‘So, Wrathmell,’ he said, between two gulps of tea. ‘Been out on the marsh lately?’
Virginia gripped her teacup’s handle and tensed, readying herself for an explosion, but Clem’s tone was bland.
‘I went shrimping a few times last summer. That’s about it. There’s not been much call for guided walks; I don’t know why. The tourists seem to bypass Tollbury Point these days.’
‘Mmm.’ Mr Deering smiled into his teacup, as if he could think of a few reasons why. Virginia stared at Clem. She didn’t want to speak in front of everyone, but she couldn’t let this pass.
‘How can you have gone out on the marsh?’ she whispered, training her eyes on him and blocking out everyone else. ‘I thought you said the sand swallowed people up? And what about the tides that come in faster than anyone can run—’
Clem reddened, like a liar. ‘That’s all true, Vi,’ he said. ‘It really is. But you see—’
‘But you see, Vi,’ Mr Deering interrupted, ‘your daddy has special knowledge.’ His tone was as jovial as ever, but Juliet shifted in her seat and Lorna started gathering up the half-finished plates and cups. ‘Hasn’t he told you he can bloody well walk on water?’
Clem frowned and scratched the back of his head and barked a kind of laugh, but before he could say anything Lorna slammed the stack of plates down on the tray and held them there. It was a punctuation mark; a protest; a hand held up to signal Stop.
Mr Deering’s swear word had made the air fizz. Lorna stared down at the jam-smeared plates and breathed carefully.
‘Children? There’s still a bit of daylight left. Why don’t you wrap yourselves up warm, and go and get some fresh air?’
The three youngsters hesitated, and Theodore looked as though he was going to protest, but there was something about the way she spoke, and the subdued demeanour of the men, which meant they had no choice. The girls set their empty cups on the table and trooped, dutifully, into the hall, where their coats and hats were hanging on pegs. Theodore followed, swiping the last scone from the tray and popping it whole into his mouth as he shut the door behind him.
Virginia buttoned her coat slowly and in silence, listening for the buzz that was bound to erupt in the sitting room once they’d gone – otherwise why had they been dismissed? But there was nothing; no sound at all.
Given the vastness of the views from Salt Winds, there was surprisingly little space for playing outdoors. If you went out at the front door, as the children did, then you could either hang about in the turning circle, where the Deerings’ car was parked, or you could squeeze down the path between the house and the sea wall. This would bring you round to the back garden, which comprised a few square yards of scraggy grass, an overgrown hedge, a tool shed and a row of terracotta pots, where Lorna and Mrs Hill struggled to grow herbs.
They walked round the big, black car for a while, admiring it in silence. Virginia managed to touch it, quickly, while the other two weren’t looking, leaving a fingerprint on one of the rear wheel arches. Immediately she wished she hadn’t because Mr Deering was bound to notice, and even if he wasn’t cross he would think about her as he polished it away with a soft cloth and know she’d been curious.
Mr Rosenthal was still working in the fading light; they could hear the whizz of the grinder round the back of the house. If he really was an actual German, then Virginia would be interested to see what he looked like; there was no point denying it. His tricycle stood to one side of the house, a large black machine with an integral trunk at the back and a sign that read Rosenthal Knife-Grinding and Repairs. Virginia watched as Theodore pinged the bell a couple of times and tried to prise open the lid of the trunk, but Juliet wasn’t interested; she just swung herself up on to the flint wall and sat facing the marsh, her book open on her lap.
Virginia seated herself on the wall beside Juliet – not too close – and tried to imagine what it would be like to be gifted with sangfroid, not to mention a red beret and a proper bust and an age ending in ‘-teen’. She glanced sidelong, without moving her head, as Juliet searched for her place in the book, but the printed words flicked past, impossible to catch, let alone decipher.
