was your mum’s boyfriend…’
