The Great Godden

by Meg Rosoff

  Hugo possessed the opposite talent, that of selective invisibility, so your eyes travelled over and past him without hesitation. It was quite a skill when you thought about it.

  Kit shone softly beside Mattie, happy to let his mother hog the stage. He didn’t need to compete and he knew it. And she knew it. There was pride in her possession of him, and a touch of something else.

  Hope was explaining about the wedding – ‘not a big affair, nothing extravagant, you know me’ – while Florence Godden feigned shock and said do at least let me buy the flowers, and never mind the schedule, the film can just do without me if it comes to that.

  I somehow knew it wouldn’t come to that. Hope caught my eye and I saw she knew as well. It felt almost like complicity but the moment didn’t stick.

  Dessert came out from the kitchen, courtesy of Mal – a plum tart the size of a wagon wheel that Hope set down next to Hugo because he was closest, and also to include him in the group. A large jug of cream followed.

  Hope held the knife out to him. ‘Will you slice it, Hugo?’

  But Hugo shook his head, and Alex seized the knife, chopping up the tart into twelve ragged triangles.

  Florence received hers with a great show of enthusiasm, despite having eaten almost nothing at lunch. None of the tart went either, and eventually Mal slid it over on to his plate.

  Coffee arrived, and Florence began to make leaving noises. ‘If only I could remain among you gorgeous friends instead of flying off to Hungary,’ she said, inflecting ‘Hungary’ with the enthusiasm you might normally save for ‘Pyongyang’.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Mal said through a mouthful of tart. ‘Goulash and spuds among the Magyars. Dullsville.’ He pronounced it ‘mod-jars’.

  ‘What’s mod jars?’ Alex asked, quite reasonably. No one else cared.

  ‘At my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near,’ Florence said with a sigh. ‘But until we meet again, I shall keep each and every one of you in my heart.’ She clasped both hands to her breast with a sorrowful tilt of the head, then (scene over) drew her delicate cobweb gloves over one narrow wrist, then the other, fetched her hat from the table by the door, embraced Kit, Hope and Mal, threw kisses to the rest of us, and at the last moment stopped and glanced round for Hugo.

  ‘Hugo!’ Mal shouted, and everyone fell silent waiting for him to appear.

  But he didn’t.

  By the time he sauntered back into view, his mother had gone.

  8

  Mattie fell in love quicker than anyone I’d ever seen. It was the checklist in her head working overtime, ticking off life-partner material against a chart she’d seen online called ‘How To Know If He’s The One’ that involved lots of pictures of glowing young things giving each other piggy-back rides, picking apples or having pillow fights.

  At this moment, she’s talking to Alex, who’s trying not to listen, and I’m sketching landscapes from the top of the tower.

  ‘What do you think he’s like? Kit, I mean. I mean, really like? Kit. Kit Godden. It’s the best name, don’t you think?’

  Alex looked at her. ‘I dunno. It sounds like some kind of animal to me. Like a ferret.’ He drew up his top lip and stuck out his teeth. ‘Kkkit. Kkkit. Kkkkit. Definitely a ferret. Which is OK by me. I like ferrets.’

  ‘He’s not a ferret,’ Mattie called after the retreating Alex, expecting no response and getting none, and you didn’t actually have to be in the room to see her flopping down on the sofa, imagining a summer of complete Kit Godden immersion – swimming with Kit Godden, sailing with Kit Godden, hanging around reading books on the sofa, her feet touching Kit Godden’s. After that, a discreet historical blank until she reappeared as Mr and Mrs Kit Godden and their beautiful children: Coco, Miles and baby Wolf.

  I guessed it would take about twenty minutes before she got bored fantasising and started looking for an audience. Mattie is the original tree that falls in a forest.

  Fifteen minutes, as it happened, before she leaped up and began casting about for company.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she shouted. ‘Mum?’ You could hear her in the tower. You could probably hear her eight miles away. ‘Alex? Anybody?’

  I leaned out the window in time to see Alex’s head emerge from the crawl space under the porch. ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘Do you think he’ll fall in love with me?’

