The Great Godden

by Meg Rosoff

  Dad fetched another wine glass and refilled Hope, Malcolm and Kit.

  ‘Glad we all made it,’ Malcolm said, looking at the kids. ‘Good day, everyone? No drownings, broken limbs, fatal or near-fatal injuries?’ He held his glass up for a toast to survival. ‘And what about you, Mal? Did you have a good day? Why, yes, as a matter of fact I did, thank you so much for asking. A very good day indeed.’

  ‘Could you pass the salad?’ Alex directed this at Dad.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Thank you, everyone except Alex, for your kind attention. There’s been more reason for me to celebrate today than ongoing betrothal to my beloved. My agent telephoned to announce that I have been invited to perform Hamlet at the Rose Theatre.’ He swept one hand out in a flourish and bowed, at which everyone shouted and applauded raucously. ‘In addition to becoming a married man, I shall henceforth answer only to HRH the Prince of Denmark. I ask you. Does life get any better?’

  ‘Nice to have something to look forward to after the wedding so you don’t get too depressed,’ Alex said, and Mum glared at him.

  ‘Wow,’ Kit said. ‘I want to play Hamlet at the Globe someday. That would be amazing.’ He looked up at Mal. ‘But the Rose is cool too.’

  ‘Thanks ever so much.’

  Tamsin’s expression had turned to horror. ‘Wait. So, you have to memorise all those lines?’

  ‘No,’ said Alex, leaning right into Tam’s face. ‘He writes them on his arm.’

  Mal pushed Alex back into his seat. ‘Four thousand of them. At least one of you novitiates understands that it’s not all prancing about on stage in tights.’

  Kit raised his glass. ‘To Hamlet,’ he said, and everyone clinked. ‘Despite all the hard work and Mal’s advanced age.’

  ‘Thirty-one, matey. Perfect age, in actual fact. Look it up.’

  Kit raised an eyebrow. Hugo looked bored.

  ‘I did Hamlet at school,’ Kit said. ‘It was dreadful. Adolescent angst in the home for the terminally wafting.’

  ‘The what?’ Hope frowned. ‘The terminally what?’

  ‘Wafting,’ Kit said. ‘My school was all about wafting. Girls in silky things wafting hither and thither to classes on poetry and dramatic monologue. Boys wafting after them. Teachers wafting along behind to make sure nobody wafts into drug addiction or teen pregnancy.’

  Alex giggled. Mum reached over and moved the wine away from him.

  Kit stood up. ‘Like this,’ he said, and set off down the path, gliding, his head tilted back, his expression demure. Executing a perfect catwalk turn, he wafted back, hands gently fluttering.

  ‘Excellent wafting,’ Malcolm said. ‘And Lord knows I’ve seen some wafting in my day.’

  Hope looked at him. ‘I don’t waft.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Mum turned back to Kit. ‘But you’ll be going to drama school?’

  Kit shrugged. ‘What else would I do? Wall Street? The Marines? No one in my family’s ever done anything useful.’

  Tamsin was stuck on the number of words in Shakespeare. ‘Did you actually memorise the whole play?’

  ‘Hamlet? It was abridged. But even abridged it’s way too long.’

  ‘You’ll go far,’ Mal said with a snort. ‘Maybe you could star in the mime version.’

  The sun had finally dropped below the horizon, and except for pink and orange streaks to the west it was nearly dark. Daisies and white campion caught the last flecks of light, shining in the high grass like tiny beacons.

  Dad disappeared into the house, returning with two lanterns. It took four attempts to light the candles, but then they flickered yellow in their glass sleeves, drawing everyone together.

  On the other side of Kit, Mattie was transported, leaning against him with dreamy eyes.

  Malcolm took the wine from Mum, struggled briefly with the corkscrew and then offered it round, avoiding Alex.

  The night settled and a few pale stars came out.

  ‘Look at the moon,’ Mum said, and we all turned to watch it float silently free of the horizon.

  ‘Waning gibbous,’ Hugo said quietly, and I shot a look at him. It just so happened he was right.

