A Bit of Earth (17 page)

Judy approved wholeheartedly of Max's beachcombing. She wouldn't mind spending the holiday doing it too. Would he swim in the sea as well? Would it be warm enough there at this time of year?

Even in December, she was still part of the early morning congregation of swimmers, the faithful of 8 a.m. She could have held her own in the medium lane, but preferred the ambience of the slow, well away from the ridiculous testosterone-fuelled, splashing show-offs in the fast. Up and down she went, forty lengths a day. She planned to be one of those hardy old ladies, braving the breakers in their cossies at places like Eastbourne and Ayr.

Her already neat hair was turned into an even neater swimming hat by the water. Her round little head bobbed up and down as she swam, as sleek and amiable as a seal. Judy rarely went to the pool on her birthday (September 1st) because she had made a promise to herself that she would do everything in her power to swim in the sea each year on that day. It was a promise that she managed to keep. Sometimes she was abroad with one of her sisters, usually on a French beach, but there had been Italian, Bulgarian, Portuguese and Spanish birthday swims too. If she was by herself she would drive to somewhere nice in Dorset. Lyme Regis was a favourite. Once there had been a terrible storm on her birthday. She considered swimming anyway. There were twenty-foot waves crashing onto the promenade at Bournemouth, threatening a floral clock. Swimming would be suicide. She thought about it, then laughed and sat in the car
by herself and ate her salad straight out of its Tupperware box. She had a Thermos of strong black tea and listened to the lunchtime concert on Radio Three. She stood in the salt wind and the rain until she was soaked. Then she drove home and drank whisky in the bath and felt sad, but only until her niece Jemima phoned, saying that she was back early and alone from the family holiday. Would Aunty Judy help to sort out her university application?

They went to Pizza Express and Jemima explained how she had realised that she didn't want to study Archaeology that badly any more, she wanted to do Fine Art. Judy promised to help her through Clearing, and did the very next day.

Sometimes when Judy swam or paddled in the sea she thought of the water swirling around the planet. How long would it take to get from Cape Horn to England, if of course it came that way at all? She thought that Eduardo or Eduardo's friends or family might be swimming in the sea at the same time. Chile wasn't that far away really. Sometimes she thought that maybe he was not dead or disappeared. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to stay in touch. Perhaps he'd had a wife and children back home all along. She had been nothing but a dalliance to him. So what if a visiting poet and lecturer had an affair with an impressionable young academic. There was nothing new under the sun.

Of course she had written to the university where he'd been based. It was the only address she had for him. She heard nothing back, but found out that it had been temporarily closed, and many appointments had been terminated. She tried phoning but there were no numbers that
worked. If by some chance, probably by misdialling, she did get through to anyone, they had no idea what or who she was talking about. There was no news. Then she realised that she might be endangering him, phone calls from a foreign woman, a known leftie and academic at a foreign university. One day a packet arrived containing some, but not all, of the letters she had sent him. They had been opened, of course. How strange, she thought, that somebody considered it worth returning them to their sender. Why not just sling them on a rubbish heap, incinerate them along with some books? It had a horrible Nazi finality to it. Unless of course it was he, or his possible wife, who had sent them back to her. She still couldn't bear to think of what might have happened to him, that he might have been tortured to death, or shot in the back or the head or through the heart.

But might he not be alive, with grandchildren and a vineyard? Could it be that one day she would see him again? Oh, what a stupid, stupid, naive woman I am, she thought, and forced herself, yet again, to think about something or somebody else.

Often when Guy was too tired to work, but couldn't sleep, he read online journals.
The Drifting Seed
(a journal about seeds and fruits dispersed by tropical currents, and the people who collect them) was a particular favourite. He liked little local websites of places far away that detailed sightings and habitats. It seemed that there were so many plants that he would never see. His own work wasn't really going that badly. He was contributing three chapters to an undergraduate textbook. His latest paper was nearing completion, though he didn't know if anyone would want it. Late at night he found that he couldn't have any more useful thoughts, or any thoughts at all that he wanted to entertain, but he still didn't want to go to bed.