  Alex regarded her critically, drew up his lip again. ‘You mean Kkkit?’

  Mattie looked hopeful.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes he will, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘OK.’ Alex’s voice came from within the crawl space, where he’d disappeared again. ‘Whatever.’

  Mattie followed him to the porch, knelt and peered into the darkness. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Mrs Kkkkkit.’

  I closed the window.

  Hope and Malcolm had whisked Mattie’s future husband and his brother off sightseeing along the usual route – fourteenth-century church, Anglo-Saxon burial site, second-hand bookshop, ruined castle, historic pub. It was hard to imagine them caring much about our local history, coming from LA where there was none.

  ‘They won’t be interested in all that junk,’ Mattie grumbled. ‘It’s a perfect day for sailing, and the dinghy’s just sitting there. Kit could have come sailing with me. Come sailing with me, Alex.’

  ‘I’m not going to stand in for your future husband. We’ll be out forever and I’ve got stuff to do.’

  ‘Please, Alex.’

  Sometimes I get a blast of how potent Mattie is. When she wants something, she looks so hopeful, so vulnerable, so astonishingly, heart-meltingly needy, and underneath she’s steel. People who aren’t used to her huge brown eyes and terrifying will sometimes have brain spasms.

  Alex held out. ‘I have tons to do.’

  ‘Come on, Alex … we can look for seals!’

  You could see his resolve melting. I wanted to call, Hold fast, Alex! Think of cricket statistics! Times tables!

  ‘OK,’ he said, defeated, and trudged off to fetch the sails.

  They didn’t return till late afternoon, wet, salty and cross, having argued for hours about who was skipper, why neither of them had thought to bring sandwiches, and later, whose turn it was to hose down the sails, with the result that neither of them bothered.

  Dad arrived from town just before they stomped separately up the beach.

  Mattie threw her arms around him.

  ‘Hello, Matts. You and Alex been sailing? Did you take life jackets?’

  ‘Yes. What’s for lunch? We’re starving.’

  ‘There’s ham and cheese,’ he said. ‘But it’s nearly five. Dinner’s soon.’

  ‘Make me a sandwich, will you, Matts?’ Alex collapsed on the nearest sofa.

  ‘Make your own.’

  ‘I came sailing with you, didn’t I?’ He turned to his father. ‘Mattie’s pining for the new boy.’

  ‘She’s barely met him.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  Mattie stormed in from the kitchen. ‘He’s nicer than anyone in this house.’

  ‘Obvs,’ said Alex.

  Mattie crashed back into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later to slam a haphazard-looking sandwich down in front of Alex.

  ‘Thanks you.’

  Dad sat down next to Alex on the sofa. ‘Seen anything interesting?’

  Alex hauled himself up and reached for his laptop. ‘Look – latest results of Bat TV. Five species so far.’ He pointed to images on the screen. ‘Plus this one, which I think is a Daubentons, very shy …’ He froze the blurry, bluish video. ‘Look at it. Beautiful face, don’t you think? They usually live underground. Don’t know how this one found my bat box.’

  Mattie leaned over to look at the picture and shuddered. ‘Gross.’

  ‘Numbers are down this summer. You can tell in the evening just by looking. Hardly any mosquitoes for them to eat.’

  ‘Their loss is our gain.’ Dad stretched. ‘Yo
ur mother and I are going for a walk before it gets late – you kids want to come?’

  Alex made a face. ‘Take Mattie, might cheer her up.’

  Mattie kicked him. ‘I’m not the one who needs cheering up.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘OK, enough.’ Dad turned to me. ‘Come with us?’

  I shook my head.

  Mattie stayed behind, pretending to watch a film, but actually she was dreaming of Kit. No one but he knew how she really felt.

  Or cared, for that matter.

  I wondered whether Mattie was going to start off some big drama to disturb the peace this year. It seemed likely. She was desperate to lose her virginity, and what sort of person would say no to Mattie? Surely not some movie star’s kid, fresh off the plane.

  Meanwhile, there’d be wedding flowers and dresses and food to sort out, even with Hope’s refusal to fuss. I was guessing that the atmosphere would prove contagious, and Hope’s betrothal to Mal would make something in Mattie’s head go a little bit wild.

