First Fruits (27 page)

Silly Lyddie, stupid Lyddie, who will do
anything you tell her. Who never knew when she was lucky.

Who can't blame me for anything.

We go back to the classroom. Mrs. Chatto
glances at Lydia, then allows a brief smile in my direction. She thinks I've
been a great comforter, saying all the right things to make stop her crying.
The fact is, Lydia is beyond tears.

She goes and sits down next to Moira
once more. But this time there's no leaning into her. Lydia is by herself,
unworthy of help from anywhere.

NOTHING
more happened at school. Not unless you count the 'incident' in domestic
science. Moira only went and set a chip pan on fire. And it's typical, isn't
it? One moment she's making you wonder how she can stare the way she does, how
she knows the things she knows. And the next, she's proving that she has no
more sense than a plank of wood.

They had to evacuate the whole school,
just in case. Moira was the last one to come out, strolling away from the
domestic science block as if she hadn't noticed a thing, as if she had nothing
to do with the smoke billowing out behind her. As if she had no idea what fire
could do.

AFTER
school, though, the four of us walk out together. Hilary can barely contain her
excitement. What if Lydia's mother were to die tonight? It would be better than
anything in her books.
Chums rally round broken hearted school-friend.
She should realise, though, it wouldn't happen like that; Lydia doesn't even
know she's there. Lydia is in a world of her own.

As for Moira, she's with us alright, but
we don't talk to her.

Today Dad has got out of the car and is
standing on the pavement. And this is unheard of. He never gets out to wait.
We
have to come to
him
. This must be for Lydia then, more special treatment,
the only thing likely to make a difference.

'Lydia,' he says. 'Lyddie my love.' He
puts his arm around her and draws her aside, somehow turning a crowded pavement
into a private place containing just the two of them. Yet Lydia doesn't seem to
notice him, of all people. As his arm closes round her, her eyes simply drift
over his shoulder towards the traffic.

But he's not having that.

He drops the arm, puts up both hands to
cup her face, and gently forces her eyes to look into his. Then he begins to
speak words to her that we couldn't possibly hear. And it must have been the
words that do it, bring about the change. Suddenly her body sags as her knees
give out from under her. She can't stand up any more. For a moment then she
seems to dangle from his hands, eyes locked into his. Then he lets her go,
almost allowing her fall before catching her at the last. He picks her up and
puts her into the back of the car, carefully, like something precious.

But when he stands up, he looks at us.
And winks.

Hilary
gets to sit beside her, which means I
can hardly see Lydia from where I'm sitting. But Moira I can see well enough.
Moira he has placed in the front seat next to him.

'All present and correct?' He beams.

'Oh yes, Mr. Carr,' sings out Hilary,
happy as can be. Then covers her mouth. For a moment there she had forgotten we
are meant to be worried.

In any event, the question wasn't
intended for her. Lydia is catered for, and he doesn't need to think about me.
He was talking to Moira MacMurray. His new special interest.

 Is it a shock to him then, when slowly
she turns her head, meets his smile with a gaze so completely blank he must
have felt he had been beaming at a brick wall? After all, it's not what he is
used to, not my dad.

Yet he doesn't seem to mind, not one
little bit. If anything, his smile grows warmer, his eyes even more twinkling.
I'd say it was like a ray of purest sunshine, that smile, capable of lighting
up the darkest night, or penetrating the thickest walls - even the ones made of
brick. You'd think nothing in the world could withstand it.

But you'd be wrong. Because the smile
has no effect at all.

Moira's face stays blank, her eyes
unchanging. The beam flickers ever so slightly, then locks on even more tightly
than before. Dad clears his throat, and looks away. But Moira doesn't. Her
stare stays exactly where it is, fixed on the side of his face.

It's begun.

Hilary giggles as we move off. She
hasn't noticed a thing wrong. What's more, since she isn't familiar with the
car, there's no way for her to be aware that there's a new sound to the engine
since he started it up, like something over-revving, far too noisy suddenly,
for all the world as if its mood has been upset.

But that's only the car. Dad would seem
as right as rain to anybody watching. Smiles for everyone, an endless stream of
jokes, as though he's determined to have us all rolling in our seats; because
laughter is infectious, and some of it might spread to the front seat next to
him. But he may as well not bother. Moira continues to sit, as she has sat from
the moment she got into the car, body facing the front, and her head turned to
face him. Moira hasn't taken her eyes off my dad for so much as a second.

Gradually the jokes fizzle out, and the
chatter dies away. In contrast, the noise from under the bonnet seems to have
become louder still. It sounds downright angry. You could see why you might not
want to try talking over it. Since there's no more conversation from the front,
Hilary turns to Lydia. I can just hear the question above the din of the engine.

'What did he say to you then, back there
on the pavement?'

There's a pause before Lydia says
anything. Then in a dull voice that hardly sounds like hers, she replies. 'He
said not to worry. She'll be alright. He said he'll take care of everything.'

Then she frowns. 'At least I think
that's what he said.'

Hilary takes a moment to look impressed,
then says, 'And do you believe him?'

This time Lydia doesn't answer, turns
away to look out of the window.

DAD
stayed by the car when we got out, pointing to the church and waving us on
towards the house without him. If you want to know what I think, I'd say he was
tired. All that talk earlier on, all those wasted jokes, taking their toll. And
that's not the only reason for being worn out. It can be exhausting too, feeling
that someone's eyes are on you all the time. Sooner or later you begin to
wonder if they are seeing things nobody else can. And that's when you remember;
some things are better kept out of sight.

