They made their way over the dunes to the start of the beach, kicking up from the sand its usual smell of briny rot. Now the marram grass broke off in clumps, revealing small bunkers of pebbles edged with reeds. They crossed the broken line of seaweed that marked the high tide and walked along in silence but for the cracking of dried weed and shells under their feet. The tide was miles out and the wheeze of the waves did not reach this far. George sat down on a tussock of grass and shifted over to make room for Lila.
‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, ‘that it’s really all about Enid, is it? If I were you, I think I’d be screaming for other reasons.’
Lila was silent.
‘Suppose we start with Enid, then,’ he said. ‘What’s Enid done?’
‘She saw the garage door,’ Lila said. ‘She saw the garage door and she kept on about it, what the letters were for. I had to tell her something, I made something up. I just made up this thing and she’ll find out it isn’t true. Then it’ll be awful, she’ll go on and on. She’s always going on.’
‘So? Does that matter?’
‘Of course it matters! She’ll tell Senga! She’ll tell Senga and everybody. You don’t know what it’s like!’
‘And what exactly will she tell them? What did you say?’
‘I had to say something! She kept asking, she was going on about Senga and her—Senga’s always getting people ganged up on me, I hate Senga. So I told her it was about singing
Turandot
. I said it was a sort of club. The Burnhead Association for Singing
Turandot
.’
‘A club?’
‘For singing
Turandot
. BAST.’
‘My God. Did she believe you?’
‘I don’t know! Oh, I hate it! All the stupid, the whole stupid…’ Lila burst into tears. ‘I hate it! I hate this place!’
Uncle George stared straight ahead and let her sob.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said after a while, turning to her, ‘you’re so like your mother.’
‘I am
not
!’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘But that was clever.’
‘What was?’ She was still upset but the hint of a compliment at once opened up the possibility that she might be brought round.
‘What?’
‘Your whatsit. B A S T—your Burnhead Association for Singing
Turandot
.’ Speaking the words himself, Uncle George seemed to find them hilarious. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Bet it shut her up. What did she say?’
‘Nothing much.’
George fished in his pockets and lit another cigarette. The fumes from the match drifted Lila’s way, reminding her of railway smoke.
‘So what about this Premium Bond? What do you think it should go on? What would you do with it, if it was up to you?’
The novelty of being consulted made Lila’s eyes fill with tears again and this time she wept for a long time. ‘I wish it’d never come,’ she said eventually, gulping. ‘They can spend it how they like. As long they stop arguing. As long as she starts being normal.’
George placed an arm across her shoulder.
‘I hate it here,’ she whispered. ‘I want to come to London. Can’t I come to London with you? You wouldn’t have to pay for me. I’d get a job and pay you rent and everything.’
Uncle George tugged at her shoulder and gave a light laugh. ‘Oh come on,
nil desperandum,
eh? Can’t be as bad as all that, can it?’
‘It’s getting worse. She’s never been this bad before. I have to get away. Can’t I come to London?’
Uncle George snorted. ‘I can promise you she’s been every bit as bad as this. You were just too young to know.’ He made a wry face and raised one eyebrow. ‘Quite funny in retrospect, most of it. You think this is bad…’
‘What could be worse?’
‘Oh, there’s worse. If I tell you a funny story would it cheer you up?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, well. This is true, remember. This was one time not long after they got the house. You were just a baby. She ate the housekeeping.’
‘What? She what?’ Lila clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘She
what
?’
Uncle George nodded solemnly, and they both burst out laughing.
‘A week’s housekeeping. Your dad had just given it to her. They were having a row about money, I gather she was going through it a bit fast. She tore it up, stuffed it in her mouth and swallowed it. To show him how fast she
could
go through it. By the time he rang me she’d been retching for three hours.’
‘So what happened? Was she really ill?’
‘You mean how fast did it go through her? Oh, nature ran its course. Eventually. She got herself in a real state.’ Uncle George grinned. ‘Mind you, it was only the notes. Not even your mother went as far as eating the coins.’
When their laughter died away, Lila said, ‘I still hate it. I want to go back with you and live in London.’
‘Look, these things pass. They always do.’
‘This won’t. I hate it. It’s their fault. I
do
want to scream.’
