‘Look at Kitty,’ he says, pointing over to the gardens, where they can see her tiny figure performing clumsy cartwheels along the lawn.
Luke smiles. ‘Nutter.’ His affection for her swells as he watches her from a distance, oblivious as she is to the events and revelations of this restless summer. She runs past the group of adults; Simon jumps out to catch her and her little arms shoot up in delight as she lets him.
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you over this last week, Luke,’ Martin says, as he continues to gaze over at the family scene. ‘And your folks. It’s been –’ He stops short, the muscles in his jaw clenching tight, his nostrils flaring.
Martin’s hand rests on the branch between them and Luke presses his own upon it, letting it linger long enough to convey his understanding. ‘You’re not on your own, mate. You do know that?’
Martin breathes deeply, his hand moving swiftly to remove a tear before it has a chance to fall. ‘But the thing is, I am.’ He turns to Luke. ‘I mean, you’ll be leaving next week, and I can’t stay at your place forever. I’ll have to go back home sooner or later – and I just don’t know if I can face it, rattling around that place on my own, with my dad not there.’
Luke looks away, focusing resolutely on the group beyond, biting down on his teeth to control his own tears. He thinks of his family: his dad with his well-meaning bullshit and jovial warmth; his mother, quietly bending her will to the needs of them all; and lovely Nanna, who’s just there, always the same, with her shepherd’s pies and bad language. He sees Martin in his mind’s eye, a solitary figure sitting at the table in that cold shell of a house, drinking tea from his last chipped mug, with nothing to look forward to but loneliness, as Luke sails away into the bright world beyond. A tree sparrow lands briefly on the adjoining branch, taking to the air again at the turn of Martin’s head.
‘But you’ll have all sorts of choices to make now, mate,’ Luke says. ‘You’ll be able to do that photography course you talked about? I know it’s bad now, but your life could really change, if you wanted it to, Mart. In good ways.’
Martin picks the bark dust off his trousers, smoothing the new material flat against his thighs. ‘You know, he wasn’t all bad, Luke. Dad. He had a good side to him too, when he wanted. When he let it show.’
Luke nods, watching the dispersing group on the lawn as people head back to their cars to make way for the next service. His parents disappear beyond the screen of trees. ‘I know that, mate. Everyone loves their parents, no matter what. I mean, look at my lot. They’ve hardly turned out to be straightforward, have they?’
Martin lets out a small laugh. ‘Swingers,’ he whispers.
Luke laughs too, shaking his head. ‘Man, there’s more to that story than you could ever imagine.’
‘Is that good?’ Martin asks, looking concerned.
‘Kind of. Well, yeah, it is – it’s all good. Maybe I’ll tell you over a pint later? Dad and Simon said we ought to take you down the Crab and Lobster, to raise a glass to your dad. What d’you reckon?’
‘A beer would be really nice.’ Martin nods slowly, his face relaxing for the first time all day. ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ he says. ‘I found this.’ He reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small photographic reel.
‘The missing film?’ Luke gasps, laughing aloud. ‘This is really it? Man, that’s brilliant news. This one’s going straight in the bin where it belongs.’
‘I reckon we can do better than that,’ Martin says as he cracks open the plastic casing and drapes the long thin negative over the branch between them. He takes the silver lighter from his inside pocket and holds it up to show Luke. ‘I knew it would come in handy.’
Luke watches as Martin snaps off a small twig and holds out one end of the film, reaching across to light it. It quickly takes light, small licks of fire travelling up its length as Martin feeds the other end of the film up over the branch until nothing remains but an oily patch of tar.
‘Now you can forget about it,’ he says, and he clicks his lighter once, ker-chink, and returns it to his inside pocket.
There’s the crunch of footfall on the path below. Luke brings his finger to his lips, and they both incline their heads to listen out.
‘So that’s where you’ve got to,’ Dad calls up, stepping back so they can see each other clearly. ‘Are you boys smoking? Look at this, Jo,’ he calls back along the path.
Luke turns back to Martin, talking softly. ‘Mart, promise me one thing. When I’m over at college – you’ll come and stay with me some time? Check out the courses, see what you think of the mainland?’
