by Guy Burt
I pursed my lips. I wasn’t sure, after that morning, what Sophie’s opinion of Caitlyn really was. After all, I knew she had burnt the toast deliberately. But, obediently, I ran back across the lawns to the house. Around me as I ran, the garden metamorphosed from tangled chaos to tended shrubbery, like a “before” and “after” sequence on a television gardening programme. I was expecting to see Caitlyn standing at the kitchen door, but, to my surprise, she had come out onto the grass. She was now wearing shorts and a white T-shirt.
“Hi, Mattie,” she said. “Where’s your sister? I’ve got some news for the pair of you.”
“She said she won’t be long,” I repeated carefully. “What’re you doing?”
She looked at me curiously. “Enjoying the sunshine. I thought, since it’s such a good day, maybe we could have lunch on the lawn. What d'you say?”
“Great!”
“Good. Except, you’re going to have to find all the food and stuff, 'cos I don’t know my way around your house too well. But there’s some juice in the fridge and biscuits on the side, that much I do know.”
“I like your funny voice,” I said. I meant it, but Caitlyn laughed.
“I guess that’s a compliment. Thanks, Mattie. I like you, too. Ah—here’s your sis.”
Sophie came running up the lawn. In one hand she had a bunch of wildflowers, picked—I knew the spot—near the stone wall right at the end of the garden.
“These are for you,” she said, offering them to Caitlyn. I looked up quickly enough to catch a flash of genuine surprise and pleasure in her face.
“Hey, thanks, Sophie. They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Mattie, we’ll need something to put 'em in. Is there a jam jar or a vase, or something? No, wait a minute, important things first.” Sophie and I sat down. “There was a phone call from the hospital a few minutes ago,” Caitlyn said. “Your mum’s absolutely fine, and she’s had a baby boy. That’s great, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sophie said politely. Her face was neatly expressionless.
“Your dad says everything’s gone really well, and she’ll be OK to come home in a couple of days or so, which isn’t bad.”
“Great.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
Caitlyn shrugged. “Well, I guess we’d better do something about some food. There’ll be plenty of time to make a fuss about the baby when he gets here.”
“I’ll go and look for a vase,” I said, and went inside to see what I could find. It was good that Sophie had decided to like Caitlyn.
We found an old tablecloth and spread it on the grass. “There we go,” said Caitlyn. It was something she said a lot when she was pleased. We put the flowers in a jam jar in the middle of the tablecloth, and surrounded them with biscuits and sandwiches and glasses of orange juice—fresh orange juice, which I didn’t like as much as squash, but which somehow seemed to suit the strangeness of what we were doing better. Excitement bubbled inside me when we sat down around the perimeter of the tablecloth to start lunch.
“What’re you guys going to do with yourselves this afternoon?”
Sophie said, “I think we might go for a walk, something like that.”
“Sounds good. Mind if I come, too? As long as you’re not going up any mountains, that is.”
I giggled.
“It’s OK,” Sophie said, sounding puzzled. “Mummy lets us.”
“Sure, I know. But I fancy a walk. It’s either that or sit in the garden and sunbathe. If you tire me out, I can always try to find my own way back.”
“OK, then,” Sophie said. I could understand her confusion. No one ever came with us when we went out. But then, I told myself, no one ever had lunch on the grass. Perhaps Caitlyn was different.
“Are you going to eat the rest of that sandwich, Sophie? Because if not, there are some birds over there that look like they’d like it.”
“They’re starlings,” I said.
“Is that so? You’re pretty clever. You’ll probably both be able to tell me lots of things.”
“I’ve got a book on fossils,” I said. “Sophie gave it to me.”
After lunch, Caitlyn sent us upstairs for half an hour while she got ready. I was wandering down to see how much longer we had to wait when I heard her talking. I stopped on the stairs and listened, intrigued.