  Still, every summer needs a theme, and I guess Love and Marriage was marginally better than Death and Despair.

  9

  Dad always woke first. He went for a swim, jogged two miles up to the shop, came back with a newspaper and bread, made coffee, then spent half an hour looking around for some late sleeper to lord it over. If she wasn’t sleeping, Mum joined him for the swim, by which time Malcolm and Hope had wandered over for coffee. Everyone under twenty emerged slowly, one by one, youngest to oldest. It was the same every morning.

  The only difference now was that Mattie flounced out of bed earlier than usual, bad-tempered and thick-headed, and instead of throwing herself down on to one of the big sofas and waiting for people to bring her tea, she slipped her feet into flip-flops and flapped off in the direction from which Hope and Mal had come.

  Mattie and Kit’s romance began under entirely false pretences, Mattie arriving at the little house pretending to look for Hope, whom she’d just passed on the path going in the opposite direction.

  Once there, she settled down to wait for breakfast with Kit, sometimes getting Hugo instead. She didn’t have to bother disliking Hugo; he hardly registered.

  I liked the fact that she never bothered to stalk Kit. She just turned up. When you look like Mattie, it’s easy to show up uninvited for breakfast in a way that’s adorable rather than unwelcome. What annoys me most is that it takes no effort to be born beautiful, no hard work, no mental agility, no strength of character. Just dumb luck. And yet it’s a universal currency, often mistaken for moral superiority.

  If Kit had been looking for an effortless summer conquest, Mattie in her pale yellow frilled swimsuit would have fitted the bill precisely. But from the first it was hard to tell what Kit was looking for. That’s what made it all so very interesting. To me, anyway.

  One morning I heard voices below the tower and stuck my head out to look.

  ‘You say,’ said Mattie.

  ‘No, you say,’ Kit said, walking near her but not touching.

  ‘OK. It would be on the beach, of course, up on stilts with windows all round, and a ladder I could pull up if I wanted to keep anyone out – like you,’ she said, looking up and seeing me.

  Kit followed her eyes and met mine square-on. What a talent the boy had for holding a gaze. I retreated.

  ‘And a roof garden full of exotic plants with a plunge pool …’

  A plunge pool?

  ‘And inside a whole glass wall which is actually a tropical-fish tank. And—’

  ‘Wow,’ Kit said. ‘That sounds much more exciting than mine.’

  ‘It’s my dream house,’ Mattie replied in a solemn voice. ‘I’ve always wanted a plunge pool and a wall of tropical fish.’

  ‘I’m amazed at how specific your vision is,’ Kit said, in a voice devoid of irony. ‘Maybe you should be an architect.’

  ‘I’ve already decided on medicine,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Drama,’ said Kit. ‘What else could I do?’

  Mattie shrugged. ‘You’d be great at anything you put your mind to. After all, most of getting something is really wanting it.’

  I stood a little back from the window and did a quick sketch of the two of them. They had their backs to me now and were headed down the beach. Most of getting something is really wanting it? What about playing the violin or brain surgery? Or cancer, for that matter? Most of getting something is (a) having some aptitude, and (b) working incredibly hard to master it, or (c) in the case of cancer, just bad luck. So far, Mattie hasn’t had much bad luck, but it’s early days.

  Below me, Alex hauled himself free of the crawl space and straightened up, a bit unsteadily.

  ‘Hey, Alex.’

  He looked up.

  ‘How’s the wildlife?’

  ‘Pretty good.’ He turned and pointed down the beach. ‘What’s with those two?’

  ‘Mattie’s in love,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm,’ Alex said, blinking. ‘Who knew love could be so boring?’

  I thought about this. ‘Maybe he just wants a piece of her tropical-fish wall.’

  ‘Yuk. My idea of love involves intelligent conversation, preferably on the subject of bats. Those two don’t have a clue.’

  I stepped back from the window. Even Tam and her horses were more interesting than Mattie’s love affair with her own life. Mum got cross when I said things like that. ‘You underestimate Mattie. Lots of people seem a little two-dimensional at sixteen. She’ll grow out of it.’

