To Have and to Hold (3 page)

The brochure lay on her lap. After a moment she turned the page. It lay there, open.

‘Or we could try Kos.' It said:
Family villa, sleeps six, reduction for children.
He turned the page, the next, then the next. ‘Or what about a bit of culture, what about Florence?'

‘That would be nice.'

There was a silence.

‘Look, I'm not going back,' he said.

‘Course you must.'

‘I'm staying here,' he said. ‘With you.'

‘Please Ken. I'm all right.'

Another silence.

‘Please go,' she said, her voice sharper.

Ken paused. She sat there, turning the pages. He stood up. She didn't move. Then he went to the door.

She raised her head. ‘I'm sorry,' she said, her voice low.

‘Annie!'

‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Don't ever say that!'

He moved towards her, but she turned back to the brochure. He looked at her brown hair, neatly brushed, bent over the photographs. He went out to his car.

Ann put away the tea-mugs and the uneaten biscuits. The house was silent. She had wanted so much to come home, but now she was here she felt like a guest.

Opening the cupboard door, she caught sight of a glimmer of plastic behind the saucepans. It was hidden away, wedged at the back. She pulled it out. It was the bag of baby's knitting.

Now she was alone she pulled out a chair, quite deliberately, sat down at the table, and started to cry.

TWO YOUNG GIRLS
are at the beach. It's a perfect summer's day; nothing must spoil it. Viv wears one of those bobbly nylon bathing suits, its bottom rubbed ochre with sand. She is standing beside her father, who is skimming pebbles over the water. He chooses the flattest he can find and gives it to her. His arm around her, he shows her how to do it.

‘That's it,' he says. ‘That's the way.'

Viv throws it.

Ann sees the pebble and comes up to them.

‘It sank,' she says.

‘No it didn't,' says her father. He passes Viv another pebble and Viv throws it. ‘Bravo!' he says.

‘That one sank too!' cries Ann. ‘It didn't jump at all.'

Her father takes no notice. Viv grimaces at Ann. This time it is Viv who finds him a flat stone, and this time it is he who throws it, with a flick of the wrist so that it skims one, two, three times. This is quite right for a dad. But Viv hadn't done it right.

‘I saw she didn't!' Ann says again. It's so unjust that her voice squeaks. She looks at Viv's slender, stork-like legs, her smug buttocks rubbed with sand; she looks at her father's neck, reddened by the sun.

‘It's my turn,' she says. She stands next to them. She too wears a bobbly swimsuit, like blisters on her, but she's tubbier. It's only this summer, now she's ten, that she's realized this. She picks up a flat pebble and throws it. Her father has lit a cigarette; he has lost interest. And anyway her pebble, of course, sinks.

They are newly married now, and the four of them are on holiday in Devon. It is another perfect summer's day and they are beside a river; khaki water dappled with sunlight. Ken, who
is good at these things, is making a fire; he requires concentration as he pyramids the sticks and the women are staying away. Ollie, who says he enjoys being subservient, is fetching pieces of wood for him.

Ann, in her swimsuit, is sitting on the river bank, dabbling her feet in the water.

‘Go on!' calls Ollie. ‘Don't be a sissy.' He went to public school and sometimes it still shows, though not often.

Viv is standing at the water's edge. She is wearing a flowery, second-hand dress and holding her swimsuit. The sun catches the cloudy mass of her hair. She is as slender as a deer, caught unawares. But Ann is her sister and knows no adult is unaware.

Ken blows on the flame and straightens up, standing to look at his fire. Suddenly Viv pulls off her dress and her knickers and walks into the river.

‘Christ, it's freezing!' she calls, and the men turn. She slips into the water and swims, gasping and laughing. ‘Come on, Annie!'

But Ann sits there. She finds a stick and tosses it into the water which is now ribbing out, in circles, from Viv, who swims round and round, her long body yellow under the surface. Ann tosses another stick; it rocks in the water, rocked by Viv's larger waves.

‘It's wonderful!' calls Viv. ‘Come on.'

But Ann sits there, tossing twigs. Ollie is fetching wood; Ken has turned his back and is busying himself with the fire.

