But she knew, thought Lee as she headed for home that bright October morning, she knew what might happen, what would happen in that particular direction: nothing, nothing at all. Dean, encouraged by his first success at fathering a child, had never given up hope, but the years had gone by and Miles had remained the only one. She didn’t think actually that Dean minded that much. He was so absolutely and utterly wrapped up in Miles, he loved him so much, it quite frightened her. Another woman in another situation might have been jealous, as she had joked to Father Kennedy; so absolutely second place did she come to the little boy. As it was she was just thankful, deeply deeply thankful that not so much as a shiver of suspicion or mistrust darkened Dean’s relationship with his son.
And they were a very happy little family. There was no doubt about it. And Miles was a very bright, nice little boy. He was naughty, a bit wild, and a bit devious maybe, and very lazy when it came to school, she could see trouble ahead there; it was annoying because he was obviously clever (a bit too clever, she sometimes thought uneasily). He picked things up in a trice if he wanted to, and he had a real flair for numbers, he positively enjoyed adding them up in his head, which he did terrifically fast. When they went to market sometimes, and he was waiting for her to check out her shopping, he would stand on one of the other aisles, watching the cash register totting up the totals, silently mouthing the figures as they went up and announcing the final sum to the impressed women before the girl at the check-out did. It became a kind of party piece, people would talk about it, and point him out, smiling, and the check-out girls would say, ‘Hey, that’s really neat,’ and tell him what a clever kid he was; Miles liked that, it was one of the things Lee worried about, he loved being the centre of attention, being admired, having a fuss made of him, not in the regular way kids did, of enjoying a bit of spoiling, but actually being in the limelight, being stared at, having an audience. She hoped to heaven he wasn’t going to grow up wanting to go into the film business; a lot of mothers would encourage that, of course, but the only thing Miles seemed likely to want to star in at the moment was the baseball team, and that was good and healthy.
‘Mom,’ said Miles hopefully, pulling on her hand as they walked down the hill towards their house, ‘do you think we could have lunch on the pier today?’
‘Miles, you know your daddy was planning to take you fishing. Don’t you want to go?’ said Lee in astonishment. Usually there was nothing Miles liked better than a day’s fishing off Malibu with Dean.
‘I’m kind of tired of it, we go so often. And Jamie is going to the pier today with his folks, and he says he has something real neat he wants to show me and I would like that. Please, Mom, could you ask Dad?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Lee doubtfully. ‘He’ll have everything ready for you to go, he was getting the rods out when we left.’
Miles scowled. ‘I don’t see why I should have to go. That would be two things in one day I didn’t want to do.’
‘Well, Miles, there’s nothing anywhere that says you should only do what you want to do. That would be very bad for you. What was the other thing?’
‘Going to mass of course.’
‘Now Miles, that is just ridiculous. Of course you have to go to mass.’
‘Jamie doesn’t have to go to mass.’
‘I know, but Jamie’s family isn’t Catholic.’
‘Why do we have to be Catholic?’
‘We don’t have to be Catholic, Miles, we just are. It’s something you’re born with, that you grow up to because your parents are.’
‘Dad doesn’t go to mass.’
‘He does sometimes. Now stop this argument, Miles. It’s just silly.’
Lee always grew uncomfortable when anyone started to comment on her religion, especially Miles or Dean. It was one of the bargains she had made with God: if and when Miles had been safely and unquestionably California born, then she would become a regular attender at church again, and she hadn’t broken her side of it, she had gone not only to mass on Sundays but confession every Friday too – although there were some things of course that she was never going to confess to anybody, not even God, never mind Father Kennedy who was a bit of an old gossip, she always suspected. Dean had remarked on it at first, teased her even, at her apparently unprompted conversion to devout Catholicism, but Lee had reminded him she had always been a Catholic, just lapsed a bit, and said with some truth that she was so pleased and thankful for Miles’ safe delivery that she felt duty bound to let God know it.
When they got home Dean was indeed ready, all the rods packed up in the hall, beaming delightedly as Miles appeared.
‘There you are, son. Ready to go?’
‘Yes, he is,’ said Lee, just slightly challenging. ‘Just let him go and change, Dean, he won’t be five minutes.’
