Old Sins

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Do you do much of it?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Donna seems a very nice girl.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Have you been – together – for long?’

  ‘Hugo, I don’t want to be rude, but that really is none of your business.’

  ‘Miles, you are being rude. I was only being friendly.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So have you?’

  ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Been with Donna long?’

  ‘She’s in my class at school. Always has been. So in a way, yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  Miles, sensing Hugo’s sudden hostility, made a huge effort. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Yes, please, I would.’

  ‘OK, I’ll get some.’

  He came back with some iced tea; the Californian standard version. Hugo loathed it, but didn’t want to reject the peace offering. ‘Thank you. How nice.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘How’s school?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘How are the grades?’

  ‘Much the same.’

  ‘Not so OK.’

  ‘Depends which ones you’re looking at.’

  ‘I suppose so. But Miles, next year you’re going to senior high school, and then it’s only two years to college. Don’t you think you should try to pull up your grades all round? You know you’re capable of it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, Hugo, I will. When the time comes I’ll pull out all the stops.’

  ‘It may be a little late by then. You’ll have missed out on a lot of groundwork.’

  ‘No, I can make it up.’ He yawned. ‘Hugo, again, I don’t want to be rude, but my grades really aren’t anything to do with you.’

  ‘Well, Miles, they are in a way. I promised your mother I would keep an eye on you, and your grandmother turns to me in a crisis, and altogether I do feel responsible for you. If you flunk out now, and don’t get into college, I shall have to find you something to do. Or I shall be letting your mother down. So don’t make me do that, please.’

  ‘OK.’

  It was altogether a rather unsatisfactory conversation.

  ‘I think it’s his friends,’ said Mrs Kelly. ‘They’re all like that. No manners. Hang around the beach bars all the time. Never do anything constructive. I don’t think it’s healthy.’

  ‘I wondered if it mightn’t be better for Miles if you moved out of Santa Monica.’

  ‘What, right away? Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He would be really unhappy. He likes school. He loves the sport. He’d resent it bitterly.’

  ‘No, not right away, just out a little way. Out of the town. Say to Malibu. He loves the surf, he told me so, and he could stay at the school, you’d have to drive him in for a year or two, but you could monitor his friendships a lot more closely and he just couldn’t spend a lot of time with some of these undesirable, layabout types.’

  Mrs Kelly looked at him shrewdly. ‘That’s kinda sensible, Mr Dashwood. I like that idea. But I certainly don’t have time to look for anywhere.’

  ‘No, I’ll look. Don’t worry about that. You wouldn’t mind though? You wouldn’t feel you were losing your friends and social life?’

  ‘Don’t have any. Don’t like the folks down here. Never have. Affected, I call them. No, I wouldn’t mind a bit. And I think it would be good for Miles. I really do.’

  Miles was furious. Hugo drove him out along the Pacific Coast Highway, to show him the house he had chosen, an architect-designed wooden building, tucked high into the hillside off one of the small canyons, a few miles along from Malibu Beach. The view was staggering, a great sweep of ocean and head after head, taking in sunrise and sunset; Miles looked at it coldly.

  ‘I don’t want to move. I like it in Santa Monica.’

  ‘But Miles, this is a nicer house, and you have more room and you can surf whenever you want to –’

  ‘I can surfin Santa Monica.’

  ‘But the surf here is world famous.’

  ‘I don’t want world famous surf. I like the surf at home.’

  ‘And you will still be at Sarno High. You can still see your friends.’

  ‘Not so easily. I’ll have to go to school with Gran in the car and get laughed at. I just won’t come. I’ll stay with Donna. Her mom is always saying I can stay there.’

  ‘Miles, next year you’re sixteen,’ said Hugo, desperate at the hostility in Miles’ face. ‘I’ll buy you a car, then you won’t have to go with Gran.’ He could immediately see the folly of that one; the whole idea of moving was to make Miles’ friends less accessible to him. But it was too late; he had said it now.