Theodore clambered on to the wall too and began pacing up and down, touching the girls’ backsides with his foot every time he passed behind them. At first Virginia only feared for her navy coat and shuffled closer to the edge, but this just goaded him and he started prodding the base of her spine quite hard each time he went by. Virginia tried to grip the wall, but her mittens were slippery and the stones were smooth, and she couldn’t find any purchase. Looking down at the earth between her dangling feet, she prayed to God that Theodore wouldn’t push her off. If she could have scrambled back down on to the Salt Winds side of the wall she’d have done it, but her knees had turned to water. Theodore Deering obviously didn’t know – presumably he’d never been told – about the dangers of Tollbury Marsh; about how a body could sink under that earth, slowly and inexorably, like an insect in a pot of glue.
‘Don’t!’ she shouted, the next time he stopped behind her.
‘Stop it, Pugface,’ said Juliet vaguely as she turned another page. Theodore kicked his sister by way of reply, leaving a dusty shoeprint on the back of her coat. Juliet frowned dangerously and closed her book. Undeterred, Theodore plucked the red beret from her head and flung it over the wall. It landed on the marsh, a few yards out, suspended on a tussock of grass.
‘All right,’ said Juliet calmly, setting her book down on the wall and getting to her feet. Her curly hair, unconfined by the hat, flickered across her face like black fire. She seized her little brother by the wrist and held on to him with an implacable stillness, while he floundered like a landed fish. Virginia swung her legs round and jumped down on the safe side of the wall, before running across the grass and standing to watch with her back against the house. The sister and brother looked like actors on a stage, backlit by the winter twilight.
‘You’re hurting me!’ Theodore squealed.
‘Go and get it,’ said Juliet.
‘Oh no!’ Virginia cried, pressing her hands to her mouth. ‘You mustn’t make him! It’s dangerous! He’ll drown!’
Juliet took no notice, but Theodore stared at Virginia and began to cry.
‘If you don’t go and fetch my hat,’ said Juliet evenly, ‘I’ll break your arm. No, really, I will.’ And as if to prove her intent she wrapped the fingers of both hands round her brother’s wrist and stuck her elbows out, as if preparing to snap the bone. Theodore’s face ran with tears and snot, and his wet mouth gaped as he nodded his acquiescence. Juliet released him and he lowered himself on to the marsh, whimpering like a puppy.
Virginia covered her face with her hands, conscious that she must do something, but unable to move or speak. She waited for the shouts of terror and the hungry sucking sounds, and as she waited she framed the questions that Clem would be asking later on, and tomorrow, and for years to come: Why didn’t you tell them? Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you stop him, when you knew what the marsh could do? These questions would become her lifelong companions, pacing round her brain hour after hour, like prisoners in an exercise yard, and for a split-second she had a presentiment of the dreariness, the sheer tedium, with which they would go on tormenting her, even when she was grown-up; even when she was an old, old woman with white hair. The prospect of such a life sentence was overwhelming and she bent double, crushing her face against her fists.
‘Do something!’ she moaned – to herself, to God, to the distant adults. ‘Please, do something!’
‘Thank you, Pugface.’ Juliet’s voice floated over her anguish, like a bird over the marsh, so light and faraway that it hardly registered at first. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Let’s hope there’s no damage; it’d be a pity to have to spend your birthday money on a new one.’
Virginia straightened up and tried to breathe normally. Juliet was sitting on the wall, turning the hat round in her hands and squinting at it to
check for marks. Satisfied, she put it back on her head and stuffed stray locks of hair under the rim. Theodore was standing beside her with his hands in his pockets, scuffing the ground with his heel and scrutinising Virginia through narrowed eyes. His shoes weren’t even muddied.
He mouthed at Virginia, suddenly and viciously, and she stared at him. She couldn’t make out what he’d said, but whatever it was, it made him look frightening, like a dog with bared teeth. Juliet slid from the wall with her book and disappeared the way they’d come, and Virginia tried to follow but Theodore caught up with her and grabbed her by the arms.
‘My father says you’re a dirty bastard, and we shouldn’t be friends with you,’ he whispered, his stale-sugar breath too close to her face. ‘He says we should wash our hands after we’ve touched you, because we don’t know where you’ve been.’
