Born of Woman (28 page)

‘Enjoying your turkey?'

‘Yes,' said Robert, taking care to finish his mouthful before he spoke, and not to make it just an Mm.

‘Yes,
thank
you,' corrected Matthew.

There was silence for a moment.

‘Finished the drawings, Lyn?' Matthew tried again.

‘Not quite. I spent half my time packing up and getting here.'

‘Settled in now, I hope? How was your maths test, Charles?'

‘OK.'

‘What do you mean, ‘‘OK''?'

‘Well—OK—all right. Hey, Dad, did you remember my stapler?'

‘I'm sorry, Charles, I didn't have time to look it out today.'

‘You said that yesterday.'

‘We're very busy at the moment, aren't we, Jennifer?'

Jennifer mumbled something indecipherable. She disliked siding with Matthew against the boys.

‘Jonathan told me your interviews went well, especially Radio Ireland.'

‘Yes … er … thanks.' She wished she could answer ‘OK' and grin at Charles. He and his brothers seemed to have dwindled and diminished in their father's presence, yet their names were never shortened. Each of them had three Christian names apiece, all grave, dignified or regal, to match their grave regal father and his dark earnest house.

‘Robert, I've told you before, I will not have you picking up your bones.'

‘Susie's boyfriend does.'

‘Don't answer me back, please.' Matthew carved himself a turkey wing, while Anne brought hot broccoli and potatoes from the kitchen. ‘Anne, what's this about a boyfriend?'

‘I don't know much about it, I'm afraid. The boys appear to have met him here.'

Oliver put his fork down. ‘He's called Sparrow and he's got tattoos all over his arms. Snakes and dragons and things.'

‘
Sparrow
? What a crummy name.'

‘Be quiet, Hugh.' Matthew frowned. ‘I don't encourage boyfriends, Anne.'

‘I'm sorry, but if I'm working in your office, I can't really oversee what's happening at home as well.'

Oliver wriggled on his chair. ‘I thought this was meant to be a celebration. Everyone's so gloomy, it's more like a funeral.'

‘It
is
a celebration. In fact, I thought we'd open a decent bottle of claret, if it's not too late. Lyn, some wine for you?'

‘No thanks.'

‘
I
‘ll have Uncle Lyn's.'

‘No you won't, Robert. Eight-year-olds should stick to water. A little claret for you, Jennifer?'

‘Yes, please.' Jennifer sipped. The wine looked dark and heavy in her glass—dark like blood. Her period had just begun. Every period was a wasted baby now. She couldn't even hope that she was pregnant, unless you could conceive a child without a man—what Anne had done, perhaps. It seemed almost less miraculous than the fact that Matthew had taken off his clothes and thrust in and out on top of her. Anne and Matthew had had their children late. The first six years of their marriage they had concentrated on building up a business rather than a family. She should take heart from that. Anne had had all four sons in her thirties. Still time for her and Lyn. Perhaps they ought to …

‘Hi, folks! Sorry I'm late. Met a friend.'

Suddenly there was light and colour in the room. The door had heaved open and a beam of sunlight flickered through it, flinging its yellow arm across the face and shoulders of a young tousled girl in scarlet dungarees.

‘Ah, Susie, you're back. We do like to eat at half-past seven, you know. That's quite late enough for the boys.'

‘Sorry, boys! Gosh. I'm starving. Any turkey left? Hey!' She swivelled round. ‘You must be Jennifer—the famous one! Great to meet you! I'm Susie.'

Jennifer mumbled hallo. Anne was making more formal introductions. Names like Susie didn't belong in Matthew's house. They were too lightweight, too informal, Susie herself too dazzling. Her sneakers were peacock-blue with tartan laces. An African violet tee-shirt shouted at the scarlet. Every nail was varnished a different colour, her lashes spiky with navy blue mascara.