  We sat for ages, huddled together talking about the sort of stuff you never remember afterwards. Hope leaned against Malcolm, Alex lay on the ground smiling, Tam was half asleep with her head on Mum’s shoulder, and Gomez occasionally gave a little snuffling dream woof. Kit and Mattie had their golden heads together, murmuring something we couldn’t hear. Mum and Hope discussed food for the wedding and Dad and Malcolm talked about their annual sail round the point and up the estuary. The Big Sail always took a whole day, but what else was summer for?

  Finally Hope stood up. ‘I’m off home. Try not to make a racket when you come in. Who’s swimming tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Me,’ Dad said.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Mum said.

  ‘Night then.’ Hope disappeared in the dark, followed by the low jangle of basset hound.

  Alex crawled over to the table and clambered to his feet.

  ‘Anyone want to play cards?’ He produced a deck and began to deal in the candlelight.

  ‘I’m in,’ Tam said. ‘Kit?’

  Kit leaned back so that his chair balanced on two legs, reached forward and tapped the table in front of him.

  Mattie sighed. ‘OK.’

  ‘Hugo?’

  But Hugo had stood up. Without a word, he walked to the edge of the deck, clipping Kit’s chair as he passed. The chair overbalanced and Kit catapulted spectacularly backwards off the deck, while Hugo strolled off into the night. Mattie yelped and ran to Kit’s side, but he came up laughing and brushing grass out of his hair.

  ‘My brother’s a dick,’ he whispered to Mattie, loud enough for us all to hear.

  When I got up from the table an hour later, the game was still going strong. Kit won nearly every hand and Alex, Mattie and Tam were laughing uncontrollably as I climbed the ladder to the tower. The sky had clouded over and there wasn’t much to see so I trained my telescope down on the table flickering with lanterns, swung forty-five degrees over towards the sea and found two eyes staring directly up the telescope lens at me.

  I drew back in shock. Hugo. It seemed entirely unlikely that he could see me in the dark tower but it freaked me out so much to find him staring directly up into my lens that I dropped the telescope and swung down the ladder. Standing back from the window I looked out but there was no sign of him.

  The game broke up at last and everyone said goodnight except for Mum and Mal, who stayed talking in the dark. Feeling restless, I crept silently out of the back door under cover of darkness, walked down to the water and stretched out on the sand. I gazed up at the sky and thought about Swift-Tuttle on its 130-year orbit around the sun. For centuries, astronomers had predicted a collision with earth a thousand million times more powerful than an atom bomb – big enough to wipe out all human life. It didn’t happen. Instead, the earth passed harmlessly through the debris of the comet’s tail each year, causing thousands of shooting stars. The Chinese recorded seeing them two thousand years ago.

  How is it possible, I wondered, that you could set your watch by the trajectory of a comet and the path of the earth through its tail? Like the cogs of a perpetual clock, going round and round forever. It made me feel better about life on earth, the reassuring order of things: summer, autumn, winter, spring; birth, growth, death.

  The night felt warm and I rolled over and lay watching the regular swell of the sea and listening to the toll of the buoy, when Kit and Mattie appeared out of nowhere about fifty feet to my right. I kept perfectly still in the dark, annoyed at them for disturbing the peace.

  For a while they sat at the water’s edge, talking and throwing stones at the sea, and then Mattie jumped up, pulled her dress up over her head, her pale body visible even in the dark. She stood gloriously upright, glowing slightly, arms outstretched, then ran down into the water calling to Kit, who I thoug
ht hesitated a second or two longer than would indicate complete commitment to the invitation. Eventually he got to his feet, slowly unbuttoned his shirt, then his jeans, pulled them off and walked quietly into the water. I caught my breath. Mattie had her back to him, the water lapping round her shoulders, and at last he did what was expected, dived in and came up near her, and all I could see was the two of them, heads together, holding on to each other, kissing.

  I watched for a while, jealous beyond measure, because is there anything more romantic than kissing in the sea on a warm summer’s night?

  The longer I stayed, the more I worried that the moon would burst out of the clouds and reveal me snooping, despite my complete lack of premeditation, so while they were otherwise engaged, I went back up to the house.

  Mum and Mal were still outside chatting quietly, the lanterns flickering between them.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart, where you been? We thought Kit and Mattie were with you.’

