‘No, they’re all quite young. That’s just the way she moves. And they’re all shes, by the way. We prefer to keep females. The males tend to be more cantankerous.’
‘What’s cantankerous?’ Sam asked.
‘I am,’ Will replied, ‘when I don’t get my lunch. I’m beginning to feel peckish watching that lot tuck in. Aren’t you two hungry?’ He was already leafing through his booklet. ‘There’s a self-service caff, a picnic bar, pizzas, or fish and chips.’
Sam’s face lit up. ‘Oh, can we have fish and chips? I’m not allowed them at home.’
‘Why not?’ Will was instantly on the defensive.
‘Mummy says they’re bad for us.’
‘Oh does she?’
‘Ssh, Will,’ Catherine whispered. ‘Why don’t we be diplomatic and just have a pizza or something?’
‘Oh, pizzas would be just as bad. She’s into this health kick at the moment. She read some article about children eating too much fat and then having heart attacks in their thirties. Actually, she’d probably approve of the hawthorn twigs – high in fibre, low in fat.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Sam sounded almost accusing.
Catherine flushed. She bent down to Sam’s level and said confidingly. ‘We’re just deciding whether to have fish and chips.’
‘Oh, please, Catherine!’
It was the first time he had used her name and she was ridiculously touched. He was gazing at her with his lustrous dark eyes and she felt a shock of recognition. Will’s eyes could plead like that. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just this once.’
Her reward was a radiant smile which transformed his face completely; he seemed a happy, trusting child at last.
‘Can I have double chips?’
‘Don’t push your luck, Sam,’ Will said sternly.
‘Tell you what,’ said Catherine, daring to take Sam’s hand. ‘I’m not very keen on chips, so why don’t you have mine?’
‘The fish bar’s only a few minutes away,’ Will said, studying his map. ‘Near the lions and tigers.’ They had seen the big cats already and exchanged smiles over Sam’s head. ‘They’re very quiet,’ he’d said suggestively. ‘For tigers.’
‘This way,’ he said now, steering them down a tree-fined path. ‘It’s nice to have some shade. It’s getting really warm.’
‘Mm.’ Catherine stopped to take off her sweater and stuffed it in her bag. ‘It must be almost in the seventies.’ Squinting in the glare of the sun, she looked around at the lush green trees and shrubs. It was perfect mid-May weather and nature was burgeoning and budding with every shade of green, from the bright burnish of new ivy to the dark whorls of rhododendron leaves. And every colour, too: scarlet-jawed tulips, soft blue smoke of lilac, a confetti of pink blossom on the path. The place was all the more attractive because they were on holiday – playing truant, from work, from rules, even from Vanessa.
Will had spotted the sign. ‘There it is,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you run on, Sam, and save us a place in the queue?’
‘Oh, yes!’ He raced towards the fish bar – more a kiosk than a proper restaurant – where a long line of people waited at the serving hatch.
‘Love you,’ Will whispered as soon as Sam was out of earshot.
‘Love you too.’ She longed to kiss him there and then. There was something about the day – the late start, the warmth, the sense of freedom – that made her feel languorous yet aroused.
‘Look, they do a special deal, Catherine –’ Will was reading the metal sign swinging on its stand ‘– fish and chips with a choice of drink and a cake for three pounds ninety-five. Thank heavens. We’re going through an awful lot of cash today.’
‘Sam’s very good, though, isn’t he? He hasn’t asked for anything.’
‘Except your chips,’ laughed Will.
‘Oh, I’m sure I can spare him those. I’m getting fat as it is.’
‘Not that I’ve noticed.’ He patted her rump surreptitiously as they joined Sam in the queue. ‘What drink d’you want, Sam?’ he asked. ‘There’s Coke, Pepsi, Tizer, Seven-Up …’
‘Can I really have those?’ His eyes opened in wonder, as if his father was offering him something dangerous and depraved.
‘You can have whatever you like.’
‘Ooh, Pepsi, then.’ He still sounded incredulous.
‘Please,’ corrected Will. ‘And what for you, Catherine?’
‘Let’s see … I’d better have a Diet Coke.’