“Yeah,” she was saying. “In the middle of the night. So I didn’t call you or I would have woken you up.” She was on the phone to someone. There was a long pause. “Yeah? That would be brilliant. We could all go out for the day. Yes, the kids, too. Of course we have to, stupid. That’s what I’m supposed to be here for.” There was another pause, and then she laughed. “Is that what’s bothering you? Well, I’m sure they’re both in bed by nine or so, and little kids sleep well. I know I did.” I scratched my ankle.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not too bad, though. Not really premature, just a bit early. Or so I’m told. You realize I haven’t even set foot in this house for more than two years? I know. She’s a terror.” I could hear Caitlyn put her feet up on a chair as she talked. “I don’t know how Mum ever put up with her, I really don’t. . . . Their dad’s not even home, he’s at some hotel near the hospital. You’d think he’d have thought—Oh, they’re fine. Mattie’s a lovely little kid. He’s the small one, he’s six. Sophie’s eight. She’s pretty sweet, too. I get the feeling that she really has to look after him. Yeah. This afternoon? Well, we’re all setting off into the countryside. No, we’re not going far. Shut up!” She was laughing again. “We’re just going for a walk, that’s all, not a bloody arctic expedition. No I don’t. I do not. You’re awful, stop it. Yeah . . . yeah, me too. I love you, too. OK, I’ll see you then, right? OK, then. Love you. Bye.”
There was a clatter as she replaced the receiver and swung her feet off the chair.
“Mattie! Sophie! Come on then. Let’s go and see if the natives are friendly.”
Casually, I say, “You liked her.”
“She was confusing. I wanted her to stay. Yes, I liked her.” He sounds troubled, almost angry. Abruptly, he reaches out to the spent stub of the first candle and breaks it away from the floor, where its own wax has sealed it. He tosses the misshapen chunk from hand to hand for a while, and then flicks it away into the shadows. I hear it roll a little way, but I keep my eyes fixed on his face.
He goes on. “If we’d had a mother like—like her, then probably everything would have been different.”
“Are you so sure?”
“I said probably.”
“How much do you blame her?”
“Mummy? I don’t know. Maybe she started it. I think she must have. Maybe she didn’t make any difference at all. She certainly wasn’t making any difference after a while.”
“I didn’t mean her. I meant Caitlyn.”
His eyes widen. He starts to say something, and then cuts himself short. When he does speak, the anger is harsh in his voice.
“Don’t play games, Sophie. We’re through with that, remember? I’m past all of that.”
“OK,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Don’t forget. Caitlyn has nothing to do with anything. She just wandered in and wandered out again. What should I blame her for?”
I decide to say it. “For offering a choice.”
He stops dead. For a second, I am terrified; but then his face relaxes slightly, and I know the chance was worth taking. He leans back a little, and I see that he is nodding almost imperceptibly.
“That’s very good,” he says, and there is for a second time a strange admiration in his expression. I look down, trying to keep the relief and the triumph out of my face.
five
Sophie led the way, and for a while I thought we were heading for the quarry. She took the narrow path that cut up the hill beside the dry-stone wall, but instead of continuing to the trees at the top, she took us through a place where the wall had crumbled and cut diagonally across the field. It was the same direction we had taken when, long ago, we had been to steal bricks fo
r the holly bush. Caitlyn kept up with us easily, and I quickly decided that she had been joking about us tiring her out; she looked as if she could keep walking all day.
“Do you guys come up here a lot, then?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” Sophie said. “There’s not much else to do. We play in the garden.”
“Oh yeah? What sort of stuff?”
“Lots of things,” Sophie said, vaguely. “Over there you can see our school.”
“What, the little red building? I see it. Looks nice.”
“Are you at school?” I asked. Caitlyn threw her head back and laughed loudly.
“No way! I got too big and they wouldn’t let me back. Seriously, though, I’ve finished school now.”
“How old are you?”
“Don’t you know that you shouldn’t ask a lady her age, Matthew Howard?” She winked at me. “Guess.”
“Umm . . . I don’t know.”
“Go on—guess.”
