By the Shore

by Galaxy Craze

  Sometimes I’d walk the dog around the park. Through the fence you could see tulips and rose bushes planted neatly along the path. The stone birdbaths were held by statues of angels. If I were a bird in London, this is where I would live. The trees were so old and tall that when you lifted your head to see the tops, you would see the moon shining through the branches. Inside, a teenage girl with long brown hair held hands with a tall skinny boy as they walked along the gravel path that curved around the grass and the planted flowers. A mother and daughter sat on a bench eating sandwiches.

  I walked slowly outside the gate with Bert. Everything seemed so safe, safe in the city, in the park that was separate and clean, and everyone inside had the same key. I thought, They must be rich.

  …

  I stopped in the school hallway and touched the wall with my fingers. I’d been invited to Barbara’s party; things were changing. I opened the classroom door slowly so it wouldn’t squeak and stepped inside. The girls turned their heads to look, then back to the teacher. Maths was our first class of the day. Someone from the back of the room stuck up her hand and waved to me. It was Barbara. I waved back, a small wave. Jolene looked behind her to see who I was waving to. When she saw, she looked at me with a tilted expression. I sat down and stared straight ahead at the blackboard.

  Fish fingers for lunch, and stewed peaches. Jolene and I sat with our trays at a table near the kitchen.

  “Remember, my mum’s taking us Christmas shopping tomorrow afternoon,” Jolene said.

  I nodded. It’s hard to talk when you have a secret in your mouth, so I kept it closed.

  “I already know what I’m going to give you,” Jolene told me. She was trying not to smile. There was a brooch on the collar of her shirt, green-stemmed flowers with little red petals.

  “Should we come and pick you up? My mum wants to leave by noon,” she said, mixing her peaches and custard together.

  “I’ll come to your house,” I said.

  Across the room, Barbara, Courtney, and Polly sat at the corner table picking at their food.

  Jolene looked at me. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I have a headache.” I didn’t really. I saw the three of them huddle together, whispering and then flinging their heads back, laughing.

  “You should drink some water,” Jolene said. She poured a glass from the jug on the table.

  “Thanks.” I took a sip. It was warm and cloudy. It always was.

  …

  I walked up the narrow back stairs to our flat, I didn’t want to see anyone and went straight to my room to do my homework. I liked having to do it, sitting before an open book, as though it were a Queen to serve.

  I started my maths, to get it out of the way. When I was finished, I remembered it was Friday. The house was quiet. Outside I could hear the wind. The branches of the big tree blew against my window.

  I walked down the hallway. “Mum? Eden?” I couldn’t speak very loudly. I was scared; it was in my throat. I went into every room, turning on all the lights and then leaving them on. Where was my mother? Where was my brother? I thought, They have disappeared this time, they really have. They went for a walk and they’ll never come back, like the schoolgirls who used to live here.

  When I turned on the lights in the sitting room, I thought, Something’s different in this room; something has changed. I stood in the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle looking at everything: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. The furniture was the same, the ceiling still slanted, the small black-and-white telly was still shoved in the corner. But there was something different. If the room were a woman and you said, “You look pretty. What have you done?” she’d blush slightly, and whisper, “It’s my new purple eye shadow.” It was something like that in the room.

  I stood very still, looking around. The back of my neck felt cold. I thought I could hear voices and music bubbling up through the floor. I bent down, trying to hear the sounds more clearly, but they got lost under the rug. When I looked back up I saw what it was. There were lavender curtains draped around the windows, the curtains Annabel had made in London.

  I walked downstairs, stopping on the steps to listen, to make sure. The sounds became louder, clearer, real voices, not like the ones I hear at night that get mixed up in the sea and wind. They were coming from the yellow sitting room downstairs.

  The room was warm and looked as though it were lit by candles. A fire burned low in the fireplace. My mother sat in an armchair. A record was playing softly, a French singer, a woman with a high girlish voice. Rufus sat on the sofa holding a wineglass between both hands. Annabel sat across from him, leaning back into her chair, a cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other.

  “Do you ever write for magazines?” Annabel asked Rufus. She was still trying to figure out if he was famous.

  “I used to,” he said, looking down at his glass.

  When I walked into the room, my mother’s eyes moved over me slowly, looking at me as though she had just left me upstairs in a crib and I had come downstairs almost thirteen years old.

  “If it isn’t the little cherub,” Annabel said when she saw me.

  I walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Neither did I,” Annabel said, raising her eyebrows, like she was surprised at herself.

  “Are you staying for Christmas?” I asked.

  “Did you see the curtains?”

  I nodded. “They’re nice.”

  “Lady Dorchester has the same ones in her library.”

  “They’re lovely,” my mother said.

  Eden was sitting next to the fire with a colouring book and a box full of pens and pencils. The cat was next to him. I sat down on the arm of Annabel’s chair.

  There was a wooden bowl of pistachios on the table and a packet of dates with a thin plastic fork. I took a pistachio and opened the shell.

  Patricia walked in. She wore tight dark jeans and a red poloneck sweater. Everything brand new, the colours still bright. “Sorry I took so long. That shower downstairs is crap,” she said, and sat down on the sofa next to Rufus. Their thighs touched and he moved over slightly.