Miles looked back at her defiantly, his blue eyes so like her own, and yet so different: a darker, harder blue, suddenly hostile.
‘Do we have to go, Dad?’
Dean looked amazed and hurt. ‘What do you mean, Miles? Of course we have to go. We want to go. Don’t we?’
‘Not specially, Dad. Not today.’
‘Miles, go and change,’ said Lee quickly. ‘Go on, run along.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes, you do. Whatever you do, you have to change. I’ll talk to your dad.’
‘What on earth is that about?’ said Dean, his plump face bewildered, a little hurt. ‘When did he ever not want to go fishing?’
‘Quite often, possibly,’ said Lee. ‘He’s never mentioned it before, that’s all. He never has to me either. But Dean, I think maybe he’d like a change sometimes. Do something different. All of us together, maybe. Today he asked me if we could go to the pier. Jamie’s going. I can see that would be nice for him once in a while. He loves going fishing with you, of course he does, but maybe every Sunday is a little too much. Don’t be upset. Would you mind not going today?’
‘Yes, I would,’ said Dean truculently. ‘All morning I’ve been waiting, getting the rods ready. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘Yes, well Miles hasn’t,’ said Lee firmly. ‘It’s his Sunday too. I think you should listen to him once in a while.’
‘Since when did little boys get listened to?’
‘Since there were little boys, maybe. I bet you got listened to.’
‘I did not.’
‘Well, you should have been.’ She gave him a kiss. ‘Go on, Dean. Stay home with me. Just this once.’
He softened, grinning at her. ‘OK. You’ll have to make it up to me later, mind.’
‘I will,’ said Lee.
Santa Monica pier was a good place to go on a Sunday. ‘It’s always like Thanksgiving here,’ Miles had once said when he was a little tiny boy, and it was true, people seemed permanently happy, relaxed, in a good mood. Dean, warmed out of his sulks, took Miles on the dodgems and challenged him to a turn on the shooting gallery, and they all leant over the rail and watched people going out with Mike Tomich’s water ski school.
‘I’d really like to do that,’ said Miles. ‘Dad, can I have a turn at that?’
‘You certainly can not,’ said Dean, instinctively putting out a protective hand and drawing the little boy closer to him. ‘That’s real dangerous, Miles, not for little boys.’
‘I like things that are real dangerous,’ said Miles cheerfully. ‘When I grow up I’m going to be a stunt pilot for the movies.’
‘You most certainly are not,’ said Lee. ‘I never ever would allow such a thing.’
Miles gave her one of his slow thoughtful looks. ‘You won’t be allowing me or not allowing me anything, Mom. I’ll be doing what I like. I might even be living thousands and thousands of miles away.’
Lee shivered suddenly; the day seemed to darken. ‘If you live thousands of miles away,’ she said sharply, ‘you won’t be able to be a stunt pilot for the movies.’
‘I will too,’ said Miles, and scowled at her.
&nb
sp; ‘Hey,’ said Dean, ‘come on, I thought we here to please the two of you. Let’s go down to Muscle Beach and watch the acrobats.’
They went down the steps under the pier and fought their way through the crowds near the Muscle Inn; massive men, their muscles like skeins of throbbing rope, were posing on the sand, lifting up girls who asked them to as if they were rag dolls, practising their strange craft with unsmiling fanaticism. Dean bought beers for himself and Lee and gave Miles an ice cream. The beach was packed; it was hot for October, even by Californian standards. ‘I should have brought my suit,’ said Lee, ‘I might go home and get it. Dean, can we have lunch at Sinbad’s? I know that’s what Miles is hoping for.’
‘Sure,’ said Dean, mellowed into total good humour by the holiday atmosphere and the beer. ‘When is he going to meet his friend?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lee. ‘Miles, when did you plan on finding Jamie?’
‘He said he’d be down after lunch. With his mom and dad. Can we go to Sinbad’s, Dad?’
‘Sure. If we go now we’ll get a table.’
They sat in Sinbad’s on the pier, eating swordfish steaks; Miles had his favourite, the speciality of the house, au gratin potatoes mixed with dry slices of bananas. Dean had french fries with his, and coleslaw and pickles and sweetcorn; then he ordered chocolate brownies with strawberry sauce and whipped cream for himself; Lee and Miles had sorbets.