  Miles looked at him shrewdly. ‘Can I choose what sort?’

  ‘Within reason, yes.’

  Miles shrugged. ‘I still don’t see why we have to come. And it won’t change anything. But I guess I have to say yes.’

  What nobody quite realized, not even Mrs Kelly, who cared for him, not even Donna, who loved him, was that Miles’ refusal to work at anything which seemed remotely unimportant and uninteresting was a direct result of his grief for his mother. She had taken with her, when she died, Miles’ sense of direction. He had coped with his grief, his loneliness, his need to look after himself, but he had been left a very bewildered little boy; he could get through the days, get himself to school, go out to play, talk to his friends, but anything which required any degree of effort was beyond him. For at least a year he survived on the most superficial level, with only his grandmother to provide all his emotional needs. She did her best, but she was a brusque, impatient woman; Lee had been endlessly affectionate, caring, thoughtful for him, and fun.

  By the end of the first year, he had learnt to manage without cuddles, treats, a concerned ear, a sense of someone being unequivocally on his side, and he had developed a calm self-sufficiency; but he had no emotional or intellectual energy to spare. Consequently, anything demanding he set aside; and by the time he could have coped with it, the pattern was too deeply established to change. And so he went on, as he had always anyway been inclined, doing the things he liked and which seemed to matter to him, and ignoring the things he did not; it gave him a very clear and pragmatic set of values. And there was no way he was going to set them aside and start working at literature or history because Hugo Dashwood or indeed anyone else told him to.

  Two years later, he was not entirely sorry they had moved. It gave him a certain cachet at school, living out at Malibu. And it was a nice house. And he had the car, The Car, jeez it was a good car, a 1965 Mustang, and the old Creep had bought it for him just like that. He and Donna had had a high old time in the back of that car. Just thinking about being in the back of the car with Donna gave Miles an erection. He still hadn’t exactly done it, not all the way, but Donna was so sweet he just couldn’t push her, and she was so patient and let him touch her up and wank at the same time, and kiss her breasts and everything. In any case, however much he complained to her, he knew that in his heart of hearts he wouldn’t want a girl who’d let him go all the way. The only girls that did that were tarts, and there was no way he was going to go round with a tart. Not now he was captain of the water polo team, and one of the best young surfers on Malibu beach. He had a position to consider. Not just anyone would do for him.

  And the way she’d looked at the Prom, the other night, in a kind of a gypsy dress, all red, off the shoulders, with a flounced skirt – well, Miles knew he’d certainly got the most beautiful girl in Santa Monica that night, and that he was the envy of not just his year, but the year above, the one graduating. He’d even wished for a minute he hadn’t insisted on wearing tennis shoes with his tux, just to make the point he was a rebel – but there it was, he had, and he certainly couldn’t go all the way home to Malibu to change.

  The summer stretched before him now; three whole months of surfing, and no school work or grades to worry about. The old Creep w
ouldn’t be over, because he only seemed to appear at important times, like the new school year, or Christmas; he’d tried to come and watch a water polo match once, but Miles had changed the date so many times, in his letters, that the Creep had given up, and said he’d try to come another year. He supposed he’d have to write and tell him his grades, otherwise he’d be on the phone, and then there might be a lecture, but he’d pulled up a lot lately, and he was still getting As for maths and languages. And Cs and Ds for the rest. Not bad, for absolutely no work.

  So tonight he’d drive into town, pick up Donna, and they’d maybe see a movie with some of the others, and then when they’d finished there they’d go off and neck for a while, and then drive down to the ocean and get some cheese cake and coffee at Zucky’s, because necking made you hungry, and then after that park down near the ocean, and neck some more. And then they’d have to take the girls home, and probably they’d all go over to Tony’s No. 5, and have some chilli fries and boast about their conquests on the back seats and finally get tired of all that and go home to bed. Miles smiled with pleasure and anticipation. Life seemed pretty good.

