‘Oh I know we didn’t, but you have to keep them happy, don’t you?’ she said in a pettish voice. ‘Anyway, what’s eating you?’
I didn’t answer. I watched the water curl away from the oars. Peering down I could still see pebbles and sand on the bottom and trails of green weed. I screwed up my eyes against the white light on the water. I hated it when Olivia was like this. She had suddenly gone into what I called her witch mood, when she was sharp and mean and stirring up trouble and I couldn’t get near her.
After a while I said, ‘I saw your dad. He’d been to the town.’
For a second Olivia hesitated, frowning, the oars stilled at right-angles to the boat. Then, abruptly, she carried on rowing.
‘Can I have a go now?’
We swapped places and I started off, enjoying the pull against the water, the feel of using all my strength. I dug in hard, trying to force the boat fast across the bay.
‘Don’t pull down so deep,’ Olivia snapped. ‘You’ll catch a crab.’
‘Look. What’s the matter? What’ve I done?’
‘Nothing.’ Olivia stared down miserably into the bottom of the boat. ‘You haven’t done anything.’
The breeze helped propel us back towards the beach. Soon the prow jerked the boat to a halt against the sandy bottom and it tipped sideways so we were forced to jump out.
‘One, two, three, pull!’ we cried, hauling the little boat along the beach with exaggerated effort. Several times we fell over backwards and lay side by side, helpless with laughter, the sharp words forgotten, our hair getting thick and gritty with sand.
‘Come on, you daft thing,’ Olivia giggled weakly. ‘Or we’ll never get it up there.’
The beach was in shade now except for a slice down one side. Picnickers were packing up their windshields and Thermoses.
‘Girls!’
Shading our eyes, we saw Alec Kemp moving towards us with his long stride, the dark trousers flapping round his legs in the breeze. I was squatting down next to the boat. Olivia stiffened.
‘Don’t move.’ He grinned at us. ‘That’ll make a lovely picture.’ He raised his Brownie camera, legs bent slightly and elbows out to get the angle right, and clicked down the shutter. ‘One more.’ Another click. ‘There. That’ll do nicely.’
He helped us position the boat up by the sea wall and we went to the hotel. As we crossed the road, quiet as it was, he took our hands as if we were small children before walking across. I was thrilled.
We ate each evening in the dining room of the hotel at tables with stiff white tablecloths and vases of miniature silk roses. It was a family hotel, not a posh establishment, but it had a wine list and tried to keep up certain standards. I was allowed to drink wine – wine! Alcohol was something my parents didn’t hold with.
It was several evenings into the holiday and it had been raining most of the day. We’d woken to a fine mist of it over the sea and had barely been out all day. And it was mackerel, shiny metallic blue across our plates, the eyes still in. Fish made Alec Kemp irritable, if he hadn’t been already. He liked to do everything properly and with style, but boning fish defeated him.
‘Blasted things,’ he said, pushing small bones out between his teeth with what seemed to me disproportionate fury.
Elizabeth had come down to the meal with her face clearly blotchy and pink from recent tears which even the carefully applied powder could not hide. I hadn’t heard her crying again since that first day and had tried to forget what had happened, but seeing her that evening, the sound of it resurfaced disturbingly in my mind. She had composed her face now in its habitual lines: gently upturned lips, her glances towards Alec conveying, so far as I could make out, only attentiveness and appreciation. But her left hand fiddled restlessly with the string of seed pearls at her neck.
Elizabeth usually spoke very little as we ate. Alec liked to perform. Elizabeth would watch him, the smile fixed on her lips, letting him entertain us all.
Alec would tell stories about his Birmingham childhood – he and his two brothers – or the way he had taken over the firm, Kemp’s Foundry Supplies Ltd, from his father and built it into something that really counted. There was no doubt he was doing well. The 1930s were such a desperate time for many people, but while laid-off miners were demonstrating on Birmingham’s streets and queues reached round the corner from the Labour Exchanges, Kemp’s Foundry Supplies was prospering. We’d all heard much of what Alec said before, but we let him talk. The couples and families at the other tables were talking quietly, except for one where the children were squabbling over bread rolls and cutlery.
‘The old man didn’t have the know-how to make the business really thrive,’ Alec might say. ‘He didn’t lift a finger to improve the products. Of course in the end all the customers started to move to the firms that did. That’s business. So I had to win them back – and more. And that’s what I’ve done. You have to remember that, young Katie. If you want to get on you have to keep on your toes.’
