See if you can bite through cloth, you little bastards, go ahead and try.
He pulled on a pair of thick socks, slipped into his shoes, tied the laces and made his way downstairs.
“We’re going fishing, Bones,” he called out, clapping his hands. “Wake up and get your ass in gear.”
Bones stuck his head out of the living room as Henry went to the back of the hall, to the closet where the guns he once used for hunting were locked up. He grabbed one of the rods leaning on the front of the closet, reached down and picked up the net from the top of the tackle box. On the way out of the door, he stopped, doubled back.
Shit for brains. A knife would be a good idea. Having a functioning memory would be a good idea too.
“Come on, you silly dog. I’ll get the flashlight too and we’ll be on our way. Probably won’t need it with this moon, but we’ll bring it anyway. Won’t we? And don’t look at me like that. I know you’re a dog. But I’ll talk to you when I damn well please. And don’t pretend you don’t understand exactly what I’m saying, you little fucker.”
He opened the porch screen door, letting Bones precede him outside, into the hot July night air. On nights like this, fishing at the beach was glorious. As exciting as fishing during the day was, it couldn’t compare to the magic of the sight of fish jumping under the moon, or the satisfaction of the sound they made when they hit the water, that thwack magnified by the stillness of the ocean. No need to drive to the dock and go through all the palaver of getting the boat out, only a simple walk down to the beach with Bones at his side. He didn’t care if he didn’t catch a fish. All he wanted was to be out with them, watching them, casting into the dark.
They made their way across the lawn, and started down the path to the Back Beach. He didn’t need the flashlight; the moon was bright enough to guide them. Henry was the only person of his age he knew not to have been in awe of the first manned moon landing. “When we get to an inhabited planet, I’ll sit up,” he’d said to Isabella, as Neil Armstrong delivered his famous line. She’d shot him a withering look and told him to be quiet.
When he reached the bottom of the path, he stopped abruptly.
What the fuck?
There were people on the beach.
He put the tackle box down on the sand, grabbed the sheathed knife with his right hand and moved forward, trying not to make any sound.
And then he saw who the people were, and stopped again, shocked.
Katy was twenty yards to his left, at the water’s edge. In her pajamas, her hands outstretched.
And Jack was ten feet away from her, throwing something.
Katy caught it. A tennis ball? She jumped up and down, threw it back, underhand. To Jack.
Henry placed his hand on top of Bones’s head, making him sit.
What the hell is going on?
Jack tossed the ball back. Katy bobbled it slightly, fell to her knees in the sand, but hung on to it. She lifted the hand that held it into the air, waving it wildly. Henry could see her face bathed in moonlight, grinning, excited, proud, as she then got back up on her feet and prepared to throw it back.
“Katy.” He threw down the rod he was carrying in his left hand and strode toward her. “Katy.”
She turned, saw him.
“Henry! Wait! We’re almost there. Wait!” With great concentration, she stood straight, drew her arm back and threw the ball to Jack, who had to dive into the sand to catch it.
“Yes! Twenty!” Katy cried out, jumping up and down and then skipping toward Henry. “We made twenty in a row!”
“Hello, Henry.” Jack was brushing the sand off his clothes, following behind her. “What are you doing down here? We didn’t wake you, did we? We were very quiet.”
“No, you didn’t wake me. But what in God’s name is this all about? What are you doing here so late? Why is Katy up at this hour?”
“We were playing catch. Trying to reach twenty in a row without either of us dropping the ball—and we did it!” Katy did a little jig, then dropped down on her knees to hug Bones.
“And you’re our witness,” Jack said. He came closer to Henry, tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand. “I heard Katy wake up and I didn’t want her to disturb Holly’s sleep, so I brought her down here for a game. Isn’t the full moon amazing?”
“I’m not sure this is appropriate.”
“What?” Jack caught the ball, held it.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring Katy out here so late at night.”
Katy leaped up like a little frog. “We weren’t doing anything bad, I promise. We kept quiet. I was awake. I didn’t want to wake up Mommy. It’s like the day only later. Because of the full moon. We got up to twenty. If we practice enough we can get up to two million.”
“That’s a tall order, princess.”
Jack laughed and the disquiet Henry felt subsided. Not the least perturbed by Henry’s appearance on the beach, Jack seemed, on the contrary, to welcome him. And, more importantly, Katy wasn’t acting at all oddly—in fact, she was clearly having fun. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure he should condone this night-time game business.
“What if your mother woke up and you weren’t at home?
She’d be so worried, Katy.”
Jack put a hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“We haven’t been here long and we were going to go back up soon. Besides, how often is there a moon like this? Katy should get to see it in its full glory. Isn’t that what brought you down here?” He pointed up at the sky. “Were you going to take a moonlight swim?”
“I was going to fish.” Leaning over, he picked up his rod. “Down by the rocks.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’d like to join you. But I guess I’d better get this little one back to her bed, right?”
Henry nodded.