  She was on the beach at Malibu when he rode down on his bike later that afternoon. Just stretched out on the sand, with what was obviously a family picnic hamper by her. Miles thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful. She was blonde, curly hair tied back in a pony tail with a blue ribbon, a tipped-up nose all freckled with the sun and a curvy smiley mouth. She was deliciously pale brown all over – well, all the over that he could see – and she was wearing a pale sea-green bikini, cut so low on the bottom that he could just see the palest fluff of a curl of pubic hair. Miles swallowed, felt an erection growing inside his surfing shorts and hurried on.

  When he felt better, carrying his surfboard for protection, he walked back past her. She was still alone. He looked down at her and smiled. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Only for a moment. My parents are having a drink in Alice’s, and my brother is out there pretending he can surf.’

  She looked at the surf board. ‘Do you pretend or can you really do it?’

  ‘Oh, I can do it. And I can surf.’ He grinned at her; she blushed and looked away, embarrassed at the double entendre.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I get kind of used to just talking to the surfies here. I’ll go away if you like.’

  ‘No don’t, it’s all right. I was awfully bored. Do you live around here?’

  ‘Yeah, up in one of the canyons. Right up there.’ He pointed.

  ‘It looks wonderful. So romantic. What do your parents do?’

  ‘Oh, they’re both dead. I live with my gran.’

  He was so used to the fact by now he never thought of it upsetting anyone; he was startled to see her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Oh, how sad, I am so sorry.’

  ‘Well, it was sad, but I was real small when my dad died, and only twelve when my mom went, so I’ve got used to it now. Kind of,’ he added hastily, not wanting to appear hard-hearted. ‘What about your folks?’

  ‘Oh, they’re both in the film business. My dad is a director and my mom is a costume designer.’

  ‘I see. And where do you live, do you live in LA?’

  ‘We certainly do.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘In Beverly Glen.’

  Miles nearly dropped his surf board. Not in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought of even talking in a friendly way to a girl who lived on Beverly Glen. Beverly Glen, where some of the richest, most cultured, high-class people in Los Angeles had their homes. Beverly Glen. Real money, real real money.

  He realized she was looking at him oddly. ‘Sorry. I guess I looked kinda surprised. I don’t meet many folk from Beverly Glen.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t live at the real ritzy end. Just a couple of blocks up from Santa Monica Boulevard. I mean it’s nice, but it’s not Stone Canyon.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Miles.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Miles. Miles Wilburn.’

  ‘Joanna. Joanna Tyler.’

  ‘It’s been real nice to meet you, Joanna.’

  ‘And nice to meet you too. Are you hurrying off somewhere?’

  ‘No. But I guess your parents might not like you to be talking to a poor orphan from Malibu.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. My parents believe in democracy. My father is a socialist. That’s why they don’t send me to boarding school, and that’s why we’re here on the public beach and not on one of the snotty private ones, owned by half of Hollywood.’

  ‘So where do you go to school?’

  ‘Marymount High.’

  It was several cuts above Samo, but it was still a public school. Miles felt bolder.

  ‘Will you be coming here again?’

  ‘I don’t know. Depends how my brother gets on pretending to surf. Oh, he’s coming now. Tigs! Tigs! How’d you get on?’

  Tigs, thought Miles. What a bloody silly name. He smiled earnestly at the boy who was approaching them, carrying a brand-new surfboard awkwardly.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks.’

  ‘I told you it wouldn’t be,’ she said. ‘Tigs, this is Miles. Miles, Tigs, Short for Tigger, short for Thomas.’

  Miles couldn’t see how Tigger could possibly be short for Thomas, but didn’t like to say so. He shook Tigs’ outstretched hand.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Miles can really surf, Tigs. He could give you a few tips, I expect.’

  Tigs looked at Miles longingly. ‘Could you really? I’d be extremely grateful.’

