The Boat (29 page)

Clemmie pretended that she didn’t want to go to the christening, out of loyalty to her mum. But she
did
want to go. She wanted to see where her dad lived. She wanted to see Peter whom she’d only met once when he was a baby in the hospital with a black poo in his nappy. Also, though she would
never
say this to her mother, she wanted Liz to get to know her. She wanted Liz to like her and include her in their plans. She had guilty private thoughts of moving there one day and them all living together happily as a family, of her being really helpful and popular. Something else was bothering her: she was beginning to forget what her dad looked like because what with him being so busy with his new job and the baby and stuff, she hadn’t actually seen him for a year and a half. He sent cards at Christmas and on her birthday and she had spoken to him on the phone, but it was difficult to actually make arrangements what with school and them always going on foreign holidays. She could remember his eyes and his mouth but the middle bit was all blurry, probably because the only photograph she had was one where his hand was covering half of his face.

All this aside, there was another major reason she wanted to go to the christening: Sarah’s mum, Mrs Love, had said she could pick Clemmie up on their way down to Cornwall and if Jackie wanted, Clemmie could come with them and Jackie could have some time to herself. Clemmie had overheard this on the telephone – she’d been listening in on the phone upstairs. The mums had been organizing pick-ups from Donna’s birthday party when the suggestion was made. Clemmie had let out a little squeak and had to clamp her hand over her mouth. She wanted more than anything to go down to Cornwall with Sarah’s family especially as she hadn’t wet the bed for nearly a month now. She loved everything about the Loves. They were all disorganized and happy. They could spend the whole day deciding what to get at the shop at the bottom of the hill, sitting on each other’s laps and making jokes and cups of tea. And no one ever said
what a waste of time
. Sarah’s dad was always tinkering around on motorbikes and boats with the boys – he let them do whatever they wanted; once, when Johnny was only eight, they had sailed a dinghy each from Newquay round to Padstow all by themselves. Sarah’s mum was the coolest mum at school. She wore black and had clangy jewellery and cooked with garlic. She was always saying things like
The more the merrier
and
Stay the night!
and
I’m sure we can fit in one more
whereas Clemmie’s mum wore bright floral dresses and was always counting things up and deciding that there wasn’t quite enough.

Clemmie had got the train down to Bridgwater by herself. She kept wandering up and down the carriages, feeling free and grown up, hoping other children would notice how independent she was. It was the first time she had actually used the handbag her nanna had given her, which contained a pound note
for emergencies.
Clemmie was having such fun queuing up in the buffet car – she’d done so four times in the first hour and had already spent the entire pound on crisps – she carried on queuing up for the rest of the journey, as well gathering as many free salt and peppers and plastic cutlery packets as she could. She was collecting souvenirs. She had decided that trains were a fine way to travel; one day she would travel the whole world by train and plane. She had her heart set on those wet serviette sachets people got on aeroplanes.

She saw him before he saw her. He was standing on the Bridgwater platform, his head swivelling quickly from carriage to carriage as he tried to spot her through the windows. Her heart had jumped at the sight of him and his lovely face, all concerned about where she was. Then as the train slowed down she saw Liz and Peter at his side and she’d felt a little less jumpy-hearted because she’d rather hoped it would be just her dad for the first bit.

She got out of the carriage and saw the relief on his face when he recognized her. He held out his arms and she forgot about Liz and Peter and went running down the platform and into his embrace. He lifted her high in the air and hugged her and she felt so happy she thought she might burst. Then he put her down slowly and said things like
What a big girl you are now
and
You’ve got so grown up
, which was nice but kept reminding them both of all the bits they’d missed. Liz was behind him now with Peter in her arms. She bent down to give Clemmie a kiss and tried to get Peter to say,
Hello, Clemency. How was the journey?
which had seemed both unnecessary and impossible.

As they walked back to the car she had hoped her dad might take her hand but Peter was holding one of them and he had her bag in the other so she walked behind the Todd-Baileys. Her dad looked different. He wasn’t like Starsky any more. He was wearing country clothes, one of those jackets that stands up by itself when you’re not in it and he had muddy Wellington boots on. Then in the car Liz kept calling him
James
and he didn’t correct her or anything so all in all he didn’t really seem quite so much like Jim any more.