Martin stares at him. ‘You’d really want me to?’
‘Of course I would, you idiot,’ Luke replies. ‘Honestly. I’ll be mad with you if you don’t.’
Mum and Kitty fall into view, and together with Dad they stand in the light clearing, shading their eyes and peering up into the tree.
‘Two little dicky birds sitting on a wall,’ Dad says in a sing-song voice.
Kitty squeals as she spots them. ‘One named Peter – one named Paul!’ She points up at their dangling legs, clapping her hands. ‘Come down, Marty! Time to go home.’
Martin waves at her, and when Luke turns to face him he sees eyes full of tears.
‘Are you boys fit to go?’ Mum asks. ‘Simon’s dropping Nanna back at ours so she can check on the casserole. It’s beef, Martin – your favourite.’
‘Are you OK?’ Luke whispers.
Martin rubs the bridge of his nose, taking a long breath. ‘I’m fine,’ he says, and he gestures towards the trunk for Luke to begin their descent.
‘Hope you can get down from there,’ Dad calls up, ‘because I’m not sure I’m up to tree-climbing these days.’
At the bottom, Mum links an arm through Martin’s and together with Kitty leads the way through the dappled woods, with Luke and Dad at the rear. They arrive at the car, parked alone in a small sunny patch to the side of the crematorium. Kitty and Martin squeeze into the back seat, Kitty yelping as he squishes her face with his gangly elbow.
‘Mum?’ Luke says, hesitating before he climbs in beside them. ‘I was just wondering…’
From the other side of the car Dad folds his arms on to the roof, listening intently.
‘I was just wondering if you’d ever thought of taking in a lodger?’ He indicates towards the back seat of the car. ‘I mean, my room’s going to be empty – and I think he needs family around him at the moment.’
Mum and Dad exchange the briefest of glances, before Mum turns to kiss Luke on the cheek with a small nod. He wedges himself into the tight back seat alongside Kitty and Martin, and the five of them head off home along the winding roads to Sandown.
At midday the following Sunday, Dad arrives home with Nanna in the car, having fetched her from Wootton Creek for Luke’s leaving lunch. Luke meets them on the driveway, taking Nanna’s arm as she hobbles up the front doorstep, where Martin is waiting just inside the door.
‘Marty, my love,’ she says, dropping Luke’s arm and reaching up for Martin.
He stoops awkwardly, and she takes his face in her hands to regard him sternly before kissing his pale forehead. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, son. You’ve got us now.’ She releases his head and continues to limp along the hall and out through the open doors to the garden, where Mum is setting out the long table.
Together, they sit in the gentle sunshine, enjoying the warm breeze that ripples through the leaves of the weeping willow, Dad at one end of the table, Nanna at the other, with Mum, Kitty, Luke and Martin on either side. Young Americans plays from the record player in the living room, a leaving gift from Martin to Luke, his own copy to take with him to his new digs. ‘So you don’t have to keep pinching mine,’ Martin said this morning, as he handed it to him with a bashful smile. They eat and talk at ease, the natural rhythm of the family guiding the conversation, any silences comfortable; the laughter abundant. Simon has gone now, moved into the box-
room of one of the teachers from school, a hard-drinking bachelor from the maths department. Dad reckons he’ll be lucky to keep his job, if the authorities get wind of those photographs. ‘We’ll just have to hope for the best, my friend,’ Dad told him, as they stood on the doorstep and waved him off yesterday. ‘Business as usual,’ Simon replied, and he kissed Mum, and then Kitty, before shaking Luke by the hand and driving off in his car with a cheery toot-toot.
Now, Luke watches Martin across the table, as he chats quietly with Kitty, patiently listening to the trivia of her little world, nodding and contributing in the right places. Luke thinks about the enormity of Martin’s trauma, and wonders whether he’d have coped so well himself; whether he’d have been as strong.
‘We’ll take Kitty to Blackgang Chine, won’t we, Luke?’ Martin asks, loosely waving a hand to catch his attention. ‘Next time you’re back over? I’ve been telling her all about Nurseryland.’