“Actually, I think I’ll skip the fishing. I’ll walk back to the house with you. Come on, Katy.” Henry held out his hand, conscious that he was feeling suddenly proprietorial. Up until this point, he’d been pleased by the closeness which was obviously developing apace between Jack and Katy, but now he thought that perhaps Jack had overstepped himself. While there had been something quite magical and lovely in the scene of the two playing catch in the moonlight, it was also odd. That’s the only word he could think to describe it. Odd.
Henry collected his tackle box, but Jack took it from him, saying, “Allow me.” They went back up the path, Jack in front, Henry and Katy hand in hand behind. Henry didn’t turn up the path to his house, but kept going along with them to Holly’s. When they were outside Holly’s front door, Jack said, “Why don’t you run inside, princess? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“OK. Night, Henry. Sweet dreams.”
“Same to you.” He let go of her hand. “Ping-Pong tomorrow.”
“Can you teach Jack, too?”
“I know how to play Ping-Pong. In England we call it table tennis.”
“You’re so weird in England.”
“I know. Now get into the house.”
Together they watched Katy run into the dark house.
“I hope she doesn’t wake Holly up,” Jack commented.
“Well, Holly might like to see the full moon too.”
“That’s true.” He scratched his forehead. “Bloody mosquitoes. I lathered myself in bug stuff and they still bite.”
“Relentless little bastards.”
“Exactly. Listen, Henry, I can tell you’re not sure about this little excursion Katy and I took. I can see how it might seem strange. But it’s a way for us to get to know each other and now that I’ve moved in, I want a good relationship with Katy. It’s important. Besides . . .”
“Besides what?”
Jack didn’t answer immediately. He looked up at the sky, then at the ground, shifting from foot to foot.
“Besides what, Jack?”
Again, he didn’t respond, but held out his hands as a signal for Henry to give him time.
“I don’t like to tal
k about it. But I had a little sister when I was growing up. She died when she was four and I was ten. Her heart was wired wrong—it beat too fast and no one knew about it and she just dropped down and died one afternoon when she was running around in the garden. When I was playing catch with Katy, it was like being with Miranda again. She reminds me of her sometimes. I don’t talk about it. I haven’t even told Holly about her yet.” He paused. “There’s too much death around us as it is.”
The tears in Jack’s eyes, real tears, so different from the self-pitying ones in Billy’s just hours before, made Henry reach out and put his arm around him. “I’m very sorry, Jack. You’ve had such sadness in your life. It’s not right.”
“No. It’s not. But everything has changed now. I met Holly. And thanks to you, I had a second chance with her. You’ve been brilliant, Henry. Honestly, I can’t thank you enough. I love her, you know.”
“I guessed.” He squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “It wasn’t too difficult a guess, either. You should tell her about your sister.”
“I will. When the time’s right. And I hope you don’t mind, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell Holly about our game of catch. I want to surprise her, I want her to watch us when we get good enough to reach a high number.”
“You plan to do this again?”
“Not if you disapprove. Of course not. I’ll practice with her during the day if you think that’s better.”
“I think it’s better not to keep her awake so late.”
“But she was already awake—still, I see what you mean. I’m not exactly used to thinking of what’s best for a five-year-old. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. Obviously it takes a while to get accustomed to having a child around.”
“It’s much easier than I’d thought it would be. Anyway, right now I’d better go and make sure Katy gets some sleep.”
“See you tomorrow then.”
“Absolutely. Ping-Pong. I’ll be there.” Jack handed him the tackle box.
As he and Bones made their way back to his house, Henry chided himself for being an old fool. It might not be entirely normal for Jack to be out with Katy at midnight, but what fun had normal ever been? He himself had flouted Bostonian conventions with pleasure. Nothing about Jack’s behavior had been untoward. And the poor boy had had a hellish life. He couldn’t object strenuously when there clearly wasn’t any harm done.
Still, he might just get up the following night and go down to the beach again, to make sure Jack wasn’t keeping Katy up late. New teenage expressions might be apt occasionally, but old truisms were always the most sensible. It was better to be safe than sorry.
Chapter 9
Crisp slices of bacon were resting on kitchen paper, eggs were frying alongside tomatoes, the coffee was almost done, the toast had just popped up and Holly was sweating. It was as if Billy’s arrival the day before had brought with it the start of a cloyingly muggy heatwave. At ten past seven in the morning, it was already sweltering, outside and in, and the heat from the stove was ratcheting up the discomfort factor. For one moment, Holly felt nostalgia for the days when she and Katy used to have cereal and orange juice for breakfast whenever they decided they were hungry. But Jack needed a cooked breakfast at seven-thirty sharp, just as he needed lunch at twelve-thirty on the dot. “I’ll cook,” he’d said. “But it’s important to have a schedule and stick to it.”
He was so insistent, she couldn’t even tease him about it. “Everyone needs to know where they are in the day,” he’d stated when she’d tried to wriggle out of him why he was quite so obsessively punctual. At first she’d thought he was joking and almost responded with, “What happens? Do you get lost if you don’t know where you are in the day?” but she’d held back because the tone of his voice had been so uncharacteristically serious. And it wasn’t an issue which was important to her. Until he’d moved in, though, she would never have thought of him as someone who would care so much about routines.