‘You eat too much, Dean,’ said Lee, patting his stomach affectionately. ‘You should cut down a little. It isn’t good for you.’
‘Ah honey, don’t spoil a nice day nagging.’
‘I’m not nagging, Dean. Just saying you eat too much.’ She kissed him quickly on the cheek, anxious he shouldn’t think she was seriously criticizing him. ‘It’s only because I care about you. Sorry, Dean. Look, Miles, there’s Jamie. There, walking down the pier now.’
‘Hey,’ said Miles, ‘hey look, he has a skateboard. Oh, wow, oh, wow, would I like one of those! Can I go get him, Mom?’
‘Sure. Tell him to come here and say hello. Fetch his mom and dad.’
‘And when,’ she said, laughing to Sue and Gerry Forrest, ‘did you thoughtless folks get Jamie that? Now every kid on the block will have to have one. Did he get top grades in school or something?’
‘It was a birthday present from his godfather,’ said Sue. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited about anything. He even took it to bed with him last night. He already has about a hundred and fifty bruises.’
‘Can we go down on the boardwalk and try Jamie’s board?’ said Miles. ‘Please, please. He says I can have a go on it. Please.’
‘OK,’ said Dean. ‘We’re coming. But don’t blame me if you fall and skin your knees, Miles. I’m sure it isn’t very easy.’
Miles made it look very easy very quickly. He took two tumbles in swift succession, and then suddenly got his balance and was away, swooping down the boardwalk, whooping with excitement.
‘Hey,’ said Jamie, ‘he’s real good. I took much longer than that. Miles, come back, come back,’ he yelled, and started running after Miles down the boardwalk; but Miles was far ahead, not stopping, gliding easily away, occasionally wobbling a little, a small, joyous, oddly graceful figure. At last he came back, panting, flushed, his eyes huge and starry.
‘Oh wow,’ he said, ‘was that neat. Was that neat. O, wow. Dad, can I have one, will you buy me one, please please I’ll be so good, I’ll do my homework and I’ll get good grades and I’ll help Mom with the dishes and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’ (‘come fishing with you,’ he was about to say, but stopped, realizing it was not quite the most tactful thing to say and that anyway, if he had his way, he would never again sit on a boring lake with a boring fishing rod when he could be swooping along with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, vying with the birds for speed).
‘You can not,’ said Dean firmly. ‘Not yet anyway. I don’t believe in letting little boys have things just whenever they want them.’
‘But can I have one for Christmas? That isn’t so far off?’
‘Maybe. I’ll have a word with Santa nearer Christmas time.’
‘No, I didn’t mean wait till Christmas, I mean have it now and not have a Christmas present. Please, Dad, please.’
‘No, Miles,’ said Lee sharply, ‘you can’t.’
‘But why not? I want one. I want one real bad.’
‘Lots of us want things real bad,’ said Sue Forrest, smiling, ‘but it doesn’t always get them for us.’
Miles looked at her thoughtfully and then turned again to his mother with his sweetest, most appealing smile. ‘Please, Mom. It would make me real happy.’
‘Miles,’ said Lee, ‘will you shut up. We said no. Now stop it.’ She was always a little alarmed by the way Miles went for what he wanted. He didn’t usually ask for much, but if something mattered to him he pursued it with a mixture of such charm and absolute determination, it was very hard to move or resist him.
‘Jamie,’ said Sue, eager to end a tedious family scene, ‘let Miles have another go on your board.’
‘I don’t want him to,’ said Jamie. ‘He’ll go off with it again. It’s my board.’
‘Yes, but you’ve had it for quite a while now, dear. All yesterday, all this morning.’
‘That’s not very long. Anyway, I need to practise.’
‘Jamie, that’s not very generous.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Miles suddenly, appearing to give in. ‘You take it, Jamie. You’re right. You do need to practise. I kind of got it quicker than you.’
The little shit, thought Sue; looking at Miles’ sweet smile. Who taught him to hurt like that?
‘Well, that’s real nice of you, Miles,’ she said with an effort, ‘but I’m sure you boys can share the board nicely. We’ll just sit here by the walk and watch you.’