Sometimes he leaned across the table and very softly sang ‘K-K-K-Katie, beautiful Katie . . .’ to me in a wooing voice which made my cheeks go red as I squirmed with pleasure and embarrassment.
But this evening there seemed to be barbs at every point in the conversation.
‘Flaming fish.’ Alec slammed his knife and fork down. ‘Flaming, bloody mackerel.’ He pushed his chair back and lit a cigar.
‘You should persuade your father to take a bit of a holiday,’ he said, the cigar nipped between finger and thumb. ‘Works far too hard.’
‘He never seems to have the time,’ I told him. ‘I wish he would. He’s always working. I don’t think he’d know what to do if he wasn’t.’
‘Not good for his health though, is it?’ Alec took a long pull on the cigar. ‘He’s a quack. He ought to be the first to know that. Sand, sun, fresh air – all the pleasures life can give you. Keeps a man, well, on top, so to speak.’ He smiled engagingly at Olivia and me, but there was a glint in his eye, something I couldn’t read but which made me feel uncomfortable.
‘Alec.’ Elizabeth’s voice held a warning, though she was still smiling. Her hand gripped the pearls, knuckles whitening.
Alec’s dark brows sank into a frown. ‘I bet that idiot Parker’s making a right balls-up of everything.’
‘Kemp’s will be quite all right without you,’ Elizabeth reassured him. As she moved her hand to lay it on his sleeve I noticed the startling blue of the veins in her thin wrist. ‘Even if Reg Parker doesn’t get everything quite right, he can’t possibly undo all your success in one week, can he? Don’t worry, darling.’
I looked at Olivia, who was pushing peas on to her fork. For a second she glanced up and caught my eye, then looked away with determined nonchalance over towards the lights on the far wall with their little tasselled shades. I saw the blood rising in her cheeks.
‘I wonder what all these people do for a living,’ Alec said aggressively, looking round the room. ‘What they do to deserve a holiday by the sea.’
Olivia clenched her teeth tightly together and stared at her plate. I could sense panic around me and I was filled with sudden dread, though I had no real idea why. I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish my food.
‘Daddy.’ Olivia’s cheeks were flaming. ‘Don’t start here. Please.’
Alec angled his body close to Olivia, who flinched visibly away from him.
‘Well, you provide some of the conversation then, since you don’t like mine.’ He leaned back pretending to be genial and conversational. ‘We could talk about – pets, let’s say. The care of birds, for instance. Budgerigars in particular.’
I was bewildered. Olivia’s beloved birds had become ill and died months ago. She’d cried over them for ages afterwards. Why was he being so cruel now, baiting her as if suggesting she hadn’t looked after them properly?
‘Livy loved those birds,’ I said indignantly. ‘She did everything she could for them.’
‘Oh yes,’ Alec agreed smoothly. ‘Absolutely everything.’
Olivia swallowed, spots of red burning in her cheeks. ‘I was thinking,’ she said in a high, fluttery voice. ‘It’s funny being here with different servants. No Dawson or Radcliffe.’
‘Your mother’s missing them I think,’ Alec said. He was unsmiling, spoke very deliberately, watching his wife’s face. ‘Bit of female company round the house. Even if they are common little tarts.’ He spat the words out.
‘Alec.’ There was an appalled, begging note in Elizabeth’s voice and her eyes were full of tears.
‘They know how to please, though.’ His tone was casual now, almost chatty. ‘Never had cause for complaint, have we, darling? Worth bearing that in mind, Katie. Always be eager to please. Gets you places.’
Elizabeth stood up and left the room, walking through the stares of the other diners. Olivia was sitting rigid in her seat. I felt sick.
‘Look.’ Alec was suddenly sheepish. ‘Sorry about that, Katie. Olivia? You’re not cross, are you? You know your mother never is much good at taking a joke!’ He tried to laugh it off. ‘Never mind us, Kate, don’t take any notice. Have a nice pudding, eh? I’ll go and get her.’
Olivia stared stonily at her plate as Elizabeth followed her husband back to the table. Her expression was completely collected as if nothing had happened. We sat through the rest of the meal, Alec back to his ebullient, entertaining self. I felt very edgy still and could not help glancing at Elizabeth Kemp. But if it had not been for Livy’s mutinous silence I might have begun to think I’d dreamt it all. Alec was affable, able to bring out jokes. And Elizabeth’s face wore its mask of gentle, affectionate amusement.