  He sounded a bit like the Creep, Miles thought, or maybe it was the accent. He sounded East Coast, it was different from his sister’s. Anyway, he didn’t seem too bad, and ifit was going to make him a friend of Joanna’s, he would spend all day and all night teaching Tigs to surf.

  ‘Sure. Any time. Want to try now?’

  ‘In a minute maybe. When I get my breath back.’

  ‘Miles lives right here,’ said Joanna. ‘In the mountains. Wouldn’t that be great, Tigs? Tigs is a year older than me,’ she went on. ‘He’s at college now. Or nearly. Next year.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Miles.

  ‘Colorado.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Tigs loves to ski,’ said Joanna ‘and it’s not too far away from here, you see. Not like New York. So it seemed like a good idea.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to college?’ asked Tigs.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Oh, I guess Santa Monica College. That’s not too far away from here either.’ He grinned at them both. ‘Shall we try the surf now?’

  ‘Sure.’

  There were several things Miles was sure he could do better than Tigs; surfing was only one of them.

  If this was love, Miles thought, it was very uncomfortable. What he had felt for Donna had been much nicer. He had been able to concentrate on other things, and had never worried about what he ought to say or wear or do when he was with her; life with Joanna was initially one big anxiety.

  But it was worth it. Every time he looked at her exquisite little golden-brown face, her freckle-spangled nose, her surprised blue eyes, he discovered afresh where his heart was, for it turned right over, not just once but several times.

  What was quite amazing was that she obviously liked him back. Very much. Probably she didn’t love him, Miles couldn’t in his wildest, most self-confident dreams think that, but liking him was enough for now. He could tell she liked him because she was so friendly; that very first day she had insisted on him being introduced to her parents, and they were really nice too; her father was a tall, gentle man with golden hair and a shaggy beard, and her mother was small and sparkly like Joanna, with dark curly hair and a body that certainly didn’t look like it had borne two children. They had been terribly nice to Miles and talked to him for a whi
le, and then insisted he came and joined them for a drink in Alice’s, and when Tigs had asked him if he would maybe give him another surfing lesson soon and Miles had said ‘Yes, sure,’ they had said Tigs must bring Miles back afterwards for supper or a barbecue or something. Tigs was absolutely hopeless in the surf; he simply had no feeling for the sea, no concept how to even catch a wave, never mind get up on the board, but Miles didn’t care; indeed, the longer Tigs took to master the whole thing – and from where Miles was sitting, it looked like a lifetime – the longer he would need to ask Miles for help. So that was all right.

  He had been up to their house on Beverly Glen several times now; Joanna had been right, it hadn’t been one of the mega mansions, but it was still about five times bigger than any house Miles had ever been inside: a charming colonial style white house, with God knows how many bedrooms, every one with its own bathroom and Jacuzzi, and a sunken hall and living room with marble floorings, and what was obviously antique furniture, and a coloured maid who opened the door in a uniform, and a kitchen that looked straight out of House and Garden, and an enormous yard and a massive pool, and a tennis-court and three garages. Both Joanna and Tigs had cars: twin VW Convertible Rabbits.

  But the Tylers, for all their money, were just the nicest people Miles thought he had ever met; friendly, chatty, unsnobby, and so welcoming and generous.

  His grandmother had been very sniffy about the friendship: ‘People like that think they’re doing you a real favour,’ she said, ‘letting you into their homes. Don’t you get taken in, you’ll end up hurt and patronized.’

  But Miles didn’t see he could possibly end up hurt; the Tylers just seemed to like having him there. The house was always full of people anyway, friends and neighbours. He very quickly learnt where Joanna got her friendliness and charm; it came from growing up in a household that was one long party. He found himself there more and more, and not just after he had given Tigs a surfing lesson; they invited him over every Sunday for barbecue lunch, and Joanna very often asked him to come and play tennis; he had never learnt the game, but he was naturally gifted at all sports and in weeks was playing better than a lot of the other kids who were there.