We were walking towards the opposite corner of the field, where there was a small spinney. A few hundred yards farther on was a larger wood, fenced off like the quarry.
“Umm . . . forty?” I hazarded.
“You are a brat, Mattie!” Caitlyn shouted. Sophie giggled. “I’m not that old. I’m twenty-three, that’s all, and I look a good deal younger than that, I’ll have you know. You’re making me out to be an old woman!”
“Twenty-three’s still old,” I said. “I’m six.”
“I knew that.” She pointed ahead. “That where we’re going, trail-master?”
Sophie nodded. “It’s a nice place,” she said. “There’s a big tree that has fallen down, and it’s all covered with moss. And from the edge of the trees you can look down on the village.”
“Reckon we could see our house from there?”
“No. It’s hidden by the hill. See?”
Sophie and Caitlyn peered back the way we’d come. Our cousin said, “Yeah, I see. Shame. You’re pretty good with all this woodland lore and stuff, aren’t you? You in the Guides or something? No, wait; it would be Brownies, probably.”
“Some of my friends are,” Sophie said.
“Well, then! Why not you, too? You get to meet lots of kids that way. And sleep in very smelly tents, of course.”
“I don’t think I’d like it,” Sophie said, and her voice sounded smaller than I was used to hearing it, as if she was uncertain about something. Then, with more of her usual confidence, she added, “Look! We’re nearly there.”
“She’s right again, Mattie. What’s it like having a sister who’s always right? Must be pretty interesting. Don’t worry, Sophie, I’m just joking. Now, you want to go and sit on this tree or what?”
When I awoke the next day, there was a delicious feeling of excitement in the air. The sun was shining brightly, and the small breeze brought with it the smells of cornfields and running water. Once again, we didn’t see Caitlyn until about eleven, which gave us more than enough time to walk into the village with the money and shopping list she had left us to get things for the day’s meals. Quickly, with a practised eye, Sophie picked out a loaf of bread, some cheese, a bottle of orange juice, some of Caitlyn’s preferred brand of coffee. I carried the wire basket for her until it was piled high with different foodstuffs. Caitlyn had given us a little too much money, and at the bottom of the list was the instruction—Commission: spend the rest on whatever you like.
“Does she mean it?” I asked.
“I think so,” said Sophie. “What do you want?”
I looked around the mini-market. “Nothing from here.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else. Do you want to carry the bag?”
“Yes.”
We bought a colouring book of folk songs and fairy tales and some pencils from the newsagent’s on the corner; Sophie pocketed her share of the money carefully. As we walked back, Sophie told me the stories behind the pictures in the book. One was a song, the “Raggle Taggle Gypsies,” and Sophie sang it to me, to a haunting tune. The story in the song was very sad, and the music was very beautiful.
We didn’t hurry home, and by the time we arrived, Caitlyn had obviously been up: there was an empty mug on the counter next to the sink, and a plate with the crusts of two pieces of toast. From the bathroom came the sound of running water.
“We’re home!” I shouted. The water stopped, and our cousin appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Hi, noisy,” she said. “Where’s your sis?”
“She’s in the kitchen. What are we doing today?”
“Wait and you’ll find out,” Caitlyn replied, coming down to join us. “Decent coffee! Excellent. And what’s this, then? Colouring pencils? Hey! I haven’t seen this sort of thing for years. Are you going to let me have a go in it?”
“If you want,” I said, shyly.
“Great. Hi, Sophie. That’s a pretty dress.” Sophie opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then shut it again. She looked surprised. Caitlyn went on, “Today we’re going to do something a little different. What time is it?”
“It’s just past eleven.”
“That’s about right. Early, isn’t it?” We giggled. “Well, I was thinking maybe we should get away from the old house for a bit, so I’ve arranged a little outing. And you’re going to meet my boyfriend. He’s called Nick and he’s really smashing, so you better be nice to him or I’ll cut your ears off, OK?”
We nodded solemnly.
