‘Mm—super bird!’ Susie was talking with her mouth full. ‘Wish I could cook. All I can manage is sausages.’
‘You’re telling me!’ Hugh turned to Jennifer. ‘D’ you know, we’ve had sausages every single morning since Susie arrived?’
‘Burnt sausages!’ Oliver chipped in. ‘The next-door cat almost broke its teeth on them.’
Lyn was struggling to his feet, food untouched, frown cutting between his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew … it’s stifling in here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go outside and get some air.’
‘But we haven’t finished dinner yet.’ Matthew never allowed the boys to get up before the meal was over. ‘I was going to open some port as you didn’t fancy claret. I wanted to drink a toast to you and the Book, and to your most impressive work on it. We’re celebrating, Lyn.’
‘I ‘m not.’
Jennifer willed him to sit down again. Susie was staring at him. Stupid to care what a teenage mother’s help thought, but somehow she wanted Susie to see him as intelligent and sensitive, not bad-mannered and unsociable.
Matthew moved his fork a fraction, so that it was lying exactly parallel with the knife beside it. ‘Well, stay for just a moment. Anne and I have got some news for you all. Very exciting news.’
Lyn jabbed his foot against the chair-leg. ‘You’ve sold thirty thousand copies instead of twenty thousand.’
‘Well, it is to do with sales, in fact. As you know, I’d planned a trip to Japan this summer. We’ve had a lot of interest from a Tokyo publisher, and I also want to oversee some colour printing. So I thought I’d combine the two—clinch my contract in Japan, then stop off in Hong Kong to talk to the printers …’
Hugh speared a piece of broccoli. ‘That’s not news, Daddy. You told us that at Easter. All it means is that you won’t take us away.’
‘Quiet, Hugh, I haven’t finished yet. The exciting bit is that I’m going to include Australia as well, and your mother’s coming with me.’
‘Mummy? But she never goes. She’s …’
‘Lucky Mum! Can we come?’
‘’Fraid not, old chap. It’s a business trip, not a joyride.’
Lyn sat down again, but pushed his chair right back, so that he was no longer part of the group around the table. ‘I only hope you’re not including Jennifer. Her British tour was bad enough, but I draw the line at the outback.’
‘Well, there was some talk of her appearing on Australian television, but they’ve invited me, instead. That’s partly what made up my mind about the trip. There’s already enormous interest in the book and very impressive sales there, and this can only clinch it. I’ll be taking my next year’s books, of course, and seeing as many publishers as possible. It’s the sort of chance which might never come again, so I’ve got to take advantage of it.’
Charles retrieved his napkin from the floor. ‘Why are you going, Mum? You never have before.’
Matthew answered for her. ‘Your mother needs a break—and I need her. There’ll be a lot of work, you realise.’
Robert’s face was crumpling up. ‘Who’ll look after us, though?’
‘Well, Susie will be here. That’s partly what she’s come for. Mrs Briggs will help her with the cleaning so she’ll have more time for you boys. And I’m sure your Auntie Jennifer won’t abandon you.’
Lyn flung his chair back. ‘Look here, Matthew, I was reluctant enough to camp here in the first place, but if you’re now expecting us to babysit while you …’
‘For heaven’s sake, Lyn, no one’s expecting anything. You can take some leave if you like—make the most of being close to London. It’s less than half an hour if you take the car, and that’s right to the West End. You can visit all the galleries, book some theatre tickets, catch up on the films. Or if you want a rest, well, just stay home and sun yourselves in the garden. You’ll have more room in the house with myself and Anne away, and Mrs Briggs to wait on you and …’
‘I don’t want anyone to wait on me. Just my own place and a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘If you want peace, Lyn, then I suggest you stop the shouting. Come on, now—be a good chap and sit down. Let’s all drink to the trip.’
‘You drink to what you like. I’m getting out.’
He didn’t slam the door, but it felt as if he had done. Even the boys were cowed. Matthew was trying to woo them, pouring them each half an inch of port in his Waterford crystal glasses. Charles drained his at a gulp. ‘When are you planning to leave, Dad?’
‘About the middle of July.’