Finally Viv steps out, naked and dripping, her hair hanging wet down her breasts. High up in the trees a bird calls. She hurries over to the fireside, grabs a towel and sits down, her arms around her knees.

‘Mmmm . . .' She edges nearer to the warmth and passes Ken a stick. He takes it from her and puts it on the fire. Then he turns away, his back to her, and starts blowing at the flames.

‘It's lit already,' Viv says.

That night, in their bed-and-breakfast place, Ken makes love to Ann. He bites her shoulder and presses her into him, startling her with his passion. The room is black, she can't see his face
and he doesn't say a word. He grips her tightly, hurting her sunburn.

The next morning Ollie tries to pay for them all.

‘Of course not!' Ken's voice is loud in the little hall.

‘It's only one night,' says Ollie. ‘It's my treat.'

‘Out of the question.'

Ann and Viv exchange glances, behind the men's backs. The four of them stand there as Ken finds his wallet. Against the flocked wallpaper hangs a barometer; it indicates:
Thunderstorms Ahead
.

Viv bent over and pulled the washing out of the machine. It was Sunday morning. She yanked at the damp, tangled lengths, the shirts entwined with each other, the socks plaited.

Ollie came up behind her and caressed her breasts. She pulled out a pair of dungarees, their fasteners clanking in the empty drum.

‘Turns you on, does it?'

‘What?' he breathed into her ear.

‘Seeing me subservient.'

‘I just feel physical in my track-suit.'

‘Well go and be physical with your mates.' Ollie was going to play rugger.

He rubbed his face against the back of her head. ‘You're my mate.'

She nudged him away and lifted the basket of clothes on to the table. ‘Sublimate it on the playing field. That's what it's for.'

She started sorting the clothes into piles. He watched her.

‘I know what you want,' he said.

‘Tell me.'

‘To be taken by force. You've always liked rough trade.'

He sighed, and picked up his sports holdall. ‘I'm just too well-bred.' He looked at his watch and started for the door.

‘Listen,' said Viv. ‘I've been thinking.'

He put down his holdall. ‘I hate it when you say that. What do you want – a divorce? A child? A goat?'

‘No. Why don't you ask Ken to join your team?'

‘Ken?' He stared.

She nodded. ‘He's been awfully depressed. Ann says so. He hasn't been working on his extension or anything. People are sorry for her but they forget about him. You know how buttoned-up he is.'

‘On our team?'

‘Why not? It might cheer him up. You're only a bunch of wanky journalists. He's fitter than the lot of you.'

Ollie paused. ‘You ask him.'

‘Why? I'm always doing everything.'

‘He might think I was being – oh, condescending. You know how touchy he is.'

‘But do you think it's a good idea?'

Ollie hesitated, then shrugged and nodded his head. She kissed him goodbye, and slid her tongue into his mouth.

Ann wondered what was missing from work and then realized: nobody had told her any jokes. She had been back nearly a week now and they were all so kind, but if only they realized that the way they were careful made her lonely. She silently urged them to be normal; how long would it take? She had a sweet tooth and sometimes used to bring in peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch. In the past they'd groaned at this but now nobody teased her.

And there had been some alterations. Frances, the most homely, used to have a photo of her husband and son on her. desk but now it had been removed. Ann wanted to say: please put it back; don't save my feelings.

And even Janine, who was not the type, made an effort. On Friday morning she was on the phone:

‘Simone, you do what your nan says! You play up and I'll give you what-for!'

But when Ann passed the desk her voice sank to a whisper.

She found comfort in numbers, which never let her down unless the computer developed a fault, and that at least was nothing to do with an anxiety to please. Cool numbers blipping on the screen, two and two equals four, they did, how simple, thousands slotted together to create more thousands, plus percentage interest. They worked, they were just, there was a
bottom line that added up, then it could all be put away, you could clear your head and forget about it and start on the next. If she kept her eyes down and worked from one half-hour to the next, it was possible to look up and find that already nearly a morning had passed.

Late on Friday afternoon Derek called her into his office. He held up the mortgage application forms for Ferncroft Road.