‘Livy?’
We were preparing for bed after the meal.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘But what did . . .?’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Is it – are they often like that?’
Olivia stood with her back to me, pulling her dress on to a coat-hanger. After a moment she turned, suddenly giving me a dazzling smile which also managed to convey bafflement. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
* * *
OLIVIA
Did they really never know I heard them? Of course they assumed my deafness, my innocence. And when Daddy was aroused he bellowed, locked in his own needs and urges. I listened to their ritual through the smooth wood of the door, through keyholes, cracks between hinges. My room was safely far away, they thought, at the opposite end of the house. But I was there: nights when the maids had left or were up in bed and occasional afternoons when they assumed I was well occupied elsewhere.
Why did he pursue it? I used to wonder. Why humiliate them both? Sexual intercourse petrified my mother. I suppose my mind couldn’t take in the contradiction that he really did love her and want her. That the others were all substitutes, not additional pleasures.
That afternoon they thought I was asleep in the gazebo. Carelessly they left ajar the door to their delicate nest of a bedroom, its windows edged with draped chintz the colour of clotted cream, stained with bright crimson flowers.
‘It’s been so long,’ he begged. I had a wider viewing strip than usual. I had learned to move absolutely silently. He was kneeling at her feet naked, offering himself to her, his erection a dark branch in front. I called his penis his pleaser. I didn’t know the proper name for it then. ‘Please, my darling. I need you so much.’
‘No. Don’t, Alec. No.’ Mummy’s voice came out as a moan. I could just see the edge of her silky, peach-coloured gown and imagined her with her arms clasped across her breasts, shutting him out, her face distraught.
‘Let me just touch you. You know sometimes if you relax you can . . .’
‘No – I can’t.’
‘You won’t have a baby – you know you won’t. It’s all right.’
‘Please, Alec, why must you do this? It’s so horrible, I can’t bear it. Go to anyone you like if you have to but please leave me.’ Her voice was high and tearful.
‘But you’re my wife, Elizabeth.’
She moved over to the bed and backed up against the pillows, pulling her knees up. She looked so little with her wispy hair all hanging down, sitting there, cornered.
‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘Just unfasten it, that’s a good girl. Just lie back. There. Isn’t that nice? You like this, don’t you?’
He latched his mouth on to one of her breasts. She gave a whimper of distress. I suppose he fooled himself it was pleasure.
‘Now – there’s a good girl – ’ His voice was low and hypnotic. ‘Just open up now – let me in and it will all be all right.’
I couldn’t see their faces. He had climbed over her, his body, strong and agile, already moving above her.
‘No!’ she cried.
I pulled my arm across my mouth and bit into it, hurting myself, listening to their sounds.
‘I’ve got to,’ he grunted. ‘You’ve got to let me. You cold bitch!’ His voice rose to a great roar. ‘Let me in –
now
.’
Her sobs filled the room. I bit myself harder, harder. ‘I can’t. I can’t bear it.’
‘Touch me then, quickly for God’s sake – hold me. Tighter. That’s it – yes – harder . . .’
Something I hadn’t seen before. He came with his pleaser spurting between her tiny hands, his noises ecstatic, angry, all at once. There were a few seconds of silence. My arm was smarting, indented with deep pink curves.
Mummy cried and cried. She always did.
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth.’ He lay contrite beside her. ‘I’m sorry, my lovely. Stop that now. Stop.’ Then loudly, ‘Stop that fucking noise can’t you, you stupid cow?’
He moved from the bed and I knew he would leave the room. I whisked along to my end of the house taking in tiny shallow breaths.
When I closed my bedroom door behind me the birds grew silent. Lady fluttered up from the bottom of the cage to one of the wooden perches, shifting her claws back and forth along it, her eyes black and cold like pellets in her yellow face. King was clinging to the bars, his bill hooked round one of them, gnawing at it.
I leaned against the door, watching them. King suddenly made a flurried movement as if something had startled him and launched himself, feathers fanning violently, until he landed on the bottom. They had no practice in using their wings properly. There wasn’t the space. I saw then how they’d never move from there. Never do or be anything else.