‘That’s when we break up. We never seem to see you.’
‘I’ll bring you back a present, to make up. Something really different.’
Jennifer was half standing, half sitting. She knew she ought to follow Lyn, reason with him, calm him down. Yet she was reluctant to disrupt the meal. Anne had rushed home early to prepare it and even Matthew was trying to be genial. Anyway, she was keen to hear Anne and Matthew’s plans. She felt a strange excitement that both of them would be absent, leaving her and Susie to play parents to the boys. Susie was only a name as yet, but this was the perfect chance to get to know her. Lyn was a problem, of course, but he would be a problem anywhere. Almost a relief to dilute his gloomy presence with Susie’s glowing one. She drained her wine, then started on the port.
‘Matthew, I’m sorry to bring it up now, but I presume this means my interviews are over?’ If she could turn her back on the media, the summer would be fun.
‘Not quite, my dear. There’s a couple of things on radio and the chance of another television appearance which might come up in July—Tyne Tees in Newcastle. Don’t worry, you can leave it all to Jonathan. He’ll look after you. If you do go North, he’ll blow it up a bit—canvass the local papers and the bookshops, play on the regional aspect.’
‘Oh Matthew, no. You promised no more tours.’
‘Hardly a tour, my dear—just a little back-up to the television. If that comes off, it’s a real feather in your cap. The chap who hosts the show has enormous influence. You can hardly turn it down when Big-Name stars are falling over themselves to appear on his programme.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Forgive me interrupting, but we must finish dinner.’ Anne had hardly said a word since Matthew entered. ‘There’s still some fruit and cheese.’
Matthew folded his napkin into a perfect square. ‘I’m sorry, Anne, we haven’t time for anything more. We’re expected at the Spencers’ for a drink. David Spencer toured Australia last year and met a lot of influential people. He could be very useful.’
Once she heard the front door close, and the boys disperse, apples in their pockets to eat upstairs, Susie sprang to her feet and moved to Matthew’s chair. She took a sip of his mineral water, shook out his napkin, frowned and tapped the table.
‘Leave the room, Hugh.’
Jennifer didn’t laugh. She had to be careful not to be disloyal. Susie might even be an Enemy. She didn’t look like one, but Matthew saw Enemies everywhere. Agents were Enemies, other publishers, neighbours (except the Spencers), socialists, bureaucrats, the Inland Revenue—even Lyn, at times. Lyn had still not reappeared. Jennifer had made a quick search of the house for him while Anne was fetching her jacket. He had probably gone out to clear his head. Best to leave him—let him walk his anger off. Anyway, it would give her a chance to talk to Susie alone. They would have to get to know each other if they were spending the summer together. She piled the glasses on a tray, tipped Lyn’s almost untouched turkey onto the pile of scraps.
Susie lit a Woodbine. ‘Look, leave those. That’s my job. You’re far too grand to be a waitress.’
‘Grand?’
‘Well, I mean, on telly and everything. You’re a real live star now, aren’t you?’
‘Hardly. I made such a fool of myself last night, I go hot all over when I think of it.’
‘I liked it. It was smashing—especially when you cried.’
‘Don’t remind me!’
Jennifer moved into the kitchen, tried to distract herself by starting on the washing-up. The tears were bad enough, but they had led on to Rowan, and Rowan on to Jasper, and Jasper on to scandal and bastard babies—even murdered bastard babies. How on earth would Lyn react if he …?’ She’d been trying to block it out, trying not to worry, refused to bring breakfast down to dinner.
Susie had followed her out to the kitchen and was sitting on the work-top, blowing smoke over the turkey carcass. ‘Do you really believe it, though—all that stuff you spouted about back-to-the-land and natural living? I can’t see the point myself, when we’ve got machines and convenience foods and things, to have to go grubbing around with yeast and manure and … All you’re doing is putting the clock back—plonking women back in the kitchen or the farmyard when they’ve spent the last twenty years trying to get out. I’m all for women’s lib myself.’