‘Janine did these, didn't she?'

Ann hesitated.

‘Did she?'

Ann nodded.

‘We must do something about that girl,' he said.

‘She's got a lot of problems – you know, child to support, mother who's –'

‘I know, I know.' He raised his hand. ‘But don't we all. She's daffy, Ann, like half the girls here. Course she's got problems but look at you, how you've been coping.'

Ann was silent. Derek lit a panatella. ‘Don't think I haven't noticed,' he said. ‘That sunny smile hasn't fooled old Derek.'

Ann took the papers. ‘I'll do them on Monday.'

‘Can't trust them, Annie. Not like you.'

‘I've just been here longer.'

‘And it's not just me who's noticed. I think there may be some good news coming your way.'

‘Why?'

‘Know I went to the Dinner on Tuesday?'

Ann nodded.

‘Heard some encouraging noises about our Annie here.'

‘Really?'

‘Don't look surprised. Though that blush is very becoming.'

‘What did they say?' she asked.

‘You'll find out. And now we know you won't be leaving us –' He stopped, and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry.'

‘Don't apologize.'

‘Didn't mean to –'

‘Don't be careful, please,' she said. ‘Everyone's been so nice but sometimes I feel like screaming.'

He indicated the door. ‘Don't do that or they'll think I'm misbehaving.'

It was five o'clock. Derek stood up and started to sort his papers together. He opened a drawer and took out a video cassette.

‘Not another one,' said Ann.

‘My dear, the weekend looms.'

‘How's Mary?'

‘The same, Annie. Just the same.'

Ann got up and took the mortgage form. ‘And the boys?'

‘Fine, fine,' he replied.

She looked at the cassette. ‘What's it this time?'

‘
The Sound of Music
. Trouble is, it always makes Mary cry.'

The cloakroom was tiny and Janine took up most of it. She was pulling on a satin skirt.

‘Doing anything this weekend?' she asked.

‘Just seeing my sister,' said Ann, edging past her to get her coat.

‘She the one with all the kids?'

‘Only two.'

‘Seems like more. Always have to change the blotters when they've paid a visit.'

‘Why?'

‘They draw on them. Rabbits and stuff.'

Ann smiled. ‘They keep rabbits.'

‘Bet their rabbits don't wear ballet skirts.'

‘The drawings do?'

Janine nodded, and started applying lipstick. ‘Doesn't look like you, does she?'

‘Everyone says that.' Ann edged back with her coat. ‘So who're you seeing tonight?'

‘Never guess where I met him. On the escalator. I'd got me heel stuck.'

‘Thought you were seeing that frozen-food chap.'

‘Him?' Janine pursed her glistening lips, inspecting them in the mirror. ‘He's in Hull, getting a new company car.'

‘While the cat's away . . .'

Janine looked at Ann in the mirror. ‘Know something? I think you're perking up.'

The man in the pet shop was weighing up coloured gravels and putting them into plastic bags. Ken stood inspecting the tropical fish. He knew it was ridiculous, but nowadays he delayed going home. He knew he shouldn't.

‘Look at them rats.'

‘Not rats. It's gerbils.'

Two boys were behind him. ‘Hoi, look at that one!'

‘Dirty bugger.'

The man called across: ‘You two – out!'

‘What, us?'

‘You.'

‘We're with him.'

One of the boys moved over beside Ken. The air smelt of fruit gums. ‘Hey mister, what's that one?'

‘That one there?' said Ken. ‘Isn't she a beauty. She's a Mozambique Mouthbrooder.'

‘What?'

‘So called because she incubates the fry in her mouth.'

‘Yuk.'

‘Marvellous, really.' He gazed closer. ‘There's a world in miniature in there. See those bright little ones, like flashes of light?'

‘Which?' The fruit breath came closer.

‘Those. Guppies. Started with guppies when I was . . .', he looked at the boy, ‘. . . about your age. Every penny of my pocket money.' He turned back to the swaying weed. ‘Young and eager,' he said.

The rasp of a match. The boy lit a cigarette.

‘Out!' called the man.