The Time and the Place

by Jane Renshaw

  6

  It had been a bright sunny day at the end of August. Twenty-six degrees on the little thermometer under the eaves of the boathouse. Karen and Susie and Eve had been up on the verandah in their bikinis, and Karen had been trying not to be body-dysmorphic and compare herself with them. Karen was slim and she had good boobs, but her arms and legs were like a puppet’s, straight all along their lengths apart from the knobbly elbows and knees. Eve had hardly any boobs but she had great legs that went on forever, and Susie had a cute little body and perfect skin.

  ‘Male baboons displaying to the females,’ Eve said, looking up from her book to watch Damian and Murray slapping their oars down on the water to splash each other.

  The pond was huge – a hundred and sixty metres long, according to Damian. There were high trees all round it so it felt completely private, and there was a little island near the far side where five herons hung out, the two parents and three little ones, when they hadn’t been scared off by noisy humans.

  All the ducks and coots and stuff had made themselves scarce too. The boys had a boat each and they were racing from the boathouse to the finishing post at the other side. Clumps of reeds had grown up over the summer, so they had to zig-zag round them, and Andrew was hopeless at that – he hadn’t mastered facing backwards as you had to when you were rowing, and always veered off to the right for some reason. He was way behind. Damian was already at the far side of the pond. He grabbed a post and swung himself up onto the jetty and stood watching the others, like he had all the time in the world, then he strolled down the jetty to the tall metal pole next to the bench and pulled the cord and the little red metal flag popped up at the top of it. In Edwardian times they used to race for money at night, and there had been a lantern on top of the pole that was lit so you could see when the winner hoisted the flag.

  Damian looked like someone from one of those films, Room With a View or something, lounging on the bench and pushing a hand through his hair. The other boys were in T-shirts but Damian was wearing a proper shirt, a thin, soft white cotton one with the sleeves rolled up, and he looked amazing in it.

  ‘He is a beautiful creature,’ said Eve.

  But when Karen looked round at her, her eyes were back on her book.

  Karen did not fancy Damian, so she hoped that had been aimed at Susie.

  ‘How is Operation Cradle Snatch progressing?’ was Eve’s next remark, so it looked like it had been. Although they were in the same year at school, Susie was almost a whole year older than Damian. Her birthday was in January and his was in December.

  She was squinting across the pond at him and shaking her head. ‘It’s not. No wonder Anna keeps breaking up with him. We’ve – done stuff, but the only items of clothing removed so far have been –’

  ‘La la la,’ said Karen, hands over her ears.

  But Eve was nodding. ‘He’s going to be no use to any of us, sexually, until he’s been seduced by an older woman.’

  Karen and Susie stared at her.

  Everyone thought Ice Maiden Eve was so mature and sensible, but actually she was more outrageous than any of them.

  ‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ said Karen.

  Damian was back in his boat and they were all trying to ram each other. Andrew was even younger than Damian – he was just a fifth year – and Murray was in the rugby team, so yeah. Baboons. Eve was always complaining that she felt like a zookeeper.

  ‘I am an older woman,’ said Susie. ‘And it’s not like I haven’t done it before.’

  ‘Sex with Will Graham when you were both wasted at Katie’s eighteenth hardly counts,’ said Eve.

  ‘Well, it’s more than you’ve done.’

  ‘Yes, a terrible oversight on my part.’

  ‘We weren’t so “wasted” that –’

  ‘La la la!’ shouted Karen.

  Susie laughed.

  ‘Damian needs to get over his hang-ups,’ Eve said. ‘Which means he has to be with someone with experience. I’m thinking maybe Miss Larsen.’ Eve, Karen, Damian and Andrew were all in the school orchestra, and sometimes Miss Larsen conducted, and yes, now Karen came to think about it, she was all smiley and giggly around Damian. ‘She’s only twenty-three.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Susie. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘She can’t be that young,’ said Karen.

  ‘She is. She’s straight from teacher training. It’s worth a try.’

  Susie sat up. ‘What do you mean, a try?’

