“Absolutely.”
Sue shrugged. “Very well. I’ll leave your lunch on a plate in the fridge.” In a way she was relieved: the irritation of watching Steps mooching around sulking all day would spoil the picnic for everyone.
“Are we walking across the common to the beach, or taking the car?” Stephen called from the utility when he heard her return to the kitchen. He was assembling rugs and towels.
“Let’s take the car, we’ve far too much stuff to carry. Roddy and Debbie can cycle which will make a bit more room.”
Debbie’s red curls popped round the kitchen doorpost. “Okay if I go with Justin in his car? He’s taking it so we can pop back for a set of tennis if we feel like it.”
“Will there be room for me?” Roddy joined her.
“Well, it is only meant to be a two seater.”
Her brother, who had not yet acquired four wheels although he was old enough to drive, looked disapproving. When he got a car it would not be some dangerous-looking sports job which could decapitate you if you rolled it at the speeds Justin enjoyed. “Perhaps, Mum, you wouldn’t mind taking my bathing things in the car. I need a new saddlebag.”
“Bobbie,” Stephen called as he opened the car door for the prancing dogs, “Where’s your shrimping net?”
“With my bucket,” the little one replied from the garden.
“Well, put them by the car.”
“I can’t. I don’t know where they are.”
Debbie giggled. “I’ll help him look for them.”
*
Stephen wriggled down on the rug and lay his head in Sue’s lap. “I’m absolutely stuffed,” he murmured. “Those were gorgeous sandwiches. What was in them?”
Sue wrinkled her nose at him, making her sunglasses bounce. “Egg mayonnaise, ham, tongue, salad. You name it. I don’t know which you had.”
“Anything I could get into my mouth before Troilus willed me into sharing it.”
Having checked the entire party for fallen titbits, the dog returned to his chosen rockpool where he lay in the cool, chin on a large boulder. Cressida stood over another pool, ears perked forwards, snout at the ready to pounce on passing cabous.
“Daddy! Do you want to come shrimping?” Bobbie asked.
Stephen groaned. “I’d love to,” he lied, “But do you mind if I have a little nap first?”
“All right.” The sun-tanned child stood in front of his father in a little red bathing suit, white cotton hat tugged on to his head, askew. “How long?” he sighed. “Five minutes?”
“Fifteen,” Stephen bargained.
“Ten,” Bobbie pleaded.
“Done.”
There was a distinct huff from under the little sunhat. After all, ten minutes was nearly half the afternoon.
“Shall we take him shrimping?” Debbie whispered to Justin.
Shrimping was not Justin’s scene. He rolled away from his tennis partner. “You take him. I need a snooze.”
*
The tide was rising fast by the time they all returned to their picnic spot from their cricket match on the sand. Sue was feeling particularly proud of herself having caught Johnny Tetchworth off his third ball. Justin had clean bowled his mother after she had scored twenty-one runs – she had played cricket at her boarding school and was quite good. Aunt Filly stumped Roddy, quite by accident, but was delighted with all the praise from her team mates, and Debbie and her grandfather, Greg, were the top scoring partnership until hopeful enthusiasm had her run out, leaving Greg on twenty-nine not out and ankle deep in water.
“Let’s move the gear on to a higher level and then swim off the corner rocks by the cabou pool as it fills,” Stephen suggested. Everyone agreed and started to pack their things, except Bobbie who was shrimping again, and Troilus and Cressida who maintained a watching brief to ascertain whether the next action would be in the water, which they loved, or in line of food, which they loved even more.
A long path of pinkening sunlight shimmered across the bay to the group of swimmers, as the great orb sank towards supper time. Thin wisps of cloud were painted across its face, underlining the stillness of the evening, little birds were chirruping in the brambles above the beach, and far out on the rocky headland gulls were mewling.
Greg floated as though sitting in an armchair, with young Bobbie clinging to his shoulders. He was wishing that his beloved Sarah could have lived to enjoy this precious time with their grandchildren. Debbie watched her Adonis climb on to a rock, make an easy, shallow dive and swim towards her with lazy, effortless strokes.