He should ask me about it. I know
exactly how it feels.

Anyway, when the phone started to ring,
he wasn't there to answer it, and Gran never made a move. Gran won't touch the
phone. Besides, she had just had her first sight of Moira, and now she was
staring at her as if she had never seen the like, with a look that was half
horror, half admiration.

So I went. I answered the phone.

It didn't take very long. A few words
and a single question on my part, just to be sure. Then it was back to the
kitchen.

'It's for you, Lydia. Your father.'

 Her eyes went blank, so you'd think she
had been taking lessons from Moira. But you could see the elastic in her legs
as she walked out into the hall, closed the door behind her. Again it only took
a moment. Then the door burst open and she flew back into the room as if she was
on wings.

At the very same moment Dad stepped in
from outside. He was moving heavily as if he was still exhausted, as if he had
been putting his all into something.

Lydia takes one look and runs towards
him, flings her arms right around his waist.

'Lydia! Lydia love! What's all this?'
Gently he pulls away her arms, unwraps her from his waist. She doesn't know.
You don't touch Dad, no-one touches Dad - not unless he decides.

Lydia steps back. Her eyes are shining,
brimming with tears. 'You were right,' she says, but with difficulty. It's as
if the words are having a happy battle to find their way out. 'You told me you
would take care of everything. And you did.'

Dad stands very still, then says
quietly. 'I told you
He
would take care, Lydia love.'

But it makes no difference. Lydia has
thrown herself at his waist again.
She
knows who is responsible. She
knows who is in charge. And this time he doesn't pull her away, but stands
there, smiling. Says not another word. Beside me, Hilary is standing, eyes
wide, mouth slack, remembering what Lydia told her in the car. Even Gran looks
impressed.

There's just one person who doesn't seem
to have noticed a thing. Moira is standing next to the stove, at the pan Gran
uses to fry chips the way Dad likes them, as if wondering when the next meal
will be. And Dad, catching sight of her, turns to her with that same gentle
smile. 'Moira?' he says. 'This is glad news, is it not?'

But she doesn't answer. Moira just
stares at him, doesn't even blink. And is it my imagination or does his smile
once more begin to fade a little bit, just around the edges?

The fact is, whatever the reason, Moira
is a distraction to him. Which is just as well since a distraction is what is
required. I don't want Dad looking at me, not for a while.

When I picked up the phone, it had
indeed been Mr. Morris. Who had said, 'Oh thank God you're home. Keith will
have told Lydia the good news of course. Is she happy now? Poor little thing,
she didn't know if she was coming or going.'

Which had given me just enough time to
think, and then say, 'No he hasn't told her yet. He wanted to leave it to you.'

Then I had gone to fetch Lydia. Who
hadn't been told a thing.

IT’S
been a good quarter of an hour but she has only just let go of my Dad's waist.
She can't take her eyes off him, not even now. And who could blame her? For who
else could turn disaster into triumph? Keep every promise that he makes? And
never once let down those who put their trust in him?

In the end though, even
he has had enough. Well, two of
them staring, it would wear anyone down. He can't do a thing about Moira, but
Lydia is easy.

'Kate, love' he says. 'Take our Lydia to
the bathroom. Splash a bit of water on her face. All those tears have made
those bonny cheeks downright ugly. See what you can do.'

So off we went, Lydia and I, to the
bathroom.

I only turned my back on her for a
second, long enough to turn on the tap. But when I turn round again, something
seems to have snapped. Lydia has begun to cry all over again. And this is worse
than at school even. She is being shaken by huge hiccuping sobs that look as
though they could choke her. For a moment all I can do is wonder what's gone
wrong. Then it comes to me. It's the shock of course. Shock and tiredness and
relief, all rolled into one.

And it's strange, how it's only now I
seem to feel sorry for her, when it's all over and we know she has nothing to
cry about, not any more.

'Come on Lyd,' I say. I even put my hand
on her shoulder. 'Don't cry. She's going to be alright. Remember?'

Lydia looks up slowly. 'What?' She says,
blinking. 'Who?'

Again it must be the shock. Because it's
as if she hasn't understood a word I've said. She has taken off her specs and
her eyes look unexpectedly large with all those tears, the lids swollen with so
much crying and lack of sleep. Seeing her now, you'd think she was five years
younger than she actually is.

All at once however she pushes me away
and runs to peer into the mirror hanging over the washbasin - though what she
could expect to see without her specs and all those tears is beyond me. One
glance and she then slumps, all but falls into the sink. Another flood of tears
sprinkle the water that she was meant to wash her face in.

'Lydia...' I begin to say. Only to be
rudely interrupted.

'He says I'm ugly. You heard him. He
told you so just now.
Ugly
, that's what he said.'

Now it's my turn to be confused. Then
the penny drops. She hasn't been crying about her mother after all. Her mother
isn't the reason for those swollen, damaged eyes, not any more. And there I'd
been...

...There I'd been, actually feeling
sorry
for her.

Do you know what it makes me want to do?
Walk straight out and leave her to it, to the silliness of how she thinks she
looks and what he's going to say about it. But I don't. I'm here because he
told me to come. And for another reason that has nothing to do with him. I came
because it's the ideal opportunity. This may be the one chance I have. It's the
reason I've closed the door. And locked it. Some things have to be kept quiet.
Some things he must never know about.

'Listen,' I say. 'Listen. Do you realise
you don't have to stay here now? Not now she's better. You could ring your
father and get him to take you home. You...' I don't know why this last part is
so hard to say. 'You could go back home to your family. To her.'