She could see why her dad liked Liz: she wore Kicker boots and had straight hair and liked making things. She’d made decorations all over the house for the christening, little white angels and paper chains. She wasn’t bothered about people spilling things on the carpet or the mess on the kitchen table. Peter had chocolate on his face all day and she didn’t mind one bit. She was friendly and asked Clem lots of questions but didn’t really have time to listen to the answers because she would have to go off and take Peter to the loo, or give him some food, or pick him up if he’d fallen over, or shake something in his face to stop him crying. Then when she came back she’d usually forgotten what Clemmie was saying and it made her feel a little self-conscious to start all over again. So in the end she just kept her answers short.

It was nice later on when Liz was putting Peter to bed and Clemmie could just sit at the kitchen while her dad cooked. James was a much better cook than Jim. She’d never seen Jim cook at all. But even then Liz kept shouting things down from upstairs and he would say
Hang on a moment, Clemmie
, as he took a bottle or a bib or a baby thing up the stairs to her.
What were you saying?
he’d ask when he got back and she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit hurt that he couldn’t remember. It was better after supper when Peter was asleep and the three of them sat in the living room watching telly and chatting.

Her dad and Liz were on the sofa drinking red wine and she was in the armchair not drinking anything. She rather wished she’d sat on the sofa first then he would have sat down next to her and would now be holding her hand like that. Or she could have curled up into him. She supposed she was too big for sitting on him these days even though she was the smallest girl in her class. She was just hoping for one little moment of intimacy with him. From where she was sitting she could pretend to be watching the telly when really she was watching them. He kept touching and stroking Liz and staring at her in a dreamy kind of way that Clemmie recognized. It was the way he used to stare at her sometimes and seeing it used on someone else made her feel wobbly and left out. Liz was his
At Home
now; she could see that. Although Clemmie would most definitely be telling her mum that Liz was not nearly as pretty as she was, she could see that it wasn’t about prettiness to Jim and she felt suddenly hugely sorry for her mum, who seemed to be nothing to do with anything any more. She noticed that whenever she mentioned her mum, her dad would mumble something and then Liz and he would exchange a smile or a glance and it made her want to stop mentioning her mother at all. So there were several times when she started talking but would have to fizzle out because most of her stories seemed to involve her mum.

Liz kept yawning and Clemmie hoped she would go to bed and then Clemmie could go and sit on the sofa next to James and he could hold her hand in that special way and rub her shoulder like that and look into her eyes with that very same expression. But Liz didn’t go to bed, she just shut her eyes and leant on him in the snugly way Clemmie would have liked to with his arm around her, stroking her. Even when Clemmie was telling him her most exciting news about the finals of the gymnastics competition he just carried on stroking Liz. He was looking at Clemmie but he was loving Liz.

She hated Liz.

‘How was the christening?’ Sarah’s mum asked the next day as they drove down the windy roads out of the village in their big family car. Clemmie could see Sarah’s mum’s face in the rear-view mirror smiling at her, her ringed fingers on the wheel, the shiny pale pink of her nail varnish. Clem was in the back in the middle, squashed between Sarah and Rob. No one else had wanted to sit there but it was just perfect for Clemmie, right in the middle of things. She had sat at the kitchen window looking out for them for the last couple of hours; they were late and she thought they might have forgotten about her.

‘It was fine,’ she said, looking out of the window. ‘Peter didn’t like it when the vicar dunked him in the water.’

It was a lovely sunny evening now but it had poured earlier at the church and the car made swishing sounds as they drove through puddles. Sarah was leaning out of the window letting her hand brush the hedgerows and Johnny, was in the front seat because Sarah’s dad was already in Cornwall. She barely recognized Rob beside her; he’d dyed his hair blond and he sounded different.

‘Oh, don’t mind him, his balls have dropped,’ Sarah said and nobody looked shocked.

‘Least I’ve got them,’ Rob replied, leaning across Clemmie. ‘You’re always going to be a
girl
.’ He said it as though that was a real insult, a thought that had never occurred to Clemmie.