‘Please,’ corrected Sam.
They all laughed, which seemed to dispel any remaining tension.
‘Why don’t I wait in the queue,’ Will suggested. ‘And you and Sam go and grab a table.’
It was a tiny triumph that Sam went with her willingly, even slipping his hand into hers again. The tables – rustic picnic-style, with wooden benches attached – were surrounded by trees and flowerbeds and already very crowded.
‘There’s one.’ Sam made a bee-line for it, and sat sideways along the bench with his legs stretched out.
‘Clever boy! It’s the only empty one.’
‘Mummy says I’ve got good eyes.’
‘Yes, you have.’ He also had a beautiful voice, a younger version of Will’s cultured intonation. When Will introduced him, he had struck her as rather charmingly old-fashioned, a far cry from the cocky streetwise kids who hung around the market.
‘I’ll sit this side and you and Daddy can sit the other side.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But you’ve got company, I see.’ A group of starlings flurried and squawked beneath his feet, pecking at an abandoned meal.
Delightedly, he jumped off the bench and picked up the remains of some cake, which he held in his outstretched hand. Instantly half a dozen more birds descended, beaks jabbing greedily. ‘It tickles,’ he laughed.
‘Careful they don’t peck your fingers,’ she warned, wondering what Vanessa would say if she could see her son crawling about under the table in search of further scraps; dirty marks on his once immaculate clothes.
‘You’d better sit up now, Sam. The food will be here any minute.’
He knelt up rather than sat, suddenly noticing the two boys at the next table. They were roughly his age and both had their faces painted with flamboyant whiskers and black and yellow stripes. (They had passed the face-painting stall this morning, and had asked Sam if he’d like to be a clown or tiger or zebra for the day. He had refused the offer, out of shyness, she assumed.)
‘Look, she said. ‘There’s another one – a cat.’
It was a little girl, this time, with green saucer eyes painted round her brown ones, black cheeks and long white whiskers. Sam studied her for a while before turning back to Catherine.
‘Have you got a cat?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Actually, it’s not really mine. I’m looking after it for someone.’
‘I wish I had one. Mummy won’t let me, though.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. But I expect it’s difficult in London.’
‘Do you live in London?’
‘Er, yes,’ she said.
There was a brief and rather awkward silence, then he asked, ‘What’s your cat’s name?’
‘William.’
‘That’s my Daddy’s name.’
‘Yes. It’s a nice name, isn’t it?’
Another silence. ‘My Daddy doesn’t live with me now,’ he said finally.
‘Yes, I know, Sam.’
‘I live with Mummy and Julian.’
She wondered how to respond, desperately grateful that Gerry hadn’t died – or left – before her own children were grown-up.
‘Julian bought me a computer.’
‘Did he, Sam? That was nice.’
‘And a bike.’
‘Gosh, you lucky thing.’
‘I fell off the bike and hurt my knee.’ He rolled up his trouser-leg and showed her a large graze.
She felt absurdly moved. The graze was almost healed, yet it seemed to symboliz
e the fragility of things: knees, life, marriages, relationships. ‘Shall I kiss it better?’
‘Mm.’
Despite a gap of twenty-odd years, the drill instantly returned: lips just brushing the wound, a series of little kissing noises for added effect. Sam seemed satisfied, though he was still gazing at his knee.
‘Mummy says it might leave a scar.’
‘Well, only a tiny one. It looks as if it’s healing pretty well.’ She pulled his trouser-leg down and gave his leg a reassuring pat.
‘Are you going to marry my Daddy?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Er, no, Sam. I … I’m just a friend of his.’
‘Are you going to have a baby?’
‘No!’ she said, startled, wondering what on earth he might come out with next. Could Vanessa be pregnant, perhaps?
She was relieved to see Will approaching with a tray, which he proceeded to unload. Sam watched with rapt attention as each item was set before him: first his drink, which came in a stripy carton complete with matching straws, then his chocolate cake, and lastly his cardboard platter of fish and chips, topped with a miniature Union Jack. He removed the flag carefully and put it beside his plate. ‘Where’s the knives and forks?’
‘There aren’t any. You eat it in your fingers.’