  ‘Down by the water,’ I said, and then, ‘Nope.’

  ‘Maybe they’re with Hugo?’ Mum frowned. ‘Did they all go up to the house?’

  As if.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Malcolm said. ‘They’re young, let them be. We were young once, weren’t we?’

  ‘Don’t remember,’ Mum said, and yawned. ‘Think I’ll go to bed.’ She looked at her watch. ‘If you see Mattie, tell her to come home.’

  Mal poured the dregs of the bottle into his glass and waved goodnight. I lingered for a second and Mal looked at me, questioning.

  ‘Nothing to see here,’ I said.

  He squinted. ‘You OK?’

  I hesitated. ‘Fine,’ I said at last. And went up to bed.

  I don’t know what time Mattie came home. Mum said she woke at four, went out to the garden house to check and found her fast asleep in bed, all tucked up in her flowery nightie, safe as milk.

  When she emerged at nearly noon, Mattie looked radiantly happy. In some normal romance, this might have been the end of the anxiety-provoking part of the story (the will-they-won’t-they cliffhanger). In this story it was just the beginning.

  Later that day, I collected Gomez from Hope for a walk out on the sea barriers. No one else was in evidence, and Hope said, ‘Mal’s learning lines. Poor thing, it makes him so bad-tempered.’

  There was no way on God’s earth I could have learned a whole Shakespeare play in a month and I had no idea how anyone else managed it.

  Peering out the window, I could see Mal at the bottom of the garden, pacing back and forth, back and forth, declaiming with extra-added arm movements. I remember him telling us that sometimes while learning lines he had a moment when all at once he realised exactly who the character was and what he was trying to express.

  Surely someone must have figured that out already about Hamlet.

  12

  Mal no longer walked Gomez every morning, so I took over the job. Gomez greeted me in indolent fashion, lifting his head an inch or two off his bed and then dropping it back once he’d checked for edible offerings. By the time I’d had a chat with Hope and a piece of toast, he was fast asleep once more, and it seemed a shame to wake him, but I did, saying his name and stroking his ears till he opened one eye, then the other, then rolled up on to his front legs, hauling the rest of him up behind. Being a basset was a noisy, arduous, rippling kind of existence; irresistible to bystanders.

  Hope watched, hands on hips. ‘I think when Mal runs off with a starlet I’ll get myself a nice sleek little whippet,’ she said. And then kneeling down to ruffle his ears, she said, ‘You’re a very silly dog, Gomez.’

  ‘He’s not silly, he’s majestic.’

  ‘You can only be so majestic with legs that short.’

  ‘Come on, Gomez,’ I said. ‘We’re not appreciated here.’ He followed me out, jangling.

  I set off along the beach, Gomez following behind at a steady plod. Mum, Mattie and a reluctant Tam had gone off shopping for bridesmaid dresses, and were planning to have lunch in town. Dad was in London, Hugo and Kit were God knows where. Not together, that’s for sure.

  Gomez and I turned inland at the footpath and trudged along the bank parallel to the sea. The sun had begun to burn and I felt drowsy and light-headed, so I called Gomez back from where he was snuffling around an old rabbit hole, slid halfway down the bank, flattened a spot in the grass and lay down.

  The grass was tall, so no one could see us unless they happened to leave the bank at exactly the same spot; the hot sun warmed the ground and the cold wind off the sea skimmed just over my head. Gomez turned around three times, settled, rolled sideways and immediately closed his eyes. He had the body of a big dog, and the warm weight of him along my right side was comforting. I looked out to sea for a time through half-closed eyes, then shut them, listening in drowsy bliss to the oystercatchers and terns and the withdrawing hoosh of the waves.

  ‘Hey.’

  The voice came from directly above and I half sat up, squinting up into the sun to see who it was, but by that time he’d flopped down by my side.

  ‘I heard Gomez snoring,’ Kit said. ‘Thought I must be hallucinating and then noticed the grass was disturbed. Perfect spot. Mind if I join you?’

  ‘You already have.’

  ‘True,’ he laughed, and stretched out, hands clasped behind his head, ankles crossed, foot touching mine, accidentally or not. ‘You like a hiding place, don’t you? Always just out of sight.’