“That’s understood then. Actually, he’s going to drive us so that we three can keep up with the chatter and not have to concentrate. You know the rules for boyfriends and girlfriends and that sort of thing?”
“Tell us!” I said.
“Right. Rule number one is, they’re really soppy—you knew that, right? But you have to put up with it, so if there’s any kissing and cuddling there’d better not be any sniggers. Got that?”
“Yes,” we chorused. I grinned at Sophie.
“Second rule is, you have to make out like I did all the shopping and how I’m really amazing and I really looked after you well. Got that one, too?”
“Yes!”
“Yeah, well, that’s about it, really.”
“Are we going in your red car?” I asked. I had seen it parked in the driveway when we set off for the shops that morning, and had liked the look of it.
“Actually, Nick’s got his own car. Why? Did you want to go in that one?”
“What colour is the other car?” I asked, doubtfully.
“Oh, I get it. It’s dark green. No? Oh. We’ll have to ask him if he minds driving the red one instead, then.”
“You are silly sometimes, Mattie,” Sophie said affectionately.
It was about ten minutes later that the dark green car crunched up the gravel at the front of the house. Sophie took me upstairs to put the colouring pencils away; Caitlyn and I had been playing with them, and had filled in one corner of one of the pictures in the book. “Give them a few minutes to do all the soppy stuff,” Sophie said.
Nick turned out to be a very friendly-looking man, with a nice smile. I thought he and Caitlyn seemed suited to each other.
“Hello,” he said. “I’ve been told we have to use the red car today. You must be Mattie, right?”
“Hello,” I said.
“And this is Sophie. Hi there.”
“Hi,” Sophie said. I could tell that she was trying to accommodate this new person in the same way she had had to with Caitlyn. The struggle probably wasn’t obvious to anyone except me, but I could see it clearly. “Pleased to meet you.”
Caitlyn appeared from the kitchen, carrying two large bags. “Lunch and stuff,” she announced.
“Caitlyn did all the shopping,” Sophie said. “She’s really clever.”
“You don’t fool me,” Nick said as he took the bags and turned to the front door. “She gets everyone to say that for her.”
“Do you remember showing her the fallen tree?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I decided
that was strange, when I thought about it. Unlike you, somehow.”
“Things were different for a time, weren’t they?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes—afterwards—I almost convinced myself that none of it really happened. That it was like a dream.”
“Would you have liked things to stay that way?”
“I thought about that, too. I don’t know. We would have been different people.”
“Might that not have been a good thing?” I glance down at my wrists, and he notices.
“I still don’t know. It seems too simple a solution, really.” He takes a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“OK,” I say.
In the silence, I find again that something is troubling me; not obviously, like the situation I am in, but something peripheral to it, which I should be noticing. The events of the last six hours or so have the blurry focus and poor detail of memories acquired during shock, but it is not there that I feel I should be looking. There are answers here, if I could see the questions properly. It is a tantalizing, infuriating feeling, and I am afraid that it will distract me. I shake my head a little, to clear it, and the motion jars the bruise on my cheek and makes it sting. The bruise, I have decided, is a good tool right now.
Matthew shifts position on the floor. “I almost wish she’d never come,” he says.
“You’d have preferred it if there hadn’t been a choice?”
He shakes his head. “There never was. We were kids, Sophie. We didn’t have a choice in what happened to us. I would have preferred not knowing, though.”
I understand what he is saying perfectly.
Nick and Caitlyn took us along the main road away from the town. We drove for nearly an hour, until we had reached the place Caitlyn had in mind. Once the car was parked by the side of the road, we walked off at a tangent for ten minutes until we came to a broad, gravel-bedded stream, its clear water running quickly between banks edged with tufted grass. Here we settled ourselves. The bottles of squash and lemonade were placed in the stream to get cold, while Sophie and I ran about in the undergrowth. There were butterflies everywhere, and when the sun became too hot, you could quench the heat of your arms or legs in the water. The occasional drone of a car passing was a long way off, and only served to enhance the isolation of the place.