So his late night Amazon habit grew. He endlessly filled and emptied his basket. Sometimes he clicked on books that he'd contributed to. They had pitiful Amazon rankings somewhere in the hundreds of thousands, or were marked ‘This item is difficult to obtain', although it seemed that there were plenty of people out there ready to part with their copies. No matter. As the sole author of
none of them he didn't need to feel too acutely ashamed. Sometimes he would actually order books, and they often travelled from across the world to reach him. He decided that he would do all of the Christmas shopping for Felix this way too. Perhaps he could get a consignment of happiness, a new mum for Felix, maybe a new life. In the New Year he would pluck up the courage, get his act together and ask Miss Block out on a date. Maybe a date that involved Felix so that nothing could possibly happen. Yes, he really would. He resolved to be ready for Christmas this year as well.

That first Christmas Guy had only remembered about stockings on Christmas Eve, once all the shops were shut. He had plundered his desk and the kitchen cupboards for suitable items, and come up with a ball of string, boxes of paper clips and drawing pins, a stapler in the form of a silver tortoise that he hoped Felix had never noticed before, a packet of envelopes, some cake decorations and balloons, which fortunately didn't bear the number of some bygone birthday. Thank God for the satsuma. Guy could recall putting in a couple of them, and an orange and an apple, and several pound coins. Dear God, what sort of a father was he?

Months later he had come across a box hidden under the bed. It contained a number of highly suitable things, as well as some Thomas the Tank Engine wrapping paper. It seemed that Susannah had kept a secret stash of spare presents. He turned them over and over, looking for clues, but even the receipts stored with them yielded up no evidence, apart from the fact that she seemed to buy toys in sales and books in three for two promotions at
Waterstone's. He used the whole lot at Felix's next birthday. That one had been a blip of success.

Christmas was almost upon them. The university term had ended. School had finished. Guy attended the Christmas assembly accompanied by Erica, who wanted to see Felix reading a poem he had written about aardvarks visiting the manger. Erica wore a red velvet dress with a square neckline. Guy had never seen her wearing a dress before. He thought that he should not comment on it. The teachers hadn't realised that Felix's poem was satirical. But the audience did. Erica and Guy glowed with pleasure as Felix read, and were so proud when he instinctively knew to pause for the laughter. The parents of Mary and Joseph in the Infants thought that their children were the stars. Guy and Erica knew better. The assembly had started at two o'clock, so they were allowed to go straight home afterwards. Felix gently swung his PE bag with one hand, and with the other he reached out to feel the velvet pile of Erica's dress.

‘Daddy,' he said, ‘can Erica come round on Christmas Day?'

‘I expect she's busy,' said Guy, without even looking at her.

The thought of providing some sort of standard Christmas for anyone else filled him with horror. She might expect him to cook a goose or something. It wasn't that he and Felix would just have a frozen roast dinner each. He had got a bit better than that; but he suddenly saw the house as someone else might see it – the bags of things in the hall,
the layers of dust and cobwebs (which he thought were not now getting any thicker), the lack of the right sort of stuff in the kitchen, the piles that never got moved. Anyway, the end of the table where he and Felix ate was only just big enough for the two of them. He would have to clear some space if anyone wanted to join them. There were bags and bags of seeds, dry crackles of brown paper, strung everywhere. Perhaps these could be passed off as environmentally friendly Christmas garlands. Then he realised that of course Erica wouldn't mind them. But upstairs! In his bedroom he had piled boxes and boxes of Susannah's things into the fitted wardrobe. It was all neatly sorted, but he didn't know what to do with it. Though of course Erica wouldn't be looking in there.

No, there was no possibility of anyone spending Christmas with them.

Anyway, how could a girl like Erica not have a boyfriend? Guy remembered seeing her with someone. What about that biker? He was doubtless her boyfriend; but of course Guy didn't know for sure. Erica's love life was not the sort of thing they ever talked about.

Erica saw his discomfort. She certainly didn't want any awkwardness, or for Guy to think she might have designs on him.

