“Don’t tease me, Eloise.”
“I wasn’t! I meant it. Seriously, Grace, a couple of my friends have had issues. Not cutting like you. Anorexia and bulimia. Anxiety. It’s shit feeling like shit, and teenagers are better than anyone at feeling shit about themselves, but it helps to talk about it. We can skip the cider if you prefer.”
“I’d actually prefer to go talk to Jenny about The Goldfinch.”
“You’re really weird, you know that, but OK fine. There’ll be cake at Jenny’s. And, actually, if we ask her nice, she may give us cider too.”
“Come in,” Jenny shouts when they ring the doorbell. “It’s unlocked.”
They find her tucked up in a battered, caramel coloured, oversized leather club armchair in the corner of her kitchen, reading.
She doesn’t get up to greet them.
“Hello sweet peas, shove the kettle on will you? I made banana bread if you fancy some.”
Eloise looks at her, her brows knotted together.
“Keep your jet black hair on! I made chocolate and raspberry brownies too.”
“Better!” Eloise says. “Tea everyone?”
While Eloise throws teabags into mugs, Grace stands at the kitchen window, looking out at the garden. It is wildly overgrown, with ivy growing up along the fences and up into a tree at the bottom. The grass is waist high.
“Are you looking at my environmentally friendly wildlife garden?”
“Oh is that why the grass is so long?”
“No, of course not! It’s because I can’t be fagged doing gardening. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“It’s…um…interesting.”
“It’s not interesting. It’s a mess. But Daniel likes it. He goes on expeditions down there. Disappears for days on end sometimes. I think perhaps there may be an Amazonian tribe hiding out in there. Comes back happy and smelling of dirt. Alastair moans about it all the time. I tell him if it bugs him that much he should do something about it, but actually he’s as lazy as me and never does.”
“That sounds fun for Daniel. A company comes in to mow our lawn every week. Mum likes it to be so flat and green you could play bowls on it. Not that anyone ever plays anything at all on it. Mum doesn’t like anyone even walking on the grass let alone playing ball games. She likes to keep it nice.”
“For whom?” Jenny asks. “Is the Queen coming round for tea soon?”
Grace smiles. “You never know!”
“Well, if the Queen comes round to this house she’ll have to wash her own mug out, just like I’ve had to do with this lot,” Eloise announces, as she puts three mugs down on a coffee table next to Jenny’s chair. Grace fetches the plate of banana bread and brownies. They pull up two kitchen chairs and sit for a few moments, swigging their tea and eating cake.
Eloise surveys the walls of Jenny’s kitchen. Every available space is lined with bookcases and every bookcase is jammed full.
“Ever thought of getting a Kindle?” Eloise asks, through a mouthful of brownie.
“I’ve got one! It’s very handy for travelling or holidays. But it’s no substitute for actually owning a book, being able to feel the weight of it in your hands, smooth the page with the tips of your fingers when you read a really good passage.”
“That just sounds creepy Jenny!” Eloise wrinkles her nose.
“When I was little, if I’d enjoyed a book, I used to kiss the back of it when I finished it,” Grace confesses.
“Ew, you two have got book fetishes. Right! I’ll leave you to your deep and meaningful and go out to our delightful little High Street to shop locally for tea. I’m going to go to the butcher’s and get some of their lush meatballs and I’ll do a load of spaghetti. Easy peasy. I may even get a bag of rocket and some tomatoes to keep Mum happy.”
There is a long queue at the butcher’s. There always is. Eloise has been coming here with her parents most weekends since she was little. Her father says it’s the best butcher in south Wales. She doesn’t mind waiting, watching as the butcher and his assistants, their white and green striped overalls stained with blood, sharpen their knives and serve the people in the queue in front of her. They know most people by name.
Eloise sees one of the assistants grinning at her. She recognises him immediately. It is Liam Williams who was a year above her at school and who went off to university last September. He was a good rugby player she remembers. He has thick sandy coloured hair in need of a cut and lots of freckles.