Jennifer said nothing. The subject was too fraught. Until the book, feminism had been one of those vague, prickly topics she rarely thought about. She knew she was old-fashioned, but she preferred to live that way. Anyway, she couldn’t be a libber because that would mean attacking Lyn and he was too battle-scarred already to endure another skirmish. Her role was to heal and soothe him, not open up the wounds. She scrubbed harshly at the plates. The water had turned grey and greasy now, little scraps of debris murky at the bottom.
Susie had found a tea-towel and had semi-dried two plates. ‘That’s where I go in the evenings—a Women’s Group. Don’t tell Anne, though. She’s sure to disapprove. She prefers the painting classes. They finished months ago, in fact. The course closed down for lack of funds.’
‘What d’you do at Women’s Groups?’
‘Talk, drink, smoke. Hold debates on all the issues. Support our suffering sisters. Plot Death to the Male.’
Jennifer ran clean water into the sink. The heavy silver cutlery deserved reverential treatment. ‘But I thought you … I mean, the boys were saying they’d seen you with a male.’
‘Yeah—Sparrow.’ Susie was using the meat tin as an ashtray. ‘His mates call him that because he’s six-foot-three with shoulders like an ox. He’s been here once or twice. Charles fell in love with his bike.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Great! Won’t be seeing him much more, though.’ Susie turned away, ground her fag-end into pulp. ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we? Is Lyn really Matthew’s brother? They don’t look much alike.’
‘Mmm. More or less.’
‘You’re as mysterious as Anne. It’s a crummy house, this. No one tells me a thing. I mean Matthew didn’t even make it clear he was careering round the world like that. When I first arrived here, he said he’d be away and could I cope, but I thought he meant a week or two, not half the bloody summer. Lyn seemed pretty sore about it, too. Did you know they were going?’
‘Well, Matthew always travels quite a lot, and to tell the truth, I’m just thoroughly relieved it’s not me that’s involved as well. I almost died when he mentioned Australian television. Look, if you’re worried about the boys, I’ll help. I’d like to. I’m very fond of them.’
‘They’re all right, I s’pose. I’m just off kids in general at the moment. What I really want to do is act—you know—on the stage. This job’s only a stop-gap, until I land a part, or sleep with some film director or something. Cor! I really envy you. You’ve got all the things I’d give my right arm for—fame, money, freedom …’
‘But I haven’t, Susie. You’re wrong. I …’
‘I’d love to have my photo in all the papers. And people like Parky and Russell Farty begging me to spare them half an hour. And that Tyne Tees thing you’re complaining about—wow! The only time I ever went to Newcastle, all I saw was the bloody coach-station and some flea-pit Chinese restaurant. I bet you live it up!’
Jennifer found a second tea-towel and started on the drying. ‘I’ve been already—just two weeks ago and I hated every minute of it. I had to stand for hours in stupid poses with everybody staring and …’
‘Who’s that Jonathan bloke Matthew mentioned? I s’pose he drives a red Ferrari and buys you exotic cocktails in American bars.’
Jennifer laughed. ‘Oh Susie, we really ought to swap. Jonathan did buy me cocktails—enormous ones with half a fruit salad floating in them and little flags on top, and all the time I was dying to be back home in my nice warm bed with a Mars bar and a magazine. He’s the publicity man from Hartley Davies. Very sort of … smooth. We never say anything real.’
‘Christ! I would. Do you fancy him?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Oh come on, Jen. Don’t be coy.’
‘Well … he’s … you know—doesn’t go for women.’
‘Gay, you mean.’
‘I … think so.’
‘All the best men are these days. And half the women, judging by our Women’s Group.’
Jennifer mumbled something indecipherable. She was embarrassed by the subject. Best to change it, start a safer one. She had learnt that trick from Matthew. ‘Er … where d’you come from, Susie? You’re not a Londoner, are you?’
Susie’s accent was difficult to place. There was a trace of London in it, but overlaying something more provincial. The result sounded mixed and mongrel, but Susie’s voice was like the rest of her. It never droned or faltered, but jumped straight out at you, loud and clear and cocky.
‘I was born in Nottingham, moved five times in seven years, up and down the country, until my parents finally settled in Great Yarmouth, having produced a child in every town. I’m the eldest.’