Aunt Filly stood on a rocky outcrop to throw Cressida’s ball into the water. The slim Golden Retriever bitch leapt from the rock to swim after it, grab it, and return to Filly for another throw. Filly slid into the water with a squeal of cold shock, hurled the ball as far as she could without ducking herself, then made for a distant rock where Hilary Tetchworth sat contemplating the evening sun.
The sunset was still warm on Sue’s face. It had been a gorgeous day, one of those still hot days when one heard strange rumblings almost like distant thunder, together with tremors, known locally as Les Canons des Isles. A happy family day. Stephen was treading water beside her. Feeling his hands caress her skin, Sue was reminded of that other time, so many years ago, when they had first made love in the sea off the Buttes. Underwater, their legs entwined and, as his mouth sought hers, she hoped the gathering dusk would conceal their continuing lust for each other.
Afterwards, with jumpers pulled over their heads and huddled together for warmth, they pooled the remaining food and flasks of tea, while the tide lapped and turned just a few feet below them.
There was a faint, snoring sound. Bobbie was fast asleep, wrapped in his bathing towel between his parents.
*
Driving down the road towards La Rocquette de Bas, the peace and tranquillity of the evening was shattered by the Beatles. Ringo Starr’s drums reverberated through the neighbourhood from Stephanie’s open window.
Sue shook her head. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered. “She’ll waken the dead!”
“Who is going up to turn it off? You or me?” Stephen asked.
“You,” Sue said very promptly. “She’s going through a phase of ignoring anything I say. And anyway, I’ve got to put this little chap to bed.” She smiled down at the child asleep on her lap.
Stephen was reluctant to enforce discipline on his stepchildren but knew he must back Sue, not duck his responsibilities towards her first brood. He strode upstairs and along the landing to the offending noise and knocked on the door. There was no response so he went in, straight to the turntable and switched it off.
“Hey!” Stephanie protested angrily, rolling off her bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What’s more to the point is what do you think YOU are doing? That racket can be heard for miles. You really must show a little consideration for others.”
“Like not charging into other people’s rooms and interfering with their things.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!”
“Why not? You’re not my father. I don’t have to put up with this.”
“I am in loco parentis and therefore you do have to put up with it.”
Stephanie ignored him and replaced the needle.
“Very well, if that’s your attitude you leave me with no alternative.” Stephen switched off at the wall, removed the plug from it’s socket and, with his penknife, cut through the wire, pocketing the plug.
A stream of tearful abuse followed him down the stairs.
*
“Do you think there’s any chance she’ll grow out of this phase?” Sue asked Sybil. She had always idolised her older cousin, was ecstatic that she had returned to live in the island, and loved to pop in for tea and gossip whenever she could get away from her domestic scene at La Rocquette de Bas.
At forty-nine, Lady Sybil Banks remained enchantingly beautiful: shoulder-length blonde hair, fading only s
lightly, the Gaudion green eyes lively under thick honey lashes, while high cheek-bones and full lips, together with a statuesque figure, belied her age. Having joined the ATS at the beginning of the war and proved herself a competent driver, she had been assigned to Brigadier Gordon Banks as chauffeur . . . and eventually accepted his proposal of marriage. He rose to General, was duly knighted and when he retired they bought the old family home from the Gaudion estate, installed some overdue modern improvements and settled happily into island life. Although Gordon was more than twenty years her senior, Sybil sometimes found it hard to keep up with his almost youthful enthusiasm for life. He was a large man with a shock of white hair and bristling moustache, but was entertaining and unassuming company.
A wristful of narrow gold bangles tinkled as Sybil poured another cup of tea each. “Of course she will, providing you don’t get your knickers in a twist every time she flexes her wing muscles,” she laughed. “Don’t get so uptight, Sue. Stephanie is preparing to fly the nest. It’s a natural process that we’ve all been through.”