When she gets to the front of the queue, he elbows another assistant away so that he can serve her and gives her a wide smile.
“You’re Eloise Maddox, aren’t you? Didn’t recognise you at first, now you’ve gone all Emo and…,” he stares at her hair and her bangles…”and your hair’s turned black. And vertical. Are you mitching from school?”
“Ssh, don’t talk so loud – not really mitching, only had one lesson of English. Grapes of Wrath.”
“We did that. I really enjoyed it.”
“Yeah, so did I, but don’t let on to my parents. They think it was a huge deal I managed to get through it. What you doing back?”
“It’s the summer holidays.”
“Already?”
“Mad isn’t it. A whole three months of summer holiday but no money to go anywhere. Had to come home and work here again.”
“Have you worked here before?”
“Er, yes. Every Saturday since I was 16. Served your dad loads of times. Some of those times you were standing right next to him.”
“Oh. Where are you studying?”
“Skilful change of subject, right there… London School of Economics. Politics and International Relations.”
“Is London amazing?”
“Well yes, I guess. Very big. Lots of people there. I’m glad to be home actually.”
“How long are you back?”
“Until the end of September. Till then I’m working here. If I manage to save enough I may go to Greece on holiday for a couple of weeks, otherwise it’s Barry Island for me.”
Eloise stacks the meatballs she has bought into a canvas shopping bag.
“That’s a lot of meatballs. Are you having a party? “
She looks at him disdainfully.
“Sorry, I forgot there are hundreds of you.”
“Even more than usual. My cousin Grace is staying for a while.”
“I got my lunch break in twenty minutes. Want to come with me for a walk on the pier?”
“Um, sure. OK. I’ll go finish the rest of the shopping and come back when I’m done.”
“Cool. I’ll put your meatballs back in the fridge till later so they don’t go bad.”
Eloise buys the salad stuff she needs and two French sticks. She feels very self-conscious hanging around outside the butcher’s waiting for Liam, even more so when he bounds out of the shop door grinning at her. She wishes she hadn’t bought the bread as soon as she and Liam start the short walk down the hill to the pier. They stick out the top of the canvas bag and bash against the back of her head as she walks.
“Here, give me your bag,” Liam says. He breaks the French sticks in half and shoves them deeper into the bag, then slings it across his shoulder. He brushes her shoulders gently.
“You have breadcrumb dandruff,” he explains.
He buys them a can of Coke each at one of the pier kiosks and gets himself a tray of chips.
“Sure you don’t want any?”
“Nah! I’m full of chocolate brownie, thanks.”
“Just so long as you’re not one of those girls who doesn’t like to eat in front of people. Or not eat at all. Girls that don’t eat freak me out.”
They walk past the newly renovated silvery art deco Pier Pavilion which houses art exhibitions, a cinema and a café. It twinkles in the sunlight. At the very end of the Pier they sit down on a bench. It’s a bright day and they can see clearly across the Bristol Channel to the islands of Steep Holm and Flat Holm and, further away, the English coa
st.
“So, what are you doing this summer?” Liam asks her.
“I’m back at school tomorrow but there’s a week left then till the end of the term. We’re meant to be going on holiday to Tresaith in west Wales for a couple of weeks but we’ve been going there for years and the place does my head in. Beach, shop, pub. Nothing else. I haven’t told my parents yet but I’m not planning on going with them this time. Thinking about going to a festival instead, I’ve never been to one.”
“I’ve been to loads. I can tell you which ones are the best.”
“Cool.”
“When did you decide to dye your hair black?”
“Just before sixth form. Wanted to look different for a new start.”
“Suits you. So did your red hair, though.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Have you ever been on those islands?” Liam asks, pointing in the direction of Steep Holm and Flat Holm.
“No. We went on a boat trip once with school and sailed round the outside but we didn’t get off. Aren’t they uninhabited?”