He picked up a chip and bit into it uncertainly, as if expecting an instant reprimand. When none was forthcoming, he ate several more in quick succession. ‘Can I eat this in my fingers too?’ he asked, looking wonderingly at the fish.
‘Yes, Sam. That’s why they give you those little pieces,’ Catherine said, ‘so it’s easier to manage.’
If anything, the pieces were too small – scrappy and unappetizing. And, taking her first bite, she wondered if they’d been served penguin food by mistake. It was coarse in texture, grey in colour, and tasted of nothing but the breadcrumbs it was fried in. And the chips were little better: soggy and none too hot. Sam, though, was in seventh heaven: fingers greasy, ketchup on his chin, a piece of fish in one hand, a clutch of chips in the other. He was wolfing his food, as if at any moment they might change their minds and insist on a knife and fork. But neither she nor Will said anything about manners, even when he made a slurping noise with his straw. She could see that this was Will’s secret revenge on Vanessa and had no desire to spoil it. She passed Sam her chips, relieved to be rid of them. Will, however, was eating with the same gusto as Sam. Like father, like son, she thought, though actually they were strangely unalike in appearance, and not just in regard to clothes. Will’s hair looked even darker and more unruly compared with Sam’s smooth blond gleaming crop. And the boy seemed almost fragile against his father’s chunky build: a delicate child who might have been brought by the fairies instead of sired by someone as solid as Will.
His appetite, however, was anything but delicate. He had finished her chips as well as his, and was now tucking in to his cake. ‘It’s got bits of chocolate in,’ he said approvingly.
‘Yes, it’s called a chocolate muffin. The camels would like it, wouldn’t they?’
He nodded. ‘What’s a muffin?’
‘A mule,’ said Will with a grin.
She was surprised he wasn’t more serious with the child. He told her things with such passion – pointed out the poetic details of flowers, clouds, even maybugs, yet took this facetious tone with Sam. She suspected it was nerves – he was so keen to make a good impression, he felt he had to play the clown.
Sam took a last noisy slurp of his Pepsi, then said, a shade embarrassed, ‘Daddy, I need a … wee.’
‘Me too,’ said Will. ‘Do you think we dare leave Catherine on her own?’
‘Oh, she’ll be all right.’
They couldn’t help laughing at Sam’s airy confidence. He was now on his feet and tugging at Will’s hand.
‘I’m too full to move.’ Will groaned and patted his stomach.
‘Come on, Daddy.’
Will got up reluctantly. ‘See you later, alligator,’ he said to Catherine, taking a bite of her cake.
‘Oh, can we see the alligators?’ Sam begged.
‘In a while, crocodile, after our food’s had time to settle.’
He and Sam departed to the gents, while Catherine sat nibbling her cake, enjoying the feel of the sun on her arms and vaguely aware of the symphony of noises – the twittering of birds, children’s laughter, the distant lowing of some animal. She smiled at the woman on the next table, who was wiping ketchup off her daughter’s dress. The child looked rather like Sam – blonde and beautiful. Now that she’d actually met Sam, she was more concerned about his reaction to their plans for moving north. They must be careful to include him at all stages; make it his home, too, somewhere he could come for holidays and perhaps have his own cat or dog. Will’s first vague pipe-dreams about living in the country had begun to assume more practical shape. He had been right, to her surprise: there were cottages to be had at reasonable rents, at least in certain areas. The flat was awash in property details from every estate agent north of Watford. She couldn’t see any particular problem about having Sam to stay. Of course, it was difficult to judge after only a few hours’ acquaintance, but she was fairly sure she could manage. And as Will got used to the three of them being together, he was bound to be more relaxed.
She caught sight of them strolling back from the gents, Sam holding Will’s hand and listening to him attentively. Once they reached the café, he darted up to her. ‘Daddy says we can go and see the crocodiles.’
Will finished his Tizer and helped himself to the last knob of cake, Sam frowning in impatience.
‘Hurry up, Daddy!’
‘Wait a minute. We need to find the Reptile House.’ Will brushed crumbs from his lip and scanned the map again. ‘Ah, yes, got it We turn left here, then it’s straight down the main path. And we pass the elephants on the way, so if you’re still peckish, Sam, you can have a jumbo-size snack.’