‘Well, scream, then. Go on, there’s nobody about. Scream for all you’re worth,’ Uncle George said jovially, waving an arm towards the beach and the faraway sea. ‘Scream at them. Scream at Enid. Shatter their eardrums.’
He was laughing again. To show him she minded, she filled her lungs and tried to scream, but managed only a couple of stifled, breathy yelps. She sounded like a tired kitten. Her mouth was full of gluey, salt liquid; she swallowed a couple of times and tried again.
‘Call that screaming? Oh, you are so funny!’ He slapped his leg, snorting with laughter. ‘Go on! Scream!’
Lila stood up, walked away a few steps and turned from him, took a breath, and screamed. It came out flickering at first, like a guttering light, and then strengthened to a bright blast that cut the air. She stopped, suddenly light-headed, took a deeper breath and screamed again; after a few seconds the sound changed, grew long, high-pitched, sailing. On it went, one steady note with a slight, fluting vibrato, heartless and clear. She knew what she was doing. She was singing, and she intended it as a warning. When she came to the end of her breath she stopped abruptly. She walked back and sat down again, folded her arms and looked calmly out to sea.
‘Congratulations,’ Uncle George said. ‘That was a B flat. I see I’m right. I thought you might have the voice to go with the temperament. How long have you been able to do that?’
‘Since forever,’ she said carelessly. ‘There’s not much to it, you know.’
She didn’t quite believe this but saying it made her feel superior. Uncle George stifled another laugh.
‘Shut up! You’re as bad as her. She goes on,’ she said in an angry whisper, ‘like it’s something special, like you should get sympathy for being able to sing or something!’
Uncle George nodded, not needing to be told that Lila was now talking about Fleur rather than Enid.
‘Just because she was a singer once. It’s
stupid
.’
‘Does she know you can sing?’
Lila had no clear idea of what her mother knew, about her or anything else. Fleur displaced simple knowing—about everyday, ordinary things—with irritation or loathing.
‘She doesn’t care, anyway. She’s not really interested in it, except for singing along to her records.’
‘What about at school? Don’t they make you sing at school?’
Lila scowled. ‘They try. I can’t be bothered. I’d only get teased anyway, it’s bad enough they all know
she
sings.’
‘Senga again?’
Lila nodded. ‘And Linda McCall. And Enid, some of the time.’
‘But isn’t it difficult
not
to sing? Don’t you ever just want to, don’t you want to take a deep breath like you did just now and just do it?’
Lila was taken aback by how instantly Uncle George had hit upon it. More and more often when she opened her mouth in assembly for some dreary compulsory hymn, she thought that to let the sound burst out of her would be, at the very least, interesting, and probably wonderful. The idea filled her with a sense of danger but also with an intense premonition of safety; she predicted that there might be a kind of sanctuary in the very letting go. She had been glad when the end of term had freed her from the temptation. But now, one long top B flat sung out towards the sea had left her elated. She stared at the beach, poking in the stones with the toe of her plimsoll, and tried to quell a bubbling feeling in her throat.
‘Your mum doesn’t really mean it, you know,’ Uncle George said. ‘She’s just—’
‘—having a nervous breakdown.’
He searched for a way to deny this truthfully and couldn’t. ‘It’s just hard for her…The thing is, she wanted to have more of a career, and when people are disappointed, they sometimes…’
‘Oh, I know! I know! They’re allowed to shout and scream and go on and start fires and paint letters on doors! They’re allowed to upset everyone around them!’
She got up and marched down the beach. ‘He’s just as bad, she wouldn’t be like that if he was any use! I hate them!’
Her disloyalty felt magnificent and risky, as if something with strong wings were trying to flap its way out of her chest. Uncle George watched her stride around, kicking through seaweed and soaking her shoes.
‘Oh, come on,’ he called out to her, ‘she’s not as bad as all that. Your dad does his best. There are reasons.’
‘I know! You all think I’m too stupid to notice! I’m not stupid, I’ve worked it out, I’m not a child!’
‘Worked what out?’
Lila returned up the beach and stood in front of him.
She said, ‘I know what happened!’