  It didn’t matter whether I underestimated Mattie. Everyone else overestimated her, so she came out ahead regardless. Not for the first time I wondered about the perverted values of the human race, how beauty trumps nearly everything, including goodness, money and talent. On its own, of course, it’s useless. A wasting asset. And very possibly ruinous for the owner as well. Even the Mona Lisa must get tired of being stared at.

  The grown-ups had emerged from the house and now lounged in the sun drinking coffee. I sat by my window with a pad of paper and some pencils. Eavesdropping.

  ‘Aren’t you fed up having them round at yours?’ Dad asked.

  Malcolm laughed. ‘Whenever we arrive they’re on the floor playing cards or chess or What’s Your Favourite Dog? I think Mattie’s the sister Kit never had.’

  ‘Weren’t we talking about how to bring down the government at their age?’ Dad looked genuinely puzzled.

  Mum frowned. ‘They’re playing What’s Your Favourite Dog? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Mal. ‘I’m sure. Mattie’s is a bulldog cos they’re so ugly you want to cuddle them and Kit says he’s wanted a sheep-pig ever since he saw Babe.’

  ‘That’s not a dog,’ Hope said.

  ‘Whatever gets them out of bed before noon,’ said Dad.

  ‘Don’t mention bed.’ Mum grimaced. ‘Does anyone actually know what’s going on? I mean when we’re not around?’

  Mal shrugged. ‘It all looks pretty innocent to me.’

  Dad glanced up the path. ‘Incoming.’

  Kit and Mattie were coming back, followed by Gomez, who settled next to Mal and stared at him intently till he gave up his toast.

  ‘Hey,’ said Hope. ‘What’re you two up to today?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Mattie said. ‘Tennis maybe?’

  ‘We’re going sailing,’ said Kit.

  ‘We are?’ Mattie looked radiant.

  Kit nodded. ‘Yup.’

  ‘Be careful of the tides,’ said Mal, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. ‘You’ll have to go soon if you want to get out.’

  Mattie frowned. ‘I’ve been sailing longer than you have, Mal.’

  ‘He’s practising for having his own teenagers,’ Hope said. ‘Why not take our boat? Everything’s there, so you don’t have to carry it all up and down.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Life jackets!’ Dad shouted after them.

  I watched them g
o off together, Mattie wearing denim shorts over her swimsuit with an old sweater of Dad’s knotted round her shoulders, Kit with a baseball cap and the T-shirt from some LA band so trendy none of us had heard of it. Mattie’s hair was turning eleven shades of gold in the sun and the salt made it wavier than usual. The two of them looked like an ad for expensive sportswear.

  Mum glanced up and noticed me watching. She waved. ‘There’s a sign in the shop in town saying they need casual help. You could apply.’

  ‘Really? When did you see it?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Hey, Hugo.’ Mal moved over for him to sit down.

  ‘Hi,’ I called, and he looked up at me in the tower, said nothing, and turned back to Mal.

  I ducked back inside my room before someone could call me down to keep Hugo company. No way was I spending my summer holiday in one-way conversations. I slipped downstairs and out the back door, picked up Dad’s bike and set off at speed.

  When I got to the shop, the notice was still up.

  Lynn, who owned the place, has known me since before I could walk so could hardly ask for references. I already knew where every item in the place was. Baked beans, fire starters, greeting cards, cheese, onions, vodka. Shelves and shelves of sweets and energy drinks. She wanted me from two to five, three days a week. Short hours, more at weekends, crap pay, cash in hand. I figured money might come in handy if I ever managed to leave home.

  Lynn showed me how to use the till. I did some shelf stacking, quite a lot of sweeping, and finally spent a happy half-hour going around with a little gun that reads labels and tells you if the food’s out of date.

  I cycled home.

  As I skidded into the drive, I could see Mattie and Kit about fifty metres out to sea, Mattie at the helm, Kit hanging on to the mainsail. The wind had dropped almost entirely, and the sail luffed like a big empty plastic bag. I could hear snatches of laughter. They’d be out there for hours.