  I glanced over but he was looking straight up at the sky. Gomez had closed his eyes again, tail thumping absently.

  Kit exhaled. ‘Nice spot. Quiet.’

  ‘It was.’

  Opening one eye, he grinned. ‘I’ll go if you like.’

  I didn’t want him to go. He was lazy and confident and made me feel as if he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to find me. I am not entirely immune to flattery. Hardly immune at all.

  ‘So,’ I said after a minute or two. ‘You and Mattie.’

  He laughed. ‘What’d she tell you?’

  ‘Tell me? Really?’

  ‘OK.’ He thought for a minute. ‘It’s that obvious.’

  ‘My parents haven’t figured it out, but that doesn’t mean it’s not obvious.’

  He smiled at that.

  ‘Do you actually like Mattie?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, frowning. ‘How could I not?’

  Where to start?

  He turned and looked at me properly now. ‘You underestimate her,’ he said. ‘She’s intelligent, ambitious, beautiful …’ He shoved me a little with his foot. ‘Just because she’s your sister.’

  Only trying to figure out your agenda, Kit Godden. Is she really a match for you?

  ‘You don’t believe me,’ he said. ‘You think I’m a player.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are,’ I said, which was true, ‘and I don’t care.’ Which was not.

  He closed his eyes, and the sun settled on the fine arch of his brow. Looking at him was like staring at a prism; you saw something different from every angle. The one definite was that you couldn’t stop looking at him. Partly it was the Mattie syndrome: he needed to be looked at so did everything necessary to attract your gaze. It reminded me of carnivorous plants that give off a beautiful aroma or flashed bright colours for allure. He looked nice. He smelled nice. I badly wanted to lick his arm.

  Neither of us said anything for a long time and I figured the conversation was closed. But just when my mind had started to drift again, he said, very quietly without opening his eyes, ‘Which doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re amazing.’

  My eyes shot open.

  ‘It happens to be true.’

  Ecstasy and outrage. ‘You so are. A player.’

  ‘Have it your way.’ Kit yawned, stretched his hands above his head and smiled. ‘Doesn’t mean you’re not amazing though.’

  I tend to trust my instincts, though they’re not always right. I explore my fingers for restlessness, the back of my neck for tingle, I can feel
when my hackles rise, when something shouts danger. Or when I’m feeling flattered and special and awash with well-being.

  At that moment, I felt flattered and special and awash with well-being. While somewhere in the distance, a red light flashed.

  13

  ‘Has anyone seen Hugo?’ Mal was feeling guilty, as we all were, at how little attention he’d paid to Godden the Younger. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely for lack of trying.

  You want to play chess, Hugo? You want to go swimming? Go to the shop? How ’bout a walk? Come help with dinner? You want to read a book? It’s a good book, you might like it.

  The answer was never yes, and really there’s only so much rejection a person can take.

  ‘No thanks,’ he’d say, or just, ‘Nah,’ or nothing at all, sometimes accompanied by a shake of the head, like he was allergic to social contact, allergic to fun, allergic to us.

  Mattie opined that he was socially awkward, couldn’t mix, was too snooty and too much of a freak, and it was a shame about him coming along as a package with Kit. Though we all knew where she got her propaganda. Mum and Hope said he was just shy. Dad took the guy road, the not-noticing-what’s-in-front-of-your-face approach.

  ‘Hugo?’ he’d say. ‘He seems nice enough.’

  Uh-huh.

  The relationship between the brothers disturbed me. We four fought like beasts but only for ordinary stuff – possessions and food and attention. Hugo and Kit seemed genuinely to dislike each other, though Kit made a joke of it. Hugo didn’t. Whenever Kit entered a room, Hugo got up and left.

  I watched Hugo sometimes when he was visible, but there wasn’t much to see. Sometimes he walked down to the sea. Sometimes he went inside. Sometimes he sat on the edge of the deck with a book. Sometimes he just lay on his back on the sand and did nothing at all. Most of the time you couldn’t see him. Cloak of invisibility. Other end of the beach. There were so many ways to lose yourself around here. I wasn’t interested enough in Hugo to spend hours wondering about him, where he was or what he did all day.