“Have we?” Sue looked dubious.
“No. Come to think of it I don’t suppose you did. You fell out of your nest at the tender age of ten.”
The troubled mother laughed. “You can say that again! And went through agonies trying to scramble back in again after the war.” She grimaced. “Failed miserably.”
“Do you ever think back to how awful it must have been for your parents, losing you twice? They must have been shattered when their darling little girl returned and they realised she bore no resemblance to the one who had evacuated in 1940.”
“The whole concept struck home quite forcibly when first Roddy, then Steps reached the age of ten. It must have been sheer hell for Mummy.” Sue sipped her tea and gazed into the flames in the grate. “But I had never thought about her losing me twice, till now when you mentioned it. You’re right. It must have seemed like that to her. And to Dad in a way, though I always thought he was far more philosphical and understanding.”
“Greg is a far more laid back character than Sarah was. Then most men are on emotional topics.”
“Mmm.” Sue nodded, thinking what a calming influence Stephen was. “Most of the time. But there was one almighty bust up a couple of months ago when Stephen finally gave up trying with Steph and cut the plug off her turntable.”
It was Sybil’s turn to laugh. “That must have reduced the pop volume, somewhat.”
“Temporarily. Why they have to deafen themselves and everyone around them I cannot think. Much of it isn’t music, anyway.”
“To fill the void between their ears, I imagine. But it’s the ghastly, Carnaby Street clothes that the kids are all wearing now that defeat me. They are so grossly and deliberately ugly.”
“Who are you two gels tearing to pieces today?” demanded Sir Gordon from the sitting room doorway.
“Youth is the target. Modern youth.” Sue told him.
“Ain’t what it was in our day, huh?” He lowered his bulk into an armchair. “Any more tea in that pot?”
“Of course, darling. I brought in an extra cup in case you joined us.” Sybil poured, then passed him the plate of tiny sandwiches.
“I’ve come over for a moan about my elder daughter, Stephanie,” Sue explained.
“Roderick is the oldest, isn’t he?” Gordon asked.
Sue nodded. “And Debbie the youngest.”
“Then she’s probably suffering from middle-child-itis.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“Definitely. My mother used the term to my father to excuse my more appalling bouts of behaviour as a boy.” He stared at her with a very serious expression. “I don’t suppose you were aware that I ever was one.”
Sue returned the stare. “We-ell, now you come to mention it . . .” She tilted her head on one side, grinning. “Anyway, I can’t imagine you behaving that badly.”
“Huh!” Sybil snorted. “Why the devil do you think they shoved him into the army, if it wasn’t a last ditch attempt to knock him into shape?”
“Really?” Sue brightened. “I wonder if that would work with Stephanie?”
The general shook his head. “Doesn’t work with women,” he teased, with a sly look at his wife. “There’s the proof.”
*
The subject of this discussion arrived home from school in a bad mood. Another bad mood. Miss Clarke had given her a Conduct Refusal for talking with Vanessa in class. Admittedly she had had three warnings, but that didn’t mean it was fair to make her go back to school on Thursday afternoon. She had arranged to go for a walk with Tony – now someone else would snap him up. And he was so-o gorgeous. Together with a gang of her classmates, she had met him down at the bus terminus in Town. An insurance clerk sent to collect tickets from the airline offices on the South Esplanade, Tony was only too happy to chat up the bunch of girls in their attractively short gymslips. One girl who seemed to be older than the others – she was certainly the tallest – looked at him in a way that left him hopeful of making serious headway with her. When he asked her if she would like to go for a walk next Thursday she had not hesitated. They were to meet again at the terminus and walk down to the Bathing Places, if it wasn’t raining or blowing an easterly gale. In which case there was always the back row of the cinema.
Stephanie tore off her uniform and slung it at the chair: it missed and fell in a heap on the floor where it would remain until next morning, unless Mum came in and made a fuss. But Mum was out at the moment. Good, it must be Bobbie’s Cubs night. She rummaged in her schoolbag for the Beatles single that Caroline had lent her, put it on the turntable and turned the volume up to maximum.