Luke smiles, fighting the lump that threatens to rise in his throat. ‘Yeah, of course we will, mate. And they’ve got dinosaurs, Kitty, and Cowboys and Indians. You’ll love it.’
Delighted, Kitty thumps the table with the flats of her hands, knocking a few loose streamers from the table, so that they flutter and trail across the lawn in the breeze. As it’s a double celebration, Kitty has insisted on balloons, and they’re tied everywhere – on fence posts and branches, window hinges and bucket handles – where they bob brightly in the light wind.
‘So, tomorrow’s the big day, son?’ Dad says as Mum starts to clear away the lunch plates. He opens three beer bottles and hands them down to the lads and Nanna, opening a fourth one for himself and raising it ceremoniously.
‘Yep, the big adventure,’ Luke replies, the reality of it suddenly upon him.
Mum puckers her chin sadly. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says, picking up Nanna’s plate and resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer some of my wine, Nan?’ she asks.
Nan wrinkles her nose and taps her beer bottle. ‘This’ll do nicely, love. Not so keen on the fancy stuff; gives me gut rot.’
Mum briefly disappears into the kitchen, returning with a big dish of shop-bought Swiss roll and custard, Luke’s favourite childhood pudding. As she serves up, he reaches across the table to take the bowl from her hands, noticing the tears in her eyes.
‘Mum. I’ll be back all the time. It’s only Brighton – it’s no distance at all.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘Ignore me. I’m just being a big baby. Thank goodness we’ll still have Martin to keep us company. You can keep us up to date on what Luke’s up to, Martin. He’s bound to tell you more than he will us!’
Martin looks into his bowl bashfully, unable to disguise his gladness. He picks up his spoon, and takes a large mouthful of pudding before looking up again.
‘I think we should get a picture,’ Dad announces, breaking into the hush that has fallen over the table. ‘Capture the moment for posterity. What d’you think, Martin?’
As Martin fetches his camera from the kitchen, Dad pulls up a trestle to set it up on, and directs everyone to move in and huddle around Nanna for a group shot. Kitty clambers up over Martin’s shoulders, to cling like a tree frog about his neck, where she squeals and wriggles as they wait for the camera to be ready.
They’re interrupted by the bellowing voice from next door’s garden. ‘Afternoon!’
Dad puts the camera down, and they all turn towards Mike Michaels, who’s resting his pasty forearms on the fence that separates the two gardens. After a second, he’s joined by Diana, looking radiant in her oversized white sunhat.
‘Afternoon, Mike,’ Dad replies, friendly but reserved. ‘Diana. Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Superb,’ Mike agrees, his greedy gaze roaming over the lunch table, taking in the balloons and streamers that adorn the garden. ‘Are we missing out on a party?’ he says, clapping his hands together loudly.
Luke hasn’t seen Diana since their night together, and he can hardly bring himself to look at her as the fleeting recollection of her skin on his slides across his memory. He fiddles with the edge of the tablecloth, before setting himself to the job of clearing away the pudding bowls.
‘It’s Luke’s last day,’ Dad replies. ‘He’s off to college tomorrow.’
‘Oh, that’s marvellous!’ Diana calls over, forcing Luke to stop what he’s doing and look up. She holds on to the top of her hat to prevent the wind from snatching it away. ‘You must be so excited, Luke?’
‘I am,’ he says, turning to face her, attempting a natural smile. He knows he should be ashamed of their night together, yet right now, gazing across the garden fence into her cat-like eyes, he feels only pride. Diana blinks at him once, so kindly and with such warmth that he knows all is well, that she wishes him only good things. ‘What about Tom?’ he asks. ‘Has he gone back to London?’
‘Bet he was itching to get back,’ Nanna giggles, nudging Luke’s leg.
‘Last week,’ Mike replies, momentarily distracted by a streamer that flutters on the fence post by his face. He bats it away with the back of his hand. ‘Anyway! You know how we love a party, Richard. Aren’t you going to ask us over?’
An embarrassing interval passes as Mum and Dad lock eyes, each waiting for the other to answer. ‘Well, you know –’ Dad stammers.
‘No,’ Nanna interjects from her seat at the head of the table, reaching up to take Luke’s hand. ‘Sorry, love. It’s strictly family today.’
