Facing the Light

by Adele Geras

  ‘I haven’t a clue what they talk about,’ Rilla continued, when she’d recovered a little. They slept together, she knew that much, but Gwen refused to discuss it. She believed such things were personal and private and shouldn’t be talked about. Perhaps, Rilla thought, she’s got a point. I wouldn’t like her to know about me. About this. She went on, ‘He’s foreign. Well, not really foreign, only his people come from Spain. He’s called James Rivera. He’s quite nice actually. Good-looking and everything. Can’t think what he sees in Gwen.’

  ‘If she’s anything at all like you,’ Hugh said, ‘there’s no mystery.’

  Rilla shook her head. ‘She’s the good one in the family. She only ever does what Mummy wants her to do, and she’s very quiet and not at all like me. I’m all over the place. You have no idea how hard it is at school with teachers going oh, you’re not a bit like Gwen … why can’t you be more like Gwen … till I’m sick to death of hearing it. She’s one of those people, you know, reliable and kind and good with animals and that sort of thing. And she and Mummy get on much better than we do. Me and my mother, I mean. I don’t really know why. I can see that I annoy Mummy sometimes. She does her best to hide it, really, but it comes out every so often.’

  ‘I can’t imagine anyone not adoring you. Just can’t imagine it,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Oh, she adores me, I expect,’ Rilla said. ‘But she gets annoyed all the same. It’s what I told you. I’m not in the right family. Maybe I’m a whatsit. A changeling. The fairies came and stole her real baby away and left me instead. They’re often redheads, aren’t they? Changelings?’

  Hugh stubbed out his joint and lay back on the pillows. Soon, he was snoring slightly. He was always doing that, Rilla reflected. Men just naturally fell asleep quickly after sex. She’d read about it in books. I’m good at it, she said to herself. I’m good at sex. The thought made her happy. She became a different person when she was with Hugh, and it wasn’t just the sex, which, okay, was brilliant, and which nothing she’d ever read described properly at all. She liked it better than any other thing she’d ever done. She felt shiny all over, and as though her body had a slight electrical charge going through it whenever Hugh touched her. Even when she wasn’t with him, thinking about what they did together while, for instance, she was sitting at breakfast across the table from her mother, made her blush and go hot all over. Once or twice, Leonora had actually asked her if she was all right and she’d had to find some excuse for the sudden redness flooding her cheeks and neck. While she was asleep, she dreamed about him, and woke up sweating. There was one night when she was longing for him so desperately that she could hardly catch her breath. She’d actually started up out of her bed and begun dressing, ready to creep out of the house in the early hours of the morning and run and run all down the drive and through the village and into his cottage and up the stairs and into bed beside him before he was even awake. But she sank back on to her own bed in a storm of desire and despair, knowing the row it would cause if she were not in her place at breakfast.

  Also, maddeningly, some of the days when she could have been with him she had to spend mooching around at Willow Court because he was up in London. He came for two or three nights a week and occasionally for a weekend and that was all. Soon the holidays would be over, and then she’d hardly ever see him. How was she going to concentrate on her A-levels knowing he was just a few miles away? Perhaps she could leave now? Just never go back for the Michaelmas term? All she wanted to do was go to drama school, but even though she’d begged and begged her mother, Leonora was unconvinced that acting was a suitable career, and insisted that her daughter stay at school long enough to notch up what she called ‘proper qualifications’.

  On Hughless days, which was how she thought of them, she found that she was actually missing Gwen. There was no one to talk to, and she spent hours pacing the grounds, walking round and round the lake, sometimes reciting speeches from Shakespeare out loud.

  ‘“Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out Olivia!”’ she declaimed to the swans, who passed in and out of the willow branches that dipped into the water, but they weren’t really listening. No one listened to her like Hugh did.