“Breakfast’s ready,” she called out. “Come and eat.”
“Brilliant.” He’d sauntered in, and, as he did every morning, looked at his watch before pouring himself orange juice from the carton on the table. “Smells delicious.”
“I hope it tastes delicious.”
And they had this same conversation every morning, too. Usually it made Holly smile internally, thinking what an old, stick-in-the-mud couple they’d appear to anyone else. Today she found herself saying, “We’re beginning to sound like that movie Groundhog Day.”
“What do you mean?” He looked up at her as he sat down.
“The way we say the same things every morning. You’ve seen the movie, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “And your point is?”
“Nothing.” She took the eggs out of the pan, slid them onto a plate, put two slices of fried tomato and two pieces of bacon beside them, and placed the plate in front of Jack. “I’ll get the toast.”
The smell of soap that had wafted up from his skin as she leaned over to give him the plate was almost as strong as the one from all the fried foods.
Living with someone was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, Holly was beginning to realize. She could see the whole picture from the start, but she didn’t know the component bits; in what shapes and sizes they came. Jack’s need for strict timing was one large piece; an equal-shaped one was his personal cleanliness. He was never late and he was never dirty. He washed and ironed his own clothes every day.
They fit together somehow, those two pieces, she knew. And she guessed they both had something to do with the need for control. Which made sense when you were orphaned at eighteen. She’d had Henry and Katy to keep her together when her parents died and even then she’d felt lost and rudderless. Jack, it seemed, had had no one.
Or he might have had someone. She didn’t know. In the three weeks they’d been together, she’d talked and he’d listened. At first it had been natural for her to tell him about herself; she’d spilled out the details of her life as if she’d been waiting forever to share them. Yet when she’d ask him about himself, he’d block the questions by switching the subject and making a joke about something silly.
“You know something really weird about men?” Anna had asked once, a few years before, when they’d been watching Friends together.
“No, tell me,” Holly replied, knowing Anna was about to make one of her pronouncements on the subject of the male species.
“They tell the truth at the beginning of a relationship. They tell you about themselves. Like they’ll say, ‘I don’t like commitment,’ or, ‘I can’t go out with anyone who doesn’t like mountain climbing.’ They tell you about themselves but girls don’t listen. I mean, we hear it, but we don’t believe it. We think we can change the guy, make him want to commit, or make him realize it’s not that big a deal to go mountain climbing together. But we should listen. We should listen because they’re being upfront and honest. They’re telling the truth and they’re not about to change—for anyone.”
Jack had told her he didn’t talk about emotions. Or his past. He’d jettisoned the past—he’d made that clear from the start, but Holly kept thinking he’d open up to her. She wanted to know about his past, she wanted him to share as much with her as she had with him.
One night, after she’d refused to be diverted and had pressed him to tell her about his school days, he’d stood up, stated, “If I had something interesting to say, I’d say it,” and left the room. His tone matched exactly the one he’d used when he’d said, “That way everyone knows where they are in the day”—a tone brooking no further discussion, a tone which effectively closed the subject.
Her happiness with him was beginning to be tinged with a streak of fear. It had all happened so swiftly, she wasn’t sure whether her heart was planted on solid ground or in quicksand. Why had Jack, so handsome, so smart and funny and eligible, chosen her, and chosen her so completely and comprehensively? They were sharing the same house, the same bed; th
eir lives were now inextricably intertwined, but it was so sudden it felt precarious. Jack might make passionate love to her, spend all his time away from work with her—and Katy—but might he also, at any moment, drop her as quickly as he had moved in with her?
None of these worries entered her mind when they were in bed together. As soon as their bodies connected, she felt she knew him wholly and completely, that words were unimportant, that his or her pasts didn’t count. But once they had finished making love, as soon as they were physically separated, her anxiety returned. He’d told her he loved her, he seemed to be happy with her, but how could she be sure when she had to admit to herself that she didn’t really know him?
With her fear came watchfulness. She was on the lookout for her own mistakes, in the hope that if she could spot them quickly enough, she could fix them just as quickly. She’d made sure she’d stuck to his rigid eating schedule, she’d stopped probing him about his past, she’d tried to strangle all her retroactive jealousy about the possible Sophies and Emmas in his life. She’d take whatever clues and cues he gave her and follow them, like a good dancing partner. Her mother had once turned to her father after watching a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers video and said, “That’s us. Except I’m Fred and you’re Ginger.” Her father, Holly remembered, had laughed and said, “You wish.” Holly didn’t care whether she was Fred or Ginger, as long as she was in the dance.
“I suppose I see what you mean,” Jack said, as she was buttering his toast.
“What?”
“About the film. Groundhog Day. I hadn’t thought about the repetition.”
His “And your point is?” had pained her. He must have sensed that and was now making up for it. Give and take; trade-offs, allowing the other person time and space: more aspects of the relationship puzzle she was gradually beginning to put together.
“Mommy, my ear hurts.” Katy came running into the kitchen; her right hand up to her right ear, her face pained. “It really hurts.”
“Oh, chicken, I’m sorry. There’s nothing worse than an earache. I’ll get you some paracetamol.”
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