George looked at her while he took the last drag of his cigarette and threw the butt away. ‘You do?’ he said, shading his eyes. ‘Really? Who told you?’
The mildness in his voice perplexed her. She was telling him she hated her parents and knew their dirty secret and he did not seem to mind.
‘
You
know what I’m talking about.’ Was he going to make her say the words aloud?
‘Well, I think I do, but maybe you’d better tell me and see if I’m right.’
‘
Well.
It’s no secret, she met him when she was twenty, she tells everybody that much,’ she said, dropping down onto the tussock again. ‘Before she had a chance to get famous. He came to hear her sing and
fell madly in love with her and promised to look after her forever
.’ She pushed the words out sourly. ‘And he told her he was going to be a lawyer, and they got married straight away, a fortnight after they met, and he misled her. He lied to her. He’s not a lawyer, he’s only a lawyer’s clerk.’
She sensed Uncle George was about to interrupt. Quickly she said, ‘Look, I worked out ages ago what happened!’
She leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands to hide how red it was. ‘I do
know
the facts of life, you know,’ she said, trying to sound adult and breezy. She did know them, but having to associate them with her own parents nauseated her.
‘Not sure I’m quite with you.’
‘You know! August 1944, and my birthday’s May 1945. It’s obvious! They must’ve, you know. I must have been a…a honeymoon baby.’
George was staring into the sand and appeared not to hear.
‘Right? And so that was that,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t it? They didn’t even
want
me. She couldn’t be a singer, not with a baby, and he never did what you’ve got to do to be a proper lawyer because they got stuck with me.’
‘You were a bit unexpected,’ Uncle George said.
Lila said more quietly, ‘It’s not as if I could help it.’
They said nothing for a while.
‘Look,’ George said, ‘that’s not the whole story.’ He turned to Lila and scanned her face. ‘Listen, if I tell you this, it’s because you’re old enough now, okay? It’s not fair you don’t know, I think you’re entitled to know.’
‘Know what? I’m not adopted, am I?’
‘Of course not! No. It’s more…unusual than that. And if I tell you, you mustn’t let on you know, to them or anybody, all right? It’s not to spread around. It doesn’t change anything, only it might stop you thinking the wrong things about them.’
‘Tell me
what
?’
‘They…Well, your mother…’ Uncle George began. ‘She…I mean, look. Have you ever wondered why she only plays her
Turandot
records when she’s really angry?’
Lila cast her eyes upwards. ‘That’s obvious! She was singing in
Turandot
when he met her. Turandot was her big role, or should have been. Anyway, she plays other things, too, now and then.
Madame Butterfly, La Traviata, La Bohème
—’
‘Yes, all right,’ Uncle George said gently, ‘but
Turandot
’s the one, isn’t it? But your dad never actually heard her. He didn’t go to the opera to listen to her.’
‘What then? What do you mean?’
‘They were on in Glasgow. It was some touring company from England. Your mother did well to get in. When our father was killed she had to make her own way so she got this chorus job. I was still at school.’
‘I know that. She tells people she was the youngest in the company.’
‘Probably true. It was no great shakes, the company, just a scratch thing in wartime. And frankly I’ve never understood how she came to be even covering Turandot at that age. They were irresponsible to let her, it doesn’t bear thinking about what she would have made of it. Her voice hadn’t the heft for it at twenty, no-one’s has. Could have damaged it, permanently. Turandot’s a role you shouldn’t even consider before you’re at least—’
‘Stop going on about the
singing
.’
George paused. ‘Your father went round the Glasgow theatres. He was working in a lawyer’s office and studying for his law degree, hadn’t much to live on. Somebody he met via his firm, some kind of merchant…anyway this man put some under-the-counter stuff your father’s way—this was when there was rationing, you couldn’t get nice things on coupons. Your father sold it in a pub. He could have sold anything, he was different then. Plenty to say for himself. Real polish. And he was very good-looking.’
Lila snorted in disbelief.
‘So,’ George went on, ‘he started getting quite a bit of this stuff, it was coming in all the time off boats from Ireland. He sold round the theatres, mainly clothes and stockings. The chorus girls were earning and they liked good stuff and they moved on. Safer for him. Hundreds did it but it was risky, the black market.’