  Rilla was quickly aware that she’d never before had conversations like the ones she had with Hugh. They talked about everything: books, music, his work. He told her things. He asked her opinion and often agreed with her. He thought she was clever. She loved to watch him as he made his pots. He would throw the clay on to the wheel and stroke it into beautiful shapes till she was nearly mad with wanting to touch him. He warned her off.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, young Rilla,’ he’d say, and go on stroking and stroking the wet shape, pulling it and pushing it till it became what he wanted it to be. ‘Just be patient. It’ll be good when it comes, I promise.’

  And when he kissed her, there in the little shed behind the cottage where the wheel was, his hands – greyish and chalky from the drying clay – on her hair or her back, she sank into her own pleasure and felt herself falling and dizzy and maddened by wanting him so much.

  Rilla got out of bed and went to the window. She drew back at once behind the curtain, because there was that nosy Mrs Pritchard again. It was almost as though she came past the cottage deliberately when Rilla was there. Is she spying on me, she wondered. Does she know anything? No, of course she can’t. If I ever meet her and she says anything, I’ll make some excuse. Tell her I’m buying a vase or something for Gwen’s birthday. Silly old woman. She was actually looking up at Hugh’s bedroom window. What a cheek! There wasn’t anything wrong with what she was doing. Some people would say that Hugh was too old for her, but how could he be when they loved one another so much? When their bodies fitted together as though some creator had carved them from the same block of flesh, so that when they made love they became one person? Ten years wasn’t much at all. In fact, her father was much older than her mother, so Mummy couldn’t possibly object, could she? Of course she couldn’t. So why didn’t she take Hugh up to Willow Court and introduce him to Leonora? She didn’t really know, but there was something specially wonderful about the fact that Hugh was her secret and she wanted to keep him all to herself, for a little longer at least. Of course, once he asked her to marry him, he’d have to be introduced to the whole family, but till that day he was just hers and no one else’s. She slipped back into bed and began kissing the top of Hugh’s arm, where it became his shoulder. His skin was golden and smooth. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  ‘Know something?’ he murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re a very greedy little girl, that’s what.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how greedy I am.’ She could hardly speak.

  ‘Show me, then,’ he said, and turned over to kiss her, covering her body with his.

  *

  Hugh stopped being Rilla’s secret on the day of the Summer Fête at the church. She’d tried to get out of going but she couldn’t try too hard or her mother was sure to be suspicious. Perhaps, she thought, as they trailed round in the hot sun from one stall to the next, he won’t come. Maybe he’ll just think the whole thing is too stupid for words, like I do, and stay away.

  She walked slightly behind Leonora and smiled and said hello to everyone they met as they made their way around the Vicarage garden. Mummy knows everyone in the village, she thought, and just has to stand and chat to them and let them bore us all silly with their ramblings. Who gives a shit about the size of Bill’s marrows, or how inspired the White Elephant stall is this year?

  And, wouldn’t you know it, Mrs Pritchard was running the cake stall, which was Rilla’s favourite. She stopped in front of it for rather longer than she ought to have done and was just about to pay Mrs Pritchard for a scrumptious-looking meringue when everything happened at once, as though the whole thing had been choreographed. Her mother came up on her left, Hugh came up on her right and Mrs Pritchard just had to say, ‘Oh, L
eonora dear, what an amazing coincidence! Here he is! The young man I was telling you about? The one who’s taken the Albertons’ cottage. You know Mr Kenworthy, Rilla, don’t you?’

  Then there were all sorts of clumsy introductions, with Leonora saying how pleased she was to meet him and Hugh likewise and lying through his teeth and muttering about having meant to ask Rilla to take him up to Willow Court because he was such an admirer of Ethan Walsh’s etc. etc. till Rilla was dizzy. Then Hugh went off in one direction and Leonora and Rilla in another and she hadn’t even had her meringue.

  Typically, Leonora said nothing about Hugh till they were at home. Rilla didn’t know what to do. Would it look better if she said something? Or should she just shut up and let Leonora wonder? She decided to leave it till suppertime and see what happened and, sure enough, she’d hardly taken one bite of her cold salmon salad when Leonora said, ‘He’s rather good-looking, isn’t he, that chap who’s taken the Albertons’ cottage. I’ve forgotten his name.’