‘What’s wrong with girls,
Homo
?’ The speed of Sarah’s reply was most impressive to Clemmie. But then Sarah had had a lot of practice. Even Johnny, who was looking out of the other window, laughed at that. Maybe one day she and Peter would joke around like this. But it was hard to imagine.

‘What’s your dad’s new wife like?’ Sarah’s mum asked Clemmie.

‘She’s nice.’

‘Really?’ Sarah’s mum said as if Clemmie might be lying. She was watching Clemmie from the mirror with a naughty smile on her face. ‘You’re allowed to say she was horrid, you know. We won’t tell.’

Clemmie laughed. ‘No, she’s nice.’

‘You’re such a sweetie, Lollipop.’ Sarah’s mum always called her lollipop. She felt honoured to have a nickname; it was like being part of the family.

‘Jonts, I forgot to say,’ Sarah’s mum said. ‘Sally rang. She wants to know if you can babysit the Friday we get back. I said I’d ask.’

‘I bet he can,’ Rob said, to which Johnny snuck his hand behind the seat and flicked Rob a V-sign. They were slightly scary to Clemmie, Sarah’s brothers, in that intimidating teenagery way.

‘I’ll babysit,’ Sarah said. ‘I need the money.’ She was so effortlessly grown up; Clemmie felt she should be
needing
money as well.

‘I’ll give you five p,’ Rob said.

‘Go on then,’ Sarah said, holding out her hand.

‘Show us your tits first.’

‘Pervert.’

‘I’ll give you six p,’ Rob said.

‘Fifty p,’ Sarah said.

‘Seven,’ he said.

‘No.’

Clemmie, in the middle, was looking from Sarah to Rob, as if she was watching a tricksy game of tennis. ‘Eight.’

‘Rob! Stop it!’ Sarah’s mum said but she didn’t sound cross or anything. Clemmie could see her in the mirror and she had a smile on her face.

‘Nine p.’

‘No.’

‘Final offer. Ten.’

‘Oh, all right then,’ Sarah said and hoiked up her top to reveal one flat little tit.

Rob glanced uninterestedly at his sister. ‘Prostitute,’ he said. They all fell about laughing, even Sarah. Clemmie joined in, feeling a warm familial happiness consuming her.

‘What’s a prostitute?’ she asked and they all stopped laughing for a moment and then laughed even louder and she wasn’t sure why. Johnny was the first to stop. He was looking at her with a kind smile twinkling from his bright green eyes.

‘Shut up,’ he said to his siblings, his eyes still on her. ‘It doesn’t matter, Clemmie. He’s just stupid.’ Then he went back to looking out of the window.

There were no lights. There were no villages. Dawn came and went, bringing nothing but more deserted landscape. So the next day passed sailing and sleeping and all the while Annie lay in the forecabin staring, seemingly in a trance. She could have been in another world altogether. Johnny went down to see her every now and then but she didn’t respond to him. She lay there on her back looking up through the hatch at the patch of sky. He tried to get through to her: he’d sit down on the edge of the bed and talk about the wind and how he and Clem would be leaving soon, how she must take good care of herself and Smudge, how he didn’t hold anything against her, how sorry he was for her difficulties, but the whole time she remained utterly expressionless, untouched by her surroundings. The boat would roll her here and there and she would let it, she put up no resistance. It was as if her soul had taken flight and vacated her body. He wasn’t even sure she could hear him, she was so far removed. A couple of times he just sat there and said nothing.

He had sat like that for hours on his mother’s bed near the end. And after all that, none of them were even in the room when she died. It was as if she had deliberately waited to be alone. And of course Johnny had always worried about whether she had panicked at the very end or whether she had been OK. The cats were there, that was some comfort. The cats had sat purring on her cold dead body for two whole days before the undertakers came to take her away. One of the undertakers had picked up one of the cats and his father had reacted so out of character that Johnny had been quite embarrassed. He’d never heard his father shout at anyone before. The man must have been used to it though, he didn’t respond at all. But Johnny and Rob had had to hold their dad up, because his legs gave way and he howled like an animal as they carried her body out of the room.