Virginia stared at the blank wall above his head and waited for him to stop. It didn’t matter what he said. She didn’t want to be his friend; she wasn’t asking to be touched.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Lorna said, again, as they gathered in the hall. She’d already said it twice. ‘Lovely to see you all.’ She had a kiss for Juliet, a kiss for Theodore and a hesitant glance for Max, which didn’t discourage him from grabbing her hand.
‘Lovely,’ he echoed. ‘Let’s meet again soon.’
Clem leaned against the kitchen doorway, chewing his lower lip and keeping his distance from the farewells. Virginia could see Mrs Hill behind him in the darkened kitchen, getting ready to leave for the night. Even though her hands were busy hanging up damp tea towels and unknotting the strings on her apron, she never took her eyes off the group in the hall. When Max Deering touched cheeks with Lorna, Mrs Hill pressed her lips together so tightly that her mouth became a fine line, as straight and sharp as the cutting edge of a knife.
Perhaps it was just as well Mrs Hill wasn’t watching from the same angle as Virginia, and couldn’t observe the light wink off Mr Deering’s signet ring as he squashed a paper into his hostess’s hand. No doubt it was fortunate she didn’t see the smoothness with which Lorna received it and slipped it inside her sleeve.
Virginia knew a fair bit about sex because it had been much discussed, after lights-out, at Sinclair House. She’d been informed that the mechanics of it were messier – and weirder – than you might think from watching Leslie Howard kiss Ingrid Bergman on screen, but she’d kept an open mind because the whole operation seemed so unlikely. So unnecessary. Watching Mr Deering now, however – the suppressed appetite with which he pressed Lorna’s hand and the way he ate her up with his eyes – she began to think there might be some truth in it, after all.
While the Deerings were climbing into their car, Lorna positioned Virginia beside her on the front doorstep. ‘Wave,’ she ordered, through the teeth of her smile, so they both waved as the car rumbled into life and curved away down the lane. Mr Deering stuck his gloved hand out of the driver’s window and saluted back, but his children didn’t stir in their seats.
There was silence in the hall when they went back in. Lorna shut the front door carefully, watched by her husband and Mrs Hill, and met their stares head on.
‘Well, at least I was civil,’ she observed coldly. ‘One of us had to be.’
‘Hang on, Vi.’ Clem stopped Virginia on the stairs as she made her way to her bedroom. Everyone else had melted away and she wanted to do the same. Salt Winds felt different after the Deerings’ visit, as if they’d left something of themselves behind, or taken something away; as if the house didn’t belong entirely to the Wrathmells any more. Virginia thought she’d go upstairs and read, and wait for the impression to fade.
Clem placed his hand over hers. ‘I just want to explain something,’ he began. ‘Something Deering said.’
He was going to tell her about Tollbury Marsh again, and how it would eat her up if she set foot beyond the flint wall. She sat down on the stairs, resigned to it, and Clem looked up at her through the bannisters, like a prisoner behind bars. She wasn’t sure she could trust what he said any more, and it was a strange sensation – much worse, and more surprising, than not being able to trust Lorna. On top of that, she kept wondering about the paper in Lorna’s sleeve and whether she had a duty to mention it.
‘I know I go on about it, but I don’t want you thinking the marsh is safe. It’s true I’ve been out there myself, but that’s only because I grew up with it and it’s in my blood. I know Tollbury Marsh; I know it like the back of my hand. But even I wouldn’t venture far, and nine times out of ten I wouldn’t venture at all. It’s about understanding the weather, the tides, the mood … not just understanding those things, but feeling them … Vi? Are you listening?’
Virginia nodded awkwardly with her chin on one hand. She was listening, as she gazed out of the window at the space where the car had been and toyed with her lower lip. Or at least, if she wasn’t exactly listening, the sound of Clem’s voice was deep inside her mind, tugging away at her thoughts.
‘It’s just … Vi … I don’t want you thinking I told you lies, or even half-truths.’