‘It can’t be real.’ Catherine stared at the scaly body sitting absolutely motionless on the bank of its tropical pool. Its jaws gaped open, revealing a long pinkish tongue and two rows of uneven teeth. ‘Look, there’s a notice here saying they’re going to move the crocodiles to Whipsnade. Perhaps they’ve gone already and that one’s just a replica – you know, to show people what they look like.’
‘Of course it’s real,’ said Will.
‘But it wouldn’t keep its mouth open so long. We’ve been here at least five minutes and it hasn’t moved a muscle.’
‘It’s probably a way of keeping cool.’
‘What do you think, Sam?’ Catherine asked. ‘Is it real or pretend?’
‘Pretend,’ Sam said confidently. ‘It’s a toy.’
With that, the creature blinked its eye and stretched its jaws still wider.
‘Look, it moved! It moved!’ Sam yelled. ‘It is real.’
‘It must have heard you,’ said Catherine, ‘and didn’t like being called a toy.’
‘It’s smiling at us,’ he remarked. She had noticed his preference for the quieter creatures – the gentle, passive slowcoaches. He had been fascinated by the fruit bats and the sloths; gazed enchanted at the turtles swimming lazily in their pool.
And standing watching them by that pool, she had remembered Nicky’s description of the turtles in the Caribbean: corpulent old gentlemen, bobbing on the waves. In less than a month, Nicky would be back there; starting the new job on Virgin Gorda. Every time she thought of it, she was painfully aware of the gap it would leave in her own life.
‘I’d like to see the tarantulas,’ Will said, consulting the guide. ‘It says here they have bird-eating spiders that are almost extinct in the wild.’
Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Are they as big as crocodiles?’
‘Oh, no. They’re small and furry – quite sweet really. They’ve got red knees.’
‘Daddy, spiders haven’t got knees.’
‘Yes, they have.’ Will showed Sam the caption to the picture. ‘See? “Red-kneed Spide
r or Tarantula”. Shall we go and find them?’
‘I think it had better be our last port of call,’ Catherine said. ‘We’ve had a long day. Is it far?’
‘Not too bad. Want me to carry you?’
‘You can carry me,’ said Sam.
‘I don’t know about that. You look awfully heavy to me.’ Will made a pretence of picking him up, then sagged at the knees, tongue lolling.
‘Don’t be silly, Daddy.’
‘All right, I’ll behave.’
They trooped along to the Invertebrate House, which was claustrophobic and very dimly lit. Catherine felt growing apprehension as they moved from Millipedes to Robber Crabs, Hissing Cockroaches to Whip Scorpions. Any moment they would come upon the spiders. She had never lost her fear of them – a fear now compounded by memories of Gerry. Yet she had no wish to admit such weakness in front of Sam, and spoil his and Will’s enjoyment. She hung back nervously as they approached each cage, and Will read out various names: Leaf-cutting Ant, Wart-biter Cricket, Assassin Bug. She was astonished at the sheer number of invertebrates. They had passed every species, it appeared, of insect, mollusc, worm, yet still no sign of a tarantula. Until suddenly Will exclaimed, ‘Ah, here we are. Wow, look at the size of him!’
She stood paralysed, her eyes fixed on the monstrous thing, with its bulbous head and terrifying shaggy legs. At least it wasn’t moving, although in her mind she could feel it advancing towards her, scuttling over her foot.
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ said Will. ‘See his knees, Sam? They are red.’
‘He’s got lots of knees,’ Sam said, impressed. ‘Two on each leg.’
‘And how many legs?’
‘Six?’ Sam guessed.
‘No, eight,’ said Will. ‘That’s sixteen knees in all.’
‘More than me,’ said Sam.
‘And yours aren’t red and furry.’
‘No.’ He looked back at the spider, pressing his nose to the glass. ‘I wish I could have one.’
‘Some people do keep them as pets, but I don’t think Mummy would be too keen. You have to feed them live crickets.’
Sam looked puzzled. ‘Crickets?’
Second Skin Page 37