“Except for some wardens. And a derelict hospital where seamen arriving in Wales with cholera and bubonic plague used to get isolated. You can go on day trips. A big group of us stayed overnight at Flat Holm a couple of years ago for my dad’s 50th. There’s a dormitory and you can camp. It was a blast. We could go there together this summer if you like?”
Eloise pauses for a while. “Shall we just try the pictures first? Or going for a pizza? We might not get on. Overnight on an island could be an ordeal.”
“Brilliant. Want to go out tonight?”
“I’ve got to serve meatballs to my enormous family first but I’ll be done by 7pm.”
“I’ll call for you then.”
“You’ll call for me? What are we? Seven years old? Are you going to ask my Mum if I can come out to play?”
“Trust me Eloise. Your parents will be happier about stuff if I call for you. It’s a nice thing to do.”
Suddenly and without warning he pulls her towards him and kisses her. He tastes of tomato ketchup and she can smell sunshine on his skin. She doesn’t pull away and the kiss goes on and on. When finally they stop kissing, he puts his hand on her cheek and looks into her eyes.
“We’re going to get on Eloise,” he smiles. “I’m absolutely positive about that.”
*
Eloise collects Grace feeling a little giddy.
“What are you smiling about?” Grace asks her. “You normally favour a sarcastic scowl.”
Eloise ignores her. “Did you and Jenny have a good time?”
“We did. She gave me a reading list of books she thinks I should read and a load of information about self-harming. And a notebook. She wants me to write everything I feel down. She says I should think about writing a novel and that whenever I feel overwhelmed I should channel it all into writing instead. I’m going to give it a try anyway.”
“You’re becoming a different person Grace.”
“I know. Much more positive.”
“You want to watch it. You know what’s happening to you, don’t you?”
Grace shakes her head.
“I’m sorry to be the one who has to tell you this Grace but the thing is…” She pauses.
“What? What’s the thing?” Grace asks worriedly.
“The thing is that it seems likely you are turning Welsh. Next thing you know you’ll be calling everyone ‘butt’ and bursting into song every whipstitch and getting misty-eyed when anyone mentions the Mabinogion. We’ll have to get you one of those daffodil hats to wear to rugby games.”
Chapter 16
When Idris gets back to their room at the travellers’ rest, he finds Jean sitting staring out of the window, perched gingerly on a slim wooden chair. She is pale and there are dark rings round her eyes but she smiles at him.
“You should be resting!”
“I feel fine. I’ve had a wee nap. It’s just like a bad monthly now.”
“Oh.”
“You did know women have monthlies Idris?”
“Well, yes, of course.” Maggie had spoken openly to Idris and Tommy, from the moment her periods started but Idris judges it wise not to tell Jean how he knows of such things.
“That’s all it is now. A monthly. And I don’t mind the pain at all. I’m glad of it. There was evil growing inside me. Now it’s cut out – gone – and I’m clean again. Just me again.”
Idris suddenly feels winded at the enormity of what Jean has been through. Not just today but before she even left Scotland.
“Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Very much. It is my 16th birthday after all.”
“Come on then. Let’s go get a little fresh air together and celebrate what’s left of your birthday. ”
Idris asks at reception for directions to Lakeview Park.
The girl on reception is making entries in a ledger and barely looks up. “Just keep walking straight down Simcoe Street South till you see Lake Ontario.”
It’s pleasantly warm in the early evening September sunshine. They find the park and walk around the lakeshore slowly, Jean’s arm supported in Idris’s.
“It’s so very enormous, Lake Ontario,” says Jean. “It’s difficult to think of it as only a lake and not the sea. It seems every bit as big as the sea we crossed to get to Canada.”
“It’s bigger than Barry Island, that’s for certain,” Idris says.
They come to a large property called Barnhart’s Pavilion which advertises rooms for campers and lakeshore cottages to rent. There is ice cream on sale and one cent treats like liquorice babies and marshmallow cones.