‘How old are you?’ Jennifer polished up a glass. ‘You don’t mind me asking, do you?’
‘No. Seventeen and a quarter. How about you?’
‘Twenty-five.’ It sounded settled, almost senile. Seventeen was light years away. She hadn’t met Lyn then, didn’t have a book, a public, hadn’t learnt to lie. And when she was that age, she had never looked like Susie, never been so carefree and outspoken, or worn gold and silver eyeshadow, one above the other, or bought scarlet dungarees. She glanced down at her own boring summer frock, a limp brown thing patterned like the lino. Everything Susie did was somehow colourful and stylish, even eating cold potatoes with her fingers or lighting up another of her crushed and scraggy Woodbines. She felt strangely drawn by her, as if Susie were a flame herself, and she a drab brown moth.
Susie blew the match out. ‘Your husband’s older, isn’t he?’
‘Well, yes. A bit.’
‘D’you mind?’
‘No, of course not.’ Lies were almost easy now. Would a younger man go off you, renounce sex, live like a monk without a monk’s serenity?
‘Bit ratty, isn’t he?’
‘He’s … er … not too well at the moment.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Oh … headaches.’
‘Nerves, I bet. Did you see that thing in Cosmo? They said men were getting headaches now, like women used to do—because they didn’t want it.’
‘Want … what?’
‘Sex, of course. They’re frightened of our orgasms, so they pretend they’re feeling rough, and then they don’t have to compete. D’you read Cosmo?’
‘N … no.’
‘I’ll lend you mine. There’s a quiz this month. ‘‘Is Your Guy A Romeo?’’ You have to answer questions and award your partner stars for things like foreplay. How many stars would Lyn get?’
Jennifer banged the last fork on the tray. ‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
Susie laughed. ‘You sound just like Matthew. No stars at all, then, I bet.’
‘Look here, Susie, I only met you an hour or so ago and I’ve no intention of …’
‘Keep your hair on. Why all the aggro? Screwing’s only like eating—bit cheaper, that’s all. I had five different blokes in a week, once. I’m off it now, though. Wouldn’t mind if I never saw a guy again.’ Susie flung her still-dry tea-towel on the table. ‘Cor! You’re a whizz a
t washing-up. It takes me hours when I do it on my own. I notice all the boys have disappeared. They always do when there’s work around. Fancy a cup of coffee?’
‘No thanks. I’m going out.’
‘Oh, still offended, are we?’
‘No, I ought to look for Lyn.’
‘Leave him. If he wants to sulk, that’s his hard cheese.’
Jennifer hesitated. Stupid to take notice of a seventeen-year-old’s remarks, and a sluttish one at that. How could anyone have five men in a week and then boast about it afterwards? She stared at Susie’s fag-ends, lipstick-stained and shredded—felt like one herself, stale, snuffed, spent. All the exhaustion of the last few weeks seemed to have settled on her body like a dirty film of ash—the publicity tour itself, the fret and glare of the television studio, the horror of her tears, the gruelling breakfast interview with its spin-off of new terrors, the wrench and chore of packing up from Cobham—and now Lyn’s disappearance. She dithered at the door, not knowing what to do. If she went chasing after Lyn, Susie would despise her for it. It was probably pointless, anyway. She would never find him in the maze of Putney streets. Best to go upstairs. She had a griping period pain and it would be a relief to lie and rest.
She said a brief goodnight to Susie, then walked into the hall and up the dark curving staircase with its heavy bannister and sombre carpet. She could hear Hugh’s radio punching out pop music, he and Robert giggling. It seemed sad they had to grow grey and stern like Matthew, put away their comics and their cowboy hats and do earnest blinkered things like Growing Up and Getting On. She walked into their den, a strange, hybrid room where Anne’s elegant taste and furnishings had been overlaid and pockmarked. The huge mahogany tallboy had almost disappeared beneath its frieze of posters, the expensive rug converted into an air-strip and a motorway.
Robert was lying on his bed in crimson Y-fronts. ‘Done your teeth?’ she asked him.
‘Did them yesterday. If you brush them too much, you wear them down to stumps. A boy at school warned me just in time.’
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