She was eating a large sandwich in front of the television in the sitting room when her brother came in.
“What the hell are you doing?” Roddy shouted from the door.
“Eh? What’s that?”
He strode angrily across the room to press the Off button.
His sister shrieked. “Put it on again, I’m watching!”
“You’re welcome to watch when you’ve been upstairs and turned off that beastly racket. You cannot possible have both on at the same time.”
“I most certainly can! Go away and mind your own business, Bossy Boots.” She leapt out of her chair, barged him out of the way and switched on again.
Before she got back to her sandwich he had turned off again. “When the whole house is rocking with vibrations from your darned pop music, it is my business. I cannot concentrate on homework when I’m being deafened.” He strained an ear towards the door. “Isn’t that the phone?”
“I’ll get it.” The girl hurried to the door. “It’s probably for me.”
“You can bet your sweet life on that!”
“Hallo?”
“Stephanie?”
“Yes.”
“Hilary Tetchworth. Could you possibly lower the volume, please? I’ve been trying to talk to my mother on the phone, she’s in England you know, and I cannot hear a word she is saying.” The voice was polite and moderated but the irritation was clearly evident.
“Oh! Sorry,” was the curt answer, “I’ll do it now,” and the receiver was promptly replaced. “Silly old bag. Why didn’t she close her windows.” By the time Stephanie reached the top of the stairs Paperback Writer had been reduced several decibels . . . by Roddy. For once his sister didn’t complain.
*
“I do wish there were some indoor tennis courts over here,” Deborah moaned. “Whenever I get a chance to play in the winter it’s always pouring with rain.”
“Sod’s Law,” Stephanie explained, spreading her porridge evenly over the plate without actually eating.
“Why don’t you play badminton during the winter season?” Roddy suggested.
“Because it would wreck my game. Totally different action.”
“Oh.” He turned over the page of English Political History without actually listening to the reply.
“Please don’t rea
d at the table, dear,” Sue admonished. “Against the house rules.”
“I suppose our conversation is not sufficiently intelligent for him.” Stephanie pushed her plate aside.
“Yours certainly isn’t!”
“What is the matter with you all this morning?” their mother demanded. “No one has made one pleasant remark yet!”
Deborah pushed back her chair to run and hug Sue from behind. “Darling Mumsie! Are we all being perfectly horrid?”
“Oh, spare us the mush!” her sister muttered.
“Anyone want a lift in to school?” Stephen got up from the table.
“Yes please!” Deborah pranced after him to the door.
Stephanie looked out at the October rain, debating whether to get soaked waiting at the bus stop or forego the possible pleasure of seeing David on the bus and arrive at school dry. Well, David wasn’t that attractive anyway. “Yes, I’ll come with you if you like.”
Sue glanced up at Stephen to assess his reaction to the condescending offer. Apart from the suspicion of a wink, his expression didn’t change. She smiled with relief. He was such a dear. And everything would be so marvellous if only Steph would be a bit nicer to everyone. And if Roddy wouldn’t treat all life’s little incidents like major disasters, and if Debbie would only take up some other sport in the winter instead of mooching round the house looking totally lost.
Still, they were just one, big, happy family.
Weren’t they?
And so lucky. One never knew where tragedy would strike next: it was hard to believe a whole year had passed since the Aberfan disaster last October. Even now her eyes would fill with tears when she recalled hearing it on the news – a whole generation of village children had died, one hundred and sixteen of them, crushed and suffocated to death under an avalanche of coal slag.
*
“Please help me get the extra leaves into the dining-table before you go off, dears.” Sue poured milk over her cornflakes, and waited.
There was no response.
“Well! Don’t all shout at once!”
“I can’t keep Justin waiting. He’s coming round with some friends for tennis.” Debbie grabbed her toast and pushed back her chair. “So if you’ll excuse me . . .?”
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 53