But after half an hour the contrast between Jamie’s incessant painful clumsiness and Miles’ swift, easy confidence was more than any of them could bear. They all agreed to go home and watch the baseball game on TV.
Over dinner Miles tried again.
‘I’ll pay you interest on the loan for a skateboard,’ he said suddenly.
‘Oh, Miles, don’t be silly, what on earth do you know about interest?’ said Lee.
‘Enough to know it makes lending money worth while. You lend me ten dollars for a skateboard and I’ll pay you back fifteen in a year. That’s a fifty per cent profit you’d be making over twelve months. It’s a good deal.’
Lee laughed suddenly, ruffling his hair. ‘Maybe it is. But where would you get the money to repay a loan? And I don’t have ten right now. Not to lend, anyway,’ she added with a sigh. ‘Now be a good boy, Miles, and help me with the dishes.’
‘I don’t see why I have to. Why should I?’
‘Because it would be nice for me,’ said Lee, sharply hurt.
‘I don’t see why I should make things nice for you if you don’t make them nice for me,’ said Miles.
‘Miles,’ said Dean, looking up from the Times. ‘Miles, you just apologize to your mother this instant. And get right on helping her.’
‘I don’t see why . . .’ Miles was interrupted by the phone. Dean picked it up, still glaring at him.
‘Dean Wilburn. Yes. Oh, Hugo, hi. How are you? Good good. Great to hear from you. Yeah, I’ll hold.’ He covered the mouthpiece and turned to Lee. ‘I was wondering when we’d be hearing from him again . . . Hugo, yes, hi. Sure, sure, we’ll be here. We’d love to see you. Lee would be thrilled, stay for a few days if you can.’
‘Not too many,’ said Lee sharply. She dreaded Hugo’s visits. They hung over her uncomplicated sunlit life a dark, uneasy shadow: not very frequent, to be sure, but inevitable, an irregularity in the year’s calendar, every two or three months. The very thought of them made her throat dry, her stomach contract, made her want to run, to hide, taking Miles with her. What she felt for Hugo these days was a fierc
e dislike, a deep resentment, mixed still with a sharp tug of sexual attraction. The mixture of emotions made her sullen, withdrawn, aggressive. She was always amazed he didn’t seem to care and Dean didn’t seem to notice. She lived in a state of permanent terror all the time he was in the house that he would say or do something, anything, that would arouse Dean’s suspicions; she was forced to admire, however grudgingly, his skill at deceit.
Nevertheless, skills faded, watchfulness could slip, memories falter; every second he was in the house she was sick with fear. He had not been for some time, not since May; he had been busy, he said, in England, neglecting his American company. They had had a couple of notes, there had been a card and a five-dollar bill for Miles on his birthday, a postcard from Scotland where he and Alice and the children had been having their holiday, and that had been all. She prayed fervently, every Sunday, every day almost that he would not come again; but the God who had given Miles blue eyes and blond hair plainly felt he had done enough for her and had not seen fit to hear or at any rate answer that particular prayer.
‘Next Friday then,’ Dean was saying, ‘great. Lee will meet you, I’m sure. What’s that? OK, I’ll tell her to have dinner for you. Bye, Hugo.’
He put the phone down, beaming with pleasure; he enjoyed Hugo’s persistent friendship, felt it marked him out as a person of some interest and stature.
‘He’s coming next weekend, honey. On Friday. About dinner time. Won’t that be nice?’
‘Very nice,’ said Lee, walking to the fridge and getting out a bottle of beer, hoping Dean would not notice her shaking hand, her taut voice.
‘And Miles, I want you to be on your best behaviour next weekend,’ said Dean. ‘Mr Dashwood is coming from England and you know how he always likes to see you and hear about your schoolwork and so on. You be in real early for dinner on Friday and stay home Saturday, OK? No going out to play with Jamie or anyone. English kids are so polite. I don’t want you letting American ones down.’
‘I don’t really like Mr Dashwood,’ said Miles, scowling. ‘I don’t want to stay home and talk to him. Always asking me how I’m getting on and what grades I got and what I’m reading, and having to sit quiet at table while he drones on about his dumb kids in England. He’s so – so nosy.’
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