  ‘I’ve suggested that she might want to join Background Music.’ That was the ceilidh band Damian played in. ‘They need a penny whistle player now Malc’s moved to Fife, and what music teacher can’t play the penny whistle? I reckon they’d make beautiful music together.’

  Susie jumped up. ‘I don’t believe this! That’s so messed up I don’t know where to start! You need help, Eve. You really do.’

  ‘You’ll thank me in the long run.’ Eve grinned down at her book. ‘Probably.’

  ‘I’m going for a swim.’ Susie ran down the steps and started wading out into the water.

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming with you.’ Karen felt she should show solidarity. Eve had gone too far this time, she really had.

  The water was nice and cool, not too chilly with the sun having been on it all day, and Karen struck off after Susie. They met Damian’s boat in the middle of the pond – he was way ahead of the other two – and Susie caught hold of the boat on one side and Karen on the other.

  ‘Do you want to come back to mine after?’ said Susie, pushing herself up out of the water, flicking her hair back like a mermaid, water streaming down her body.

  Damian blinked at her, leaning on his oars. He opened his mouth, but for once no words came out.

  Pathetic.

  ‘Eeeuch, slimy stuff,’ said Susie, pushing her fingers down between her boobs and pulling out a strand of weed.

  Pathetic.

  Damian swallowed. ‘Can’t. We’ve got a rehearsal.’

  Then Murray was rowing up and going, ‘Home advantage.’

  ‘Um, able-bodied advantage?’ said Damian, finally dragging his eyes off Susie.

  ‘How does your disability affect rowing a boat?’ Murray was soaking wet, his T-shirt clammy-looking against his muscly body.

  ‘You push through your legs, don’t you?’ said Susie.

  Murray rolled his eyes.

  Winning at stuff meant so much to boys. At Katie’s eighteenth, when Susie had apparently been off somewhere shagging Will, Karen had had to sit on the patio listening to drunk Murray going on about how much it bugged him that if Damian beat you at something physical, even something like pool or table tennis, everyone thought Amazing just because of his disability, and when anyone else beat Damian it was almost like How dare you even compete against someone who’s disabled? ‘You literally can’t win,’ he’d fumed. As if it mattered.

  Of course Damian used this as a wind-up. ‘I should be given a head start,’ he said now.

  ‘What about glasses?’ Andrew shouted from across the pond, taking his off and wiping them. ‘Not exactly compatible with an aquatic arena.’

  Everyone groaned.

  As she and Susie pushed away from Damian’s boat, swimming towards the island, Karen wondered about Eve’s theory. Was the issue, if you could call it that, really that Damian had a hang-up about his leg? Okay so he never went swimming or anything with them, although he swam on his own all the time, but it wasn’t like he shied away from mentioning his disability. It wasn’t as if it was a huge thing for him.

  When they reached the island, holding onto jutting rocks and letting their legs float up behind them, she put this to Susie.

  ‘Maybe he’s just not ready to... take things further.’

  Susie snorted. ‘I don’t think that’s the problem.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s, you know, the mess and everything he objects to. Because of his OCD.’

  ‘Damian doesn’t have OCD.’ Susie was in denial.
/>
  ‘Yes he does.’

  Susie twisted her hair over one shoulder. ‘Eve better not really be setting him up with that – that floozie.’

  Karen spluttered on a laugh, and then Susie was laughing too. ‘Floozie’ was one of Susie’s mum’s favourite words.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ Karen said, and she grabbed a different part of the rocks and pulled herself round, ready to push off, and then her other hand sank into something soft in the water and she glanced down to see what it was and it was a face, a human face, a big white rice-pudding face, and her fingers had squelched into it. They had squelched into an eye socket.

  She screamed.

  They swam, both Karen and Susie, back to the boathouse instead of doing the sensible thing and striking out for the nearest bank. She remembered every second of that silent swim, the way she had reared her head up out of the water to make sure none of it touched her face, the way her arms and legs had gone so floppy she could hardly make them move.

  Susie, gasping, right behind her.

  Murray in his boat, saying, ‘What’s up?’