She was staring at Jennifer as openly and directly as a child. ‘Cor! You're completely different from what you were on telly. I thought you'd be more—well—you know …'

Jennifer
did
know—more talented, more beautiful, more artistic, more impressive. Susie would have done better in her place. She was like a commercial for shampoo—one of those young, healthy, bouncy girls who manage to look appealing even dressed in sackcloth or overalls, or with their hair soaking wet and clinging to them. Susie's hair was long and thick. You couldn't truthfully call it blond, but it had streaks and highlights in it which glittered in the light. The sun moved across the room with her, so that she was alive and golden when everyone else was drab. Her features seemed to leap out of her face and fling themselves towards you—huge grey eyes, large mobile mouth—open, laughing, gabbling—eyebrows lifted astonished or delighted, hands like little darting animals. Anne looked like a portrait beside her, a rigid composition darkened by age and varnish, which had hung on the same spot of wall for nearly half a century. Susie was an impressionistic sketch, lines dashing off the page, colours splashed at random and clashing with each other. She had thin gold chains around her wrists and neck, a row of metal badges on her tee-shirt—‘Consenting Adult', ‘Teachers' Pet', ‘Dominate me', ‘Get 'em down'. If Matthew's sons had worn them, they would have been told to leave the table.

Jennifer glanced at Matthew. He looked sombre and inscrutable like a piece of his own furniture. Anne was trying to smile, but she was stiff and rigid where Susie sparked and sparkled. Her hair was coiled up smoothly round her head with no stray curls or disobedient wisps. Her face and figure had no spare flesh on them, as if she had given all her curves away to build her sons. She wasn't unattractive. She had a dark earnest stillness, which made you turn round and look at her again. She was like a Spanish ballet dancer who had never danced—taut, lean, steely, her body trained and disciplined, but never letting go. But Susie made her plain. Susie made them all plain. The table had gone dead, the dinner cold, while all the light, life and heat poured into Susie. She was a sweetmeat, a soufflé, something frothier and lighter than the grave substantial Wintertons.

Jennifer had never met a girl with such a presence. Susie was a magnet, pulling you towards her, keeping you in orbit. The sunbeam had shifted a little, so that now it fell across the table, trapping them both inside it, yoking them together, the only two fair heads in a room of dark ones.

Susie pulled out a chair and shattered the sun into fragments, disunited them. She was sitting in Lyn's shadow now—turned to face him. ‘At least
you
haven't finished yet. I hate eating on my tod. You must be Lyn. I've heard a lot about you.'

Lyn picked up his fork and put it down again.

‘Aren't you going to ask me what I've heard?'

‘Well, I …'

‘You
are
the artist, aren't you?'

‘Hardly.'

‘Shame! I was hoping you'd paint my portrait.'

‘I don't do portraits, I'm afraid.'

‘Only a joke. I'm learning to paint myself, in fact—at night school. It's a hoot! The teacher's very old and shrivelled and … Hey, can I have a leg, Anne? I hate breast.'

Jennifer glanced at Susie's own breasts. They were full and firm, emphasised still further by the packet of Woodbines stuffed in the top pocket of her dungarees and bulging over them.

‘Mm—super bird!' Susie was talking with her mouth full. ‘Wish I could cook. All I can manage is sausages.'

‘You're telling me!' Hugh turned to Jennifer. ‘D' you know, we've had sausages every single morning since Susie arrived?'

‘
Burnt
sausages!' Oliver chipped in. ‘The next-door cat almost broke its teeth on them.'

Lyn was struggling to his feet, food untouched, frown cutting between his eyebrows. ‘I'm sorry, Matthew … it's stifling in here. If you'll excuse me, I'll go outside and get some air.'

‘But we haven't finished dinner yet.' Matthew never allowed the boys to get up before the meal was over. ‘I was going to open some port as you didn't fancy claret. I wanted to drink a toast to you and the Book, and to your most impressive work on it. We're
celebrating
, Lyn.'

‘
I
‘m not.'

Jennifer willed him to sit down again. Susie was staring at him. Stupid to care what a teenage mother's help thought, but somehow she wanted Susie to see him as intelligent and sensitive, not bad-mannered and unsociable.

Matthew moved his fork a fraction, so that it was lying exactly parallel with the knife beside it. ‘Well, stay for just a moment. Anne and I have got some news for you all. Very exciting news.'

Lyn jabbed his foot against the chair-leg. ‘You've sold thirty thousand copies instead of twenty thousand.'