Dad looks relieved and he shrugs at Mike apologetically. ‘Another time?’ he says.
Mike balks, his puffy chin pulling back. ‘Why’s he there, then?’ He nods accusingly at Martin. ‘He’s not family.’
Martin sits motionless, his gaze fixed on the camera, as if he’s still waiting for the button to go off.
Nanna bangs her hand on the table. ‘He bloody well is!’ she says, loud enough to alarm Kitty, who drops down from Martin’s back. Kitty looks furious.
‘He’s not,’ Mike replies, as if the subject’s up for debate.
‘Mike,’ Diana hisses, now out of sight.
‘Yes, he is,’ Mum says, and she rests her hands on Martin’s shoulders. ‘He’s moved into Luke’s room. He absolutely is one of the family, Mike. Aren’t you, Martin?’
Martin bobs his head once, his expression still blank.
On the other side of the fence, Mike scowls, his knuckles still gripping the top of the panel. Dad runs his hands through his hair and sighs, exasperated, shaking his head as he meets Luke’s eyes, and takes his wallet from his back pocket. Leisurely, he walks towards the fence and stands before Mike, where he opens up his wallet and hands him the photograph. Mike’s brows rise in disgust as he takes in his own naked form, and he looks up at Dad with a confused little shake of his head.
‘I didn’t want to do this, Mike. But quite honestly, you’re a bully. Martin here – you know what he’s been through lately, and still you treat him like this. He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be, Mike, and, while I’m giving you this photo here, to do with as you wish – put it up on your mantelpiece if you like – I just want you to know: we’ve still got the negatives.’
Mike backs away from the fence, his livid red face disappearing from view, before the sound of his back door slamming puts a final close to the conversation.
As the rest of the family return to position for the photograph, Luke catches Dad’s arm and holds him back.
‘Are you alright, Luke?’ he asks.
‘I’m fine.’ Luke looks across the lawn towards the party table, where the rest of the family are busy trying to work out the best arrangement for the photograph. ‘Only – there’s just one more thing I wanted to ask you, Dad, about all that party business.’
Dad rests his hand on the fence top, the breeze rippling through his hair. ‘Go ahead, son. I promised you, didn’t I? No more secrets.’
Luke clears his throat.
‘So – when Mum went off with Simon at that firs
t party – who did you end up with?’
Dad looks shocked at first, before his mouth breaks into a reluctant smile. He shakes his head and starts to laugh. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’ Luke asks, starting to laugh himself. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Was it Marie?’
Dad pinches at his bottom lip, as if weighing up whether to tell him or not. ‘No – it wasn’t Marie, son,’ he finally says, his eyes welling up as his chest rises and falls between embarrassed groans.
‘So who, then?’ Luke demands through a bemused grin. ‘You said it yourself. No more secrets.’
Dad clamps his hands over his face and hangs his head in shame, speaking through the muffle of his fingers. ‘It was – it was Sara Newbury.’
Luke shakes his head in disbelief, as the laughter rolls up through his ribs. ‘Oh, man, talk about the short straw,’ he gasps, reaching out to prod his dad, who’s running a finger beneath his lashes to wipe away the tears. ‘Oh, man,’ he repeats. ‘Tell you what, if this doesn’t cheer Martin up, I don’t know what will.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Dad growls, putting a hand on the back of Luke’s neck and pulling him in for a rough hug. ‘Now, what about this photo we’re trying to take?’
The two men jog across the dried grass, where Luke takes his assigned place between Martin and Nanna. Kitty clambers back up over Martin’s shoulders, while Dad slips an arm about Mum’s waist, sucking in his stomach muscles as the camera timer counts down for the family portrait. ‘OK, everyone, after three. Three – two –’
A pair of swallows flies over the garden, arcing through the air.
‘One!’
Luke and Martin turn their faces towards the birds, a shared thought, locked in time as the shutter comes down and the moment is captured.
Acknowledgements
The characters and events in this novel are all inventions. Yet the places – the beaches, hilltops, towns and villages of the inimitable Isle of Wight – all exist as inspirations to Summer of ’76, as do certain facts of local and national history.
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