  Swimming right past him, the only thing that mattered getting out of the water.

  And then Damian putting a towel around her, his arms around her, and she couldn’t stop shaking, and Susie gulping, ‘There’s a dead body. A dead body,’ and Damian giving them all orders like they were his servants. Eve helping her into her clothes. Murray’s arm across her shoulders, walking back to the House.

  Mum.

  Finally, Mum.

  7

  ‘Just – hold it right there. You are perfecto,’ Claire told the soufflés.

  They were, miraculously, pretty perfecto. To look at, anyway. They’d risen right up from the ramekins and had a lovely cheesy crust. One of them was slightly lopsided, but what the hell. Rustic. She had even cleaned up the kitchen while they were cooking – it had been a bit of a bomb site, but fortunately no one had seen fit to check up on her methods.

  Should she say she’d done them in the Aga? Better not. Someone might notice that the electric oven had been on. She just wouldn’t mention which appliance she’d used unless they asked directly.

  She’d even had time to look out a tray and three plates and spoons, three glasses and a jug of water. She set each little soufflé on a plate, picked up the tray and carried it to the lift. She wasn’t taking any chances with those stairs.

  As she walked through the double doors into the dining room, Hector jumped up to take the tray from her.

  ‘Claire, these look incredible.’

  ‘Well... I hope they’re okay. That one has a bit of a list to port. Or is it starboard?’

  The elderly woman sitting at the table smiled at her grimly. ‘Soufflés,’ she said, in the same tone of voice as you might say ‘Nazis’.

  Claire smiled back. ‘A terrible cliché, I know.’

  ‘Mrs MacIver is a bit of a traditionalist.’

  So weren’t soufflés traditional?

  ‘Doesn’t trust anything French,’ he added, and Mrs MacIver gave him the sort of look she’d probably bestowed on him when he was eight. She’d been here when he was eight; Claire was sure of it.

  There were three places set at the end of the big table, with heavy place mats covered in white baizy stuff and linen napkins. A little silver acorn with a blue glass liner contained salt. It had a tiny silver spoon. And at each place was a silver fork and spoon.

  Okay. So she should have selected forks as well as spoons. Damn.

  ‘I’m afraid Damian’s off on some ploy and won’t be joining us – I can only apologise. The upside, of course, is that there’s all the more for us. Please, take a seat. Enjoy the fruits of your labours.’

  Claire sat on the indicated chair opposite Mrs MacIver and Hector placed one of the non-lopsided soufflés down in front of her. He took the Leaning Tower of Pisa for himself.

  ‘Oh – I think I should take that one.’

  He grinned at her, sinking his fork through the crust. ‘I bet you do. But if this is the dodgy one, I’m plumbing its depths myself. I may not be much at interviewing, but I have to warn you – I can eat for Scotland.’

  ◆◆◆

  ‘I suppose you’re alive at least,’ said Damian.

  Karen opened her eyes.

  She hadn’t heard him coming up the steps. Had she been asleep? He was standing there, his eyes narrowed against the sun. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows but he hadn’t loosened his tie. He is a beautiful creature. Yeah, like a cobra was a beautiful creature but you wouldn’t necessarily want one anywhere near you.

  Except she had to ask him about Chimp. Now she’d started thinking about Chimp, she couldn’t stop. And it was really strange, but it was as if thinking about him, and about that day she’d found his body, had given her back some control. The glass wasn’t full to the brim any more or constantly about to tip over. And the whole world, even Damian, seemed somehow more bearable, and she felt it was possible, maybe, that she could ‘move forward’, as Dr Hoang put it, and function in it like more of a normal person.

  A less selfish person.

  Was that possible?

  This could be her first test. Damian was here to make sure she was all right, so she should probably be grateful.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘I was half expecting to find a suicide note: Did I mention I had PTSD?’

  The words Fuck off hovered oh-so-temptingly, but she just said, ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Um... What?’ He was frowning at her, like she was seriously freaking him out now. She supposed that had kind of sounded like she was sixty and hosting a Tupperware party.