  ‘Hugh Kenworthy,’ said Rilla, thinking liar! You’ve just done that to hear how I say his name. She went on eating the salmon in a wonderfully nonchalant manner, awarding herself top marks for good acting.

  Leonora went on, ‘D’you know him very well? You’ve not mentioned him, have you?’

  ‘No,’ said Rilla. ‘I don’t know him terribly well. He’s a potter. He chatted to me about the pictures in the shop, and I’ve had coffee with him a couple of times, that’s all.’

  Leonora said nothing, but looked at her daughter searchingly for a moment. She’s putting two and two together, Rilla thought. All those hours and hours that I’ve been out of the house. Can she guess? I mustn’t look nervous. I must change the subject.

  ‘You ought to ask him to come up here sometime,’ Leonora said. ‘Why don’t you invite him for lunch next Sunday? Gwen and James might be coming up then, I think, and you could all have a game of tennis or something.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rilla. ‘I will. That’s a good idea, only I don’t know if he plays tennis or not. I’ll ask though.’

  The rest of the meal passed without incident, and when it was over Rilla went to her room. Jeffrey, one of what she still thought of as the new cats, the ones who’d replaced their beloved Cinders, was asleep on the velvet-covered chair. He was a handsome tabby, and his companion and brother, George, was black all over. George was an outdoors sort of cat who never came upstairs at all. Rilla stood at the window and looked at the lake, silver in the early evening sunlight. She imagined herself and Hugh walking beside it, his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, picturing his mouth and how it tasted on her mouth. Turning from the window, she fell forward on to the bed and pressed herself into the counterpane, fancying his body was between hers and the silky fabric, almost conjuring it up, so fervently was she wishing it.

  *

  ‘It was vile! You were vile! I’ve never hated a day more in my life. Why did you have to …’ Rilla was screaming at Hugh. Part of her mind registered the fact that this was their very first row, but that didn’t matter. She was so angry that even her love couldn’t stop her.

  ‘Stop it, Rilla!’ Hugh was trying his hardest to be soothing. It was making things worse. ‘You’re blowing this up out of all proportion. What actually are you so het up about?’

  ‘You don’t know? You’re seriously telling me you don’t know?’ They were still in the lounge of the cottage. Normally, the moment she came through the door, they started kissing and were halfway upstairs before a word had been said, but not this time. ‘I can’t see straight. I don’t know what to think. I can’t believe you didn’t realize.’

  ‘Didn’t realize what exactly?’ said Hugh. He was sounding bored. How dare he sound bored?

  ‘You didn’t realize when you were swarming all around my mother and sister that you were hurting me? You didn’t even look at me the entire day. We could have been strangers, just people who mean nothing to one another. I couldn’t bear it. How you kept talking and talking to Mummy as though she was the most fascinating person in the whole world and I was nothing. You even disappeared with her for hours. What were you doing? How d’you think I felt? You didn’t say a single word to me from the minute you arrived till when you left. I had to go through a whole day with you and not even touch you once …’ Words failed Rilla and she burst into tears.

  ‘Come here,’ Hugh said, and gathered her into his arms. ‘You are a silly thing, Rilla darling. Did you really want everyone to know what I feel for you? Did you? Don’t you think your mother might be a little – what shall we say? – upset to discover what her little girl had been up to while she wasn’t looking? Your mother very kindly took me up to see Ethan Walsh’s Studio because I’d expressed an interest in the man. That’s all.’

  ‘I wouldn’t care if people knew about us!’ Rilla said. ‘I’d shout it out if I could. I’d love it. I’d tell Mrs Pritchard. Everyone. I’m not ashamed. Not a bit.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he murmured, kissing her on the lips, on the neck, touching her breasts, distracting her from her anger, making it impossible for her to think straight any longer. ‘I know you’re not ashamed. Still, it’s better not to rock the boat, don’t you think? Aren’t things good? Isn’t this good?’