Mrs Hill had left the house by the kitchen door, and now she was wheeling her bike down the lane towards Tollbury Point. Mrs Hill knew what was what, and how the world worked, and where the truth lay. You could tell by the way she faced the night, with a shopping bag on either handlebar and a headscarf tied stoutly beneath her chin.
‘Vi?’
‘Yes, yes, I know. I’m listening.’
Bit by bit the darkness swallowed Mrs Hill. Virginia found herself thinking about the knife-grinder, and wondering whether anyone had noticed him, when he left.
New Year’s Eve, 2015
VIRGINIA SLIPS THE chain, wriggles back the bolt and braces herself for a rush of cold air. There’s nothing else for it. She will have to confront the girl, warn her off, threaten her with the law if necessary. The day will not unfold as it’s supposed to while someone is sitting outside Salt Winds, like a bit of grit in the eye. She’s tried banging on the windows, first with her knuckles and then with her stick. She even managed to force a downstairs window open and shout into the wind, but her voice amounted to nothing – the creaking of a rusty hinge – and the girl didn’t notice.
Virginia props the door open with the umbrella stand, and a flurry of snow blows across the hall floor as she sets off. It’s worse being outdoors by daylight. Night-time had given the curlew’s message an aura of mysticism, draped the house and marsh in glamorous darkness, transformed the streetlights of Tollbury Point into distant planets. There’s none of that now, at half past eight in the morning, on the last day of December. As Virginia winces her way down the front steps, one by one, she’s pained by the withered dandelion leaves poking up from the gravel, and the flattened lager can that’s blown in from goodness knows where and landed on the verge. Today shouldn’t be like this. Today has nothing to do with weeds, or litter, or loafing teenagers.
As she approaches, all she can make out is a bony back and a jumble of dark hair. Earlier on, the girl had been staring out at the marsh, but now she’s bowed her head on to her knees, as if she’s dozing. How old is she? Fourteen? Fifteen? The girl’s youth frightens Virginia. Their worlds are seventy years apart. Seventy years. It’s too big a gap. Virginia will say one thing and the girl will say another, and neither will understand a word.
‘I need you to go away.’ Virginia speaks slowly, batting at the whirling air with her free hand. ‘Please! Go away!’
The girl swivels her head as Virginia reaches the wall so that her cheek, rather than her forehead, is lying on her knees. Other than that, she makes no response, registering the old woman’s voice without appearing to know, or care, what it means. They stare at one another without expectation.
The snowfall is petering out again. There’s never quite enough snow on Tollbury Marsh; never enough to throw a dazzling tablecloth across the flat vista and effect a transformation. Virginia has seen proper snow in the States, and in Germany, and
of course that winter they spent in Switzerland, but it doesn’t happen here, at home. Tollbury snow might freeze you to the marrow of your bones, but it’s always a measly affair to look at: an impure whiteness shadowed by dirty clouds, stippled with grass tips and stones and pools of mud. It’s never the kind of snow you regret spoiling with your footprints.
‘Go away!’ she repeats, helplessly. The child’s gaze is pink and gelatinous, as though she’s been weeping some caustic liquid that’s stripped layers of membrane from her eyeballs. She’s obviously done a lot of weeping, but she’s stopped for the time being. She’s worn herself out. She’s empty. Virginia was expecting antagonism, but the girl has barely enough self-will to lift her head. If Virginia could somehow haul her to her feet, turn her in the direction of the lane and order her to walk, she would probably obey – though her legs would likely crumple within ten yards.
‘Who are you?’ Virginia demands. A sudden gust flutters their snowy hair and clothes, and they shudder in unison.
‘I’m so cold,’ says the girl. Her voice, like her eyes, is wet and raw with tears, and she sounds like a much younger child. She sounds like a toddler, moaning about the nasty wind as if it’s someone’s fault; as if it’s someone’s duty to act.
‘What are you doing here?’ Virginia persists, but the girl has retracted like a snail, her head and knees wrapped inside her dark-blue denim arms.
Call of the Curlew Page 5