  This was too hard. She turned over on the lounger away from him.

  Sounds of scraping and clattering.

  She peeked round. He had set up another lounger at right-angles to hers and was unfolding a lounger cushion on it, prodding it and giving it the sniff test. ‘These certainly need aired.’

  God.

  But she supposed she should keep trying. Susie always humoured his OCD – in fact, she went as far as pretending he didn’t have it and his behaviour was perfectly normal.

  ‘I guess it’s the high humidity combined with no heating in there,’ she said. ‘Making them go a bit fooshty. But I don’t mind. They’re not too bad.’

  ‘Probably harbouring all kinds of deadly spores.’ He was taking off his shoes. To get the right shoe off his prosthetic foot he had to pull the laces loose all down the shoe. You could tell that under the sock the foot was all rigid. Of course. It wasn’t going to be soft like a real one, was it? When he swung his legs up on the lounger she noticed that he was careful to tug down his right trouser leg, presumably to make sure the prosthetic wasn’t on view above the sock. Maybe Eve was right and he did have major hang-ups about his disability. Possibly that was something she could help him with, because maybe-not-so-perfect Susie obviously hadn’t bothered her arse. She was probably in denial about that too.

  But first things first.

  ‘Is Mum – I guess Mum and Bill are going apeshit?’

  ‘I don’t think they’d use that exact term. But yes, you might want to call your people. Text at least.’

  By ‘people’ Damian meant ‘family’ rather than in the sense of I’ll get my people to call your people. He used toff-speak like that sometimes without even realising it and it was usually good for a wind-up, but she just said, ‘Okay.’

  She got out her phone and fired off a text to Mum saying she was fine.

  Damian was frowning at her again.

  Was it so unbelievable that she’d want to let her mum know she was okay?

  Probably. If New Improved Karen was going to be a thing, maybe she’d better phase her in gradually so as not to freak people out. She puffed: ‘Thanks very much for completely ruining my chances of not being suspended, by the way. For the helpful guidance as to how to get a cello out of a third-floor window.’

  ‘If you weren’t so utterly shi
t at geometry you wouldn’t have needed my help. Fitting an object through a space isn’t even lower primate level. A racoon could probably have done it.’

  ‘Well, in the absence of a passing racoon... Just when being shit at maths finally could work in my favour – no, you have to come along and “help me out”. You have to use my... my existential crisis for your own warped entertainment.’

  ‘Can you blame me? Surely an opportunity not to be missed to rid the world of the force for evil that is – that was – your cello.’

  Yeah. Actually she had zero regrets about her cello’s demise. That fucker had had it coming. But: ‘Mum thought it was right for my playing style,’ she managed to come up with. ‘Which is to go at the strings like I’m sawing wood, apparently. But I always felt I was... I don’t know... fighting it.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s one battle you’ve won.’

  She snorted.

  He grinned. ‘It was pretty spectacular.’

  ‘The way it exploded –’

  And he was laughing, and as she thought about that fucking cello exploding all over Lower Quad, Bad Old Karen was laughing too – she couldn’t stop, doubled over on the lounger, gripping one of the arms for support.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said at last, and stood up, wiping her eyes. ‘Do you have a tissue?’

  He held out the usual pristine white handkerchief.

  She blew her nose into it, folded it over on the snot and offered it back.

  ‘You can keep it.’

  She pushed it into her blazer pocket and hitched herself up on the wooden balustrade, her back to the water. Instead of just throwing the hankie in the bin later she could wash it and iron it and give it back to him. Unless that would be a step too far? Would even Susie do that? With the black-painted nail of the index finger of her left hand, she began picking at a sliver of wood.

  After finding Chimp, she hadn’t been able to look at her left hand for maybe a week. At the hand that –

  Her brain tried to skitter away, but she didn’t let it.

  The hand that went into Chimp’s face.

  For a long while neither of them said anything, and when she looked up she saw that Damian had closed his eyes and was possibly asleep. He seemed to be able to drop off anywhere, any time. He sometimes got in trouble for it in class.