‘Well, it is to do with sales, in fact. As you know, I'd planned a trip to Japan this summer. We've had a lot of interest from a Tokyo publisher, and I also want to oversee some colour printing. So I thought I'd combine the two—clinch my contract in Japan, then stop off in Hong Kong to talk to the printers …'

Hugh speared a piece of broccoli. ‘That's not news, Daddy. You told us that at Easter. All it means is that you won't take
us
away.'

‘Quiet, Hugh, I haven't finished yet. The exciting bit is that I'm going to include Australia as well, and your mother's coming with me.'

‘Mummy? But she never goes. She's …'

‘Lucky Mum! Can we come?'

‘'Fraid not, old chap. It's a business trip, not a joyride.'

Lyn sat down again, but pushed his chair right back, so that he was no longer part of the group around the table. ‘I only hope you're not including Jennifer. Her British tour was bad enough, but I draw the line at the outback.'

‘Well, there was some talk of her appearing on Australian television, but they've invited me, instead. That's partly what made up my mind about the trip. There's already enormous interest in the book and very impressive sales there, and this can only clinch it. I'll be taking my next year's books, of course, and seeing as many publishers as possible. It's the sort of chance which might never come again, so I've got to take advantage of it.'

Charles retrieved his napkin from the floor. ‘Why are you going, Mum? You never have before.'

Matthew answered for her. ‘Your mother needs a break—and I need her. There'll be a lot of work, you realise.'

Robert's face was crumpling up. ‘Who'll look after
us
, though?'

‘Well, Susie will be here. That's partly what she's come for. Mrs Briggs will help her with the cleaning so she'll have more time for you boys. And I'm sure your Auntie Jennifer won't abandon you.'

Lyn flung his chair back. ‘Look here, Matthew, I was reluctant enough to camp here in the first place, but if you're now expecting us to babysit while you …'

‘For heaven's sake, Lyn, no one's expecting anything. You can take some leave if you like—make the most of being close to London. It's less than half an hour if you take the car, and that's right to the West End. You can visit all the galleries, book some theatre tickets, catch up on the films. Or if you want a rest, well, just stay home and sun yourselves in the garden. You'll have more room in the house with myself and Anne away, and Mrs Briggs to wait on you and …'

‘I don't want anyone to wait on me. Just my own place and a bit of peace and quiet.'

‘If you want peace, Lyn, then I suggest you stop the shouting. Come on, now—be a good chap and sit down. Let's all drink to the trip.'

‘
You
drink to what you like. I'm getting out.'

He didn't slam the door, but it felt as if he had done. Even the boys were cowed. Matthew was trying to woo them, pouring them each half an inch of port in his Waterford crystal glasses. Charles drained his at a gulp. ‘When are you planning to leave, Dad?'

‘About the middle of July.'

‘That's when we break up. We never seem to see you.'

‘I'll bring you back a present, to make up. Something really different.'

Jennifer was half standing, half sitting. She knew she ought to follow Lyn, reason with him, calm him down. Yet she was reluctant to disrupt the meal. Anne had rushed home early to prepare it and even Matthew was trying to be genial. Anyway, she was keen to hear Anne and Matthew's plans. She felt a strange excitement that both of them would be absent, leaving her and Susie to play parents to the boys. Susie was only a name as yet, but this was the perfect chance to get to know her. Lyn was a problem, of course, but he would be a problem anywhere. Almost a relief to dilute his gloomy presence with Susie's glowing one. She drained her wine, then started on the port.

‘Matthew, I'm sorry to bring it up now, but I presume this means my interviews are over?' If she could turn her back on the media, the summer would be fun.

‘Not quite, my dear. There's a couple of things on radio and the chance of another television appearance which might come up in July—Tyne Tees in Newcastle. Don't worry, you can leave it all to Jonathan. He'll look after you. If you do go North, he'll blow it up a bit—canvass the local papers and the bookshops, play on the regional aspect.'

‘Oh Matthew,
no
. You promised no more tours.'

‘Hardly a tour, my dear—just a little back-up to the television. If that comes off, it's a real feather in your cap. The chap who hosts the show has enormous influence. You can hardly turn it down when Big-Name stars are falling over themselves to appear on his programme.'

‘Yes, but …'