  Rilla said nothing. She felt the fury slide away from her. Her body wouldn’t let her keep it in mind any longer. Never mind, she thought. He was pretending to be nice to them. He loves me. I can feel that he does, oh he does, he does, he really does and I’m going to faint because I love him so much.

  *

  ‘Rilla, dear,’ said Leonora. ‘I think we should talk.’

  Rilla was so surprised to hear her mother say this, actually ask to speak to her, that she stopped on her way to the door. Could someone have had an accident? She was going to see Hugh but still, maybe there was an emergency.

  ‘Of course, Mummy, is anything wrong?’

  ‘No, not in the way you mean. But come to the conservatory just for a few minutes.’

  Rilla felt a little frightened as she sat down. All around her chair there were enormous pots and vases from which her mother’s jungle plants overflowed and clambered, spreading their green leaves over the glass walls. What did Leonora want from her? It couldn’t (could it?) be something to do with Hugh? No, surely not. One of the best things that had happened this summer was how well Hugh fitted into life at Willow Court.

  Since his first visit, he’d come up often. Partly Rilla was pleased, because it meant that she, too, just like Gwen, had a boyfriend, even though hers wasn’t recognized by everyone as being officially with her. The disadvantage of having him constantly at Willow Court was that they had less time alone together. Less time for sex, Rilla said to herself, although there was the night they went to the gazebo after swimming in the lake and stayed there till the dawn came up. She sometimes wondered whether it was normal to want sex so much. There was no one she could really ask, except Hugh, who always laughed at her and said something silly, like you couldn’t possibly be too eager for my liking or something. Nothing that told her whether it was normal. She never asked about other girlfriends he’d had before he met her because she didn’t want to hear about those. He hadn’t said anything about marriage. In fact, he hadn’t even said he loved her, which worried her sometimes although she’d heard that some men just didn’t like saying the words, whatever their feelings might be. Rilla knew from her careful reading of magazines that weddings were not a subject to be broached lightly and so she never said anything either, but of course she’d already arranged the furnishings of their house down to the last detail, in her imagination.

  ‘It’s about Hugh, I’m afraid,’ Leonora said.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is he all right? Has he had an accident?’

  ‘No, no, darling. Nothing like that at all. Please sit down again.’ Rilla had jumped out of her seat. She sat down and stared at her mother.

  ‘What’s the matter with Hugh?’ she said.
<
br />   ‘I’m going to ask you something, Rilla, which I wouldn’t normally ask but please don’t think I’m interfering. I just have to know, in the circumstances. Have you slept with him?’

  Rilla blushed and knew that the blush had given her away. I’m not ashamed, she told herself. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. She looked up at Leonora and said, as bravely as she could, ‘Yes, yes I have.’ She waited for lightning to flash, some sort of cataclysm to match the enormity of the news, but Leonora only sighed.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I thought so. This is going to be hard for you to understand, darling, but I’m afraid all that’s over now.’

  ‘What’s over? I don’t understand. How can it be over? I was on my way to see him. What? How?’

  ‘He won’t be there. He’s gone back to London. He won’t be coming down here again.’

  A pounding started behind Rilla’s eyes. Don’t lose control. Keep calm … she told herself, over and over again. When she spoke, her voice came out in a strangled squeak that she hated, but it was such an effort holding on to herself, not crying. She said, ‘Mummy, if you’re going to say hurtful things, you have to explain. You can’t just sit there and announce that he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t leave me. He loves me. I know he does. We love each other.’

  Leonora shook her head.

  ‘He’s been taking advantage of you, Rilla. There’s no easy way to say this, but he’s … he’s dishonest. He’s not what he appears to be. Truly. For one thing, how old did he tell you he was?’

  ‘I know how old he is. He’s twenty-seven. And you can’t say a word either because that’s how much older Daddy was than you.’

  ‘Hugh is thirty-four. He looks younger, that’s true, but he really is.’

  ‘That’s not true. How do you know, anyway? Did he tell you? How d’you know he’s not lying to you, about being older? Not that it matters. I’d love him anyway.’