“Would you like something?” Idris asks. “A birthday ice cream maybe?”
Jean shakes her head. “Not right now. I wouldn’t mind a go on that though?”
She points toward a large children’s roundabout on the lakeshore beach, pointed like a witch’s hat.
“Are you sure?” He gestures vaguely in the general direction of her bottom half.
“I’ll be fine!” She smiles.
They position themselves opposite each other on the roundabout and Idris digs his foot into the sand and pushes off gently. The roundabout rises and falls like the waves, dipping and diving as it circles. Jean laughs and lets her head fall back and her hair blow in the breeze, like it did on the boat. Idris pushes the roundabout again and again and they dip and turn like the swell of the sea until Jean notices a small queue of children waiting patiently for their turn and calls to Idris to stop.
Dizzily, she clambers off the roundabout.
“That was great fun,” she laughs. “The very best thing to do on your birthday.”
They walk back through the park.
“What on earth is that over there?” Jean asks. “Are those cows?”
“Let’s go see.”
The cows turn out to be buffalo. Six or seven of them, rather scruffy looking, including a calf, staring out forlornly from behind a tall chain link fence.
“They pong a bit don’t they?” Jean laughs.
“A little,” Idris agrees. “Shall we have a little sit down over there, up-wind of them?”
“Yes please, it’s been a long day.”
They sit for a while side by side, watching the families with young children and the couples arm in arm strolling by, enjoying the evening sunshine.
“I like it here,” Jean says.
“I’m glad. Because you have an interview tomorrow morning for the position of maid at a very grand house not far away. The head housekeeper is Scottish too.”
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed? I thought you wanted a position as a maid.”
“I do. Very much. But…”
“What is it Jean?”
“I had intended to try for something later, not so soon after…and in Toronto. Somewhere close to Mr and Mrs Williams house, so that I could visit often. Mrs Williams would feel the need of me now.”
“She w
ill Jean. And I’m not trying to push you into working while you are still…” he searches for a word “recovering, but I saw the position advertised and the house is beautiful and with lots of servants so there will be companionship.”
Idris has never seen Jean cry, not even when she turned up on the Williams’ doorstep beaten black and blue, not before or after the pain and humiliation of the process she has undergone without any complaint today. But now she is blinking back tears.
“Jean, have I done the wrong thing?”
“Not at all Idris. You are very kind and thoughtful. Thank you. Let’s go back to the room now shall we? I am suddenly very tired and not at all hungry. Perhaps you can eat in the Homestead’s dining room while I rest?”
Jean goes straight up to bed when they get back. It is still early, not yet 8pm and Idris is hungry. He takes a seat in the restaurant. Most people are on dessert. The sullen girl from reception has now donned an apron and is the waitress.
“You’re very late,” she says, grumpily. “I thought I was going to be able to get away. Been working since 7am this morning. Had been hoping no one else was coming and I could start clearing up. If you’re going to eat, you’ll have to have what’s left, no choice left now. I take it your wife isn’t eating.” She puts an emphasis on the words “your wife” and looks at Idris pointedly when she says them. “She looked peaky when I saw her earlier.”
“My wife is a little under the weather and has gone to bed early. Thank you for your concern. So what is left?”
“Soup, baked macaroni cheese with tomatoes, baked apple.”
“Macaroni.” Idris rolls the word around in his mouth. He has never said the word macaroni before. Never eaten it either. “Sounds delicious.”
The food when it comes is surprisingly good. The vegetable soup has some sort of green herb in it that Idris doesn’t recognise but it tastes fresh and zesty. The texture of the macaroni he finds odd, although he likes the taste and the full feeling in his belly. The baked apple is stuffed with raisins and honey and is served with ice cream. He eats every scrap.
“You were hungry,” the waitress comments as she clears his table. The restaurant is empty now except for Idris.
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