  “Have a glass of wine, darling,” Annabel said, as she poured a glass.

  Annabel had a roughish voice that she tried to make high and elegant whenever she spoke to someone she was trying to impress. It was how she spoke to Patricia.

  “Remind me to phone him tomorrow,” Patricia said to Annabel.

  “I will,” Annabel said, handing her the glass of wine. I thought, They must have had more than one lunch together in London.

  “Phone who?” my mother asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Annabel said. My mother shook her head. “Patricia has very kindly recommended that I decorate her brother’s house. Jet Jones, the singer.”

  “He just bought a new house on Primrose Hill,” Patricia told my mother.

  “It’s beautiful,” Annabel said.

  Patricia looked at my mother. She moved her eyes from the top of my mother’s head down to her feet, as though she were trying to figure something out.

  “Have you done something to yourself, Lucy? You look different.”

  The light was dim in the room. There were just two table lamps and the light from the fire. The lamp near my mother had a red shade, and the light from it made her glow.

  “No, I don’t think so.” She put her hand on her neck, something she did when she was nervous. She did look different; there was colour in her face and her hair was down.

  Rufus looked over at my mother and smiled. There was an expression on his face that made his eyes light up, the way parents look at their child, proud. Rufus looked at her that way and my mother saw it too. I thought, She knows, she knows. Then why is she sinking into the back of her chair with her hand on her neck?

  “It must be the hair. You should wear it down more, it’s so nice and thick. Is that a natural wave?” Patricia asked.

  My
mother nodded.

  “You look like that actress with your hair down. What’s her name?” Patricia looked to Annabel for help.

  I’ve seen women do this before, act more interested in the woman than the man, making a fuss, telling her she’s pretty. Getting her on their side, away from him.

  “Oh, I know who you mean!” Annabel said, waving her cigarette in the air. They moved at the same speed, Annabel and Patricia. “That actress. Oh, God, what’s her name? You know the one I mean.”

  Everyone looked at Annabel, waiting for her to figure out who she was talking about.

  “I know who you mean,” Patricia said, looking at my mother and nodding her head slowly.

  “I’m sure Lucy’s more beautiful,” Rufus said. My mother’s face reddened, and she looked down at her hands.

  I saw Patricia turn her head very slowly towards Rufus, and when their eyes met she smiled widely at him. “You know just what to say to the women!” she said, laughing, then laid her hand on his knee. My mother looked away. Annabel sipped her wine. No one spoke. The French record played softly in the background, and Patricia moved her hand gently up and down Rufus’s leg.

  “Lucy?” Patricia said, after a moment. “We were going to go to the films. Would you like to come with us?”

  Rufus stood up quickly, and Patricia’s hand fell from his knee. He walked over to the record player.

  I thought Eden would be bouncing around, wanting to go to the movie, but he just sat there by the cat.

  “I don’t think I want to go any more,” Rufus said.

  “Lucy, you probably won’t want to go either,” Patricia said.

  I walked over to the fire to look at Eden’s drawing. She’ll never go, I thought, she’ll never go.

  “I’d love to see a film, actually,” I heard my mother say. Then she stood up, walked over to where Rufus was standing, and said, “Rufus, come to the films with us.”

  Eden stood up and followed the cat out of the room. He could do that for hours, follow the cat around.

  “Do you want to go?” Rufus asked her quietly, and she nodded her head.

  When my mother turned to Patricia, she kept her face very blank as though she were looking at a plain wall and said, “We should leave soon.”

  …

  We stood outside the cinema, waiting in the ticket queue. The wind blew and blew. We wrapped our arms around ourselves and jumped up and down. My hands stung. I’d forgotten my gloves. Where did the winter come from?

  My mother made a sound like a gasp and her hand flew up to her mouth. She turned around, looking behind her as though something had just bitten her ankle.

  “What?” Annabel asked.

  “I don’t believe it.” She spoke almost in a whisper.

  “What?” we all asked, leaning in.

  “Where’s Eden?” This was louder. Everyone looked frozen for a moment. We turned around, looking behind ourselves.

  “Was he in the car?” my mother asked. We went quiet for a moment, thinking. Then we all shook our heads.

  “We must have lost him in the shuffle,” Annabel said.

  Eden, lost in the shuffle. That’s what it will say on his tombstone.

  “We must have left him at home.”

  “May, I told you to get him ready.”

  Then I remembered. My mother had handed me his coat; she was checking in her purse to make sure she had enough money. We were in a rush to get to the cinema on time. I called his name while I walked down the hallway with his coat in my hand, and I found him tiptoeing behind the cat into the bathroom. I came up behind him and grabbed his wrist. “Put this on,” I told him. It was brown with wooden buttons, too short in the sleeves and the top button pinched his neck, but I did it up anyway.

  “He’s following the cat around,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She was asking me because he usually sat next to me in the back.

  “It’s not her fault,” Patricia said.

  “I have to go home!” my mother said, flapping her arms around. She started to walk to the car.

  “I’ll help you look for him,” Rufus said, following her.