‘I always go and stay with my parents at Christmas,' she said.

‘Well,' said Guy with undisguised relief, ‘that's settled then.' But it was only December 19th. Erica knew that she would see Guy and Felix again before she left for her parents' house and Christmas with the large and jolly family. Neither she nor Guy could bear to be away from
work or the garden for that long. And there were hellebores coming out.

The next day her rucksack was extra bulky. As well as the sandwiches and so on, she had some parcels for Felix. There was a Swiss Army knife (that really cut), a compass, a book that she loved,
The Lord of the Forest
by B.B., and some Horrid Henry books which she thought would add a bit of frivolity to Felix's life. In another bag were boxes from the bakery containing gingerbread reindeer and chocolate truffles in the shape of Christmas puddings. She hadn't got anything for Guy. There was also a secret bag of crazy things from the Hawkins shop – slime from Mars, round dice, a tin monkey playing the drums that she was informed was for adult collectors only, a sparky-flashy wheel, things like that – and she told Guy that they were for Felix's stocking.

Judy had had the same idea, and came to find them in the garden. It was jolly cold in the greenhouse. She hoped that Guy wouldn't keep Felix there too long. She sent Felix to put some fresh water on the bird table. Once he was out of earshot she said:

‘I haven't brought over Felix's actual present, because I was wondering … it would give me great pleasure if you could spend Christmas with me. If you aren't busy, of course.'

Guy thought about whether they were busy or not. It seemed that he was more or less free for the next thirty or forty years.

‘That would be great,' he said. ‘Felix would love it, and so would I.'

‘Come for lunch, and stay for tea.' She would be able to
use the new William Morris print herb-filled tea cosy that had arrived in the post that morning, an early Christmas present from some nieces who were off skiing.

‘Well, thanks, if you're sure.'

‘Absolutely.'

‘I'm afraid I'm a vegetarian,' Judy told him.

‘That's fine with us. Anything's fine with us. Felix once said that I only ever make him things to do with breakfast.'

‘I'll write down my address.' Judy took a neat little red notebook out of her bag, and then a neat little blue enamelled pen, the same blue as her cat brooch. ‘Come about quarter to twelve,' she said. ‘I know from my nephews and nieces that children can't wait for their food.' Before Felix returned from the bird table she gave Guy the bag of stocking presents. Here, he thought, is a woman who does everything right.

‘Guess what, Felix? We're going to visit Judy on Christmas Day.'

‘Cool,' said Felix. ‘I've always wanted to go to someone's house on Christmas Day. Can I see your cats, Judy?'

‘Of course.' Now, she thought, I had better get a tree.

Guy found that there were only a couple of duplicates in the Erica and Judy Father Christmas things. He put them in a box under his bed for future use.

Felix and Guy arrived early, but Judy was ready.

‘Wow,' said Felix. ‘Your house is amazing!'

‘Thank you,' she said, pleased, and hugged him. She thought that it was really very ordinary, just a Victorian semi-detached cottage.

Everywhere Felix looked there were interesting things. Some of the walls, in the gaps between the pictures and the books, were painted as yellow as sunflowers. In other rooms they were bright blue, and the kitchen – he couldn't believe it – was bright pink, like a flamingo.

‘I didn't know you were allowed pink kitchens,' he said.

‘In this country,' said Judy, ‘we are allowed to paint things any colour we want. We're very lucky.' She feared that she sounded maudlin.

‘Have a chocolate football,' she said, pulling herself together and taking one for herself.

Felix walked around looking at the pictures.

‘This one's my favourite,' Judy told him. ‘My niece Jemima made it.' It was of a group of scarlet macaws. ‘Macaws and toucans are from South America. But of course you already know that. Jemima snipped up pieces of Indian silk that she bought from sari shops. Really she used material from the wrong continent. But it doesn't matter. It's so beautiful. When she was your age she used to make pictures with the pretty foil from Easter eggs and sweetie wrappers.'

There was a real fire, and a very small Christmas tree.