  “Lucy, he’s done this before. He probably hasn’t even noticed we’re gone,” Annabel said.

  “I was left alone all the time when I was little.” I tried to shout it at my mother, but only Annabel and Patricia heard.

  “That was in a city, darling; there were neighbours,” Annabel told me.

  My mother was walking quickly towards the car, arms swinging sharply. Rufus ran up alongside her. I could see their breath in the air.

  “Now we’ll have to take a bloody taxi home,” Annabel said.

  “Where’s he going?” Patricia asked, as she watched them walk away.

  “Next, please,” said the woman at the ticket window.

  Annabel stepped up to the window. “I don’t know how many tickets to buy,” she said to the woman in the booth, but the woman just stared at her, bored.

  “Four,” Patricia said, unzipping a thin brown wallet and handing her a note. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me out of the queue away from Annabel.

  “Go and get him,” she said, leaning close to me.

  “What?”

  “Tell him you want him to stay.” Her voice was steel.

  I ran towards the car. My lungs hurt from the cold and my feet slapped against the pavement. I was trying to think of things I could say to make him stay. My mother had stopped under a streetlamp to look for the car keys.

  “Rufus.” I stopped in front of them, out of breath. “Please stay.” The cold air blew hair into my face. What am I doing? I thought.

  Both of them looked at me, surprised.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. Rufus stood with his cold breath around him and his hands in his pockets.

  “Rufus, come on. It’s about to start.” That was Patricia, walking happily towards us like nothing was happening. “I have your ticket,” she said.

  My mother stepped away from him. “Just stay here,” she said, opening the car door.

  “Come on or we’ll miss the trailers,” Patricia said to Rufus. He was watching the car move slowly out of the parking spot.

  “Come on,” I said, and the three of us walked towards the cinema.

  This is what mothers do: bend down to tie a shoelace, to wipe a mouth, wipe away tears, smooth down hair. Always looking over their shoulder. Standing at the edge of the pool: “Wear your water wings!” At the seaside: “Not too deep!” And now this, telling Rufus to stay here because her daughter asked, while she drives home alone through the dark and narrow roads to find her six-year-old son.

  Inside, the cinema was warm: worn red rugs and the smell of butter and popcorn. They had Christmas decorations; silver tinsel streamers hung on the wall. I thought I could smell pine from the Christmas tree, but it was plastic. I measured myself against it, putting my hand on the top of my head and moving it in a straight line to the tree. The tree was a bit taller, but that was because of the star on top. I looked behind me to see if anyone was watching. I had to touch the star; it was something I had to do. I touched one of the points with the tip of my finger. Something good will happen now, I thought.

  It was a film about a dancer who hurts her foot, then recovers and wins a big contest. The woman in front of me had frizzy hair; I sat on my feet so I could see better but then my ankles hurt. I kicked the back of her chair, on purpose. I heard my mother say, “Why didn’t you say something?” What if Eden had followed the cat outside to the rocks and had fallen? We’d find him in the morning, after we had been searching all night, lying like a rag doll by the shore.

  At the back, a boy and girl were kissing. They would start and stop, making slurping sounds. During the film, Rufus climbed over me. Other people shuffled, standing up, moving their legs to the side so he could pass. I heard a man say, “Mind my foot!” When he crossed the projector you could see his shadow on the screen. Patricia watched him; her mouth we
nt tight. He was gone for a long time, I thought maybe he was buying sweets, but he came back without any.

  “That film made me feel like dancing,” Annabel said, doing a shuffle forward and back as we walked out.

  In the taxi, on the way back, Annabel kept trying to sing the theme song, “I’m gonna fly in the sky, high!” She threw her hands up with the song.

  “You missed the best part, Rufus. Where did you go?” Patricia asked as we drove home.

  “I went to phone Lucy to see if everything was all right.”

  “Was it?” Patricia asked.

  “Eden’s fine,” he said.

  “That was sweet of you,” Patricia said. She put her hand on the back of his neck, massaging it, then lightly, just with the tips of her fingers. I knew what that felt like. Jolene and I did it to each other: the softest tickle. Rufus didn’t look at her, he didn’t tell her to stop; he let her move her fingers up and down the back of his neck as we rode home in the taxi.

  When we were home and standing in the front hall with our coats still on, Patricia turned to Annabel and said, “Let’s finish that wine upstairs.”

  “Yes, why don’t we,” Annabel said.

  “Will you join us?”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding my head, and Annabel and Patricia laughed.

  “We were talking to Rufus, darling.”

  “I’m actually quite tired,” he said.

  “Fine. More for us, then,” Patricia said, and they started up the stairs to the sitting room.

  My mother was in her room; I saw her through the open door, lying on her bed, eating something out of a teacup. I heard the sound of the spoon scraping against the cup. I walked right past her room without saying anything.

  “May?”

  I stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “May, come here.” There was a picture on the wall, A Spring Morning I stared at it, at the painted poppies, at the pale sky. I thought, I’m not going to say one word. For three days I won’t say one word to her.

  “May?” She stood outside her bedroom door. I stared at the picture, at the wooden frame. I put my finger in my mouth like I was biting my nails.

  “May!” She shouted it.