One Secret Summer

by Lesley Lokko

  She could feel the cool rush of her future coming at her, a thousand questions trailing in its wake. She found herself unable to utter a single word, all feeling in her body concentrated on the third finger of her left hand. Marriage. He’d asked her to marry him. She looked down at the ring. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, barely audible to anyone but herself. ‘Yes. Of course I will.’

  49

  ‘London?’ Martha said, putting a hand to her throat. She stared at the ring Maddy displayed a touch self-consciously. ‘You’re moving to London?’

  The guilt rippled through her. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock, Mom,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I … we should have warned you, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to propose … it’s a bit sudden.’

  ‘A bit sudden?’ Martha repeated incredulously.

  Maddy looked anxiously at her. Martha’s cheeks were flushed, the way Maddy’s were when she was overcome with emotion. It was a week since Rafe’s unexpected proposal. He’d gone back to London almost straight away, and in less than a month’s time, Maddy was due to follow him. She slid a hand across the table and touched her mother’s arm. ‘I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but it just feels right, Mom. I can’t explain it. Of course it’s a really long way away, but his whole family’s there, his work is there … it’s going to be easier for me to move, Mom. He can’t. Say you’re happy for me. Please.’

  Martha stared at her for a second. Then she forced a smile to her face. ‘Oh, Maddy … it’s good news, really it is, and I am happy for you, honey. It’s just … it’s so far away, and what about your career and everything? You’ve worked so hard to get where you are … you can’t just throw it all away.’

  ‘I’ll find something when I get there, Mom. London’s the theatre capital of the world. I’ll find an agent, do the rounds. It’s not like there’s anything here for me. I mean, it’s been nearly three years and I haven’t even bagged a commercial yet. There’s too much competition in New York—’

  ‘And there’s no competition in London?’ Martha couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘You’ll come and visit, Mom.’ Maddy tried to change the subject. ‘And I’ll come back often. London’s hardly further than New York. It won’t be so bad, will it?’ Her voice sounded plaintive, even to her own ears.

  Martha shook her head slowly. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ was all she could say. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

  That evening after supper, Maddy wandered out to the barns. The last time she’d been here there’d been snow on the ground, she realised with a pang of guilt. She hardly ever came home any more. There was something about the way the farm never changed that depressed her. Now, as she stood amongst the discarded milk pails and lumps of broken-down equipment, it came to her suddenly that she would miss it. There was no getting away from it. Iowa was home, perhaps not in the same way that Brooklyn was, but home nonetheless. She’d lived with the colours and contours of the landscape for practically her entire life. Now she was about to swap the pale blonde wheat fields and the flashes of silver where water had gathered in a gentle hollow to form a pond for a grey, cloudy city where the sun never shone.

  She sighed and turned away from the barns. She pushed open the gate that separated the cows from the bulls and closed it behind her. She began to walk away from the house, across the fields to the small clump of trees that marked the edge of the farm. She shoved her hands in her pockets, conscious of the weight and feel of the ring on her left hand. A gust of wind whipped at her face; with the sun sinking fast below the horizon, it had suddenly turned colder. There was a dampness to the woods as she entered; the familiar musky scent of moss drifted up from the ground. She looked around her, seeking something out. There it was – the last tree before the fence. She walked up to it and put both hands out, feeling its girth as she’d done a thousand times before. The bark was rough and peeling, flaking away in places where the winter’s frost had settled. She felt in her pocket for the small penknife she’d brought along. With one hand, she traced the last inscription she’d made. 21st July, 1982. Her fingers danced lightly over the date. She bent closer and began carving another. Today’s date. She brushed off the curled blonde shavings and slipped the knife back into her pocket. It had been a gift from her father. One of the last he’d given her. She peered at the tree. In a few months’ time, the scars would have softened and dulled until the date would appear as natural as the toughened skin that made up its blackened husk. She walked through the woods, making her way back to the house. At the top of the slight incline, she turned her head to look back the way she’d come, in all likelihood for the very last time.

  50

  DIANA

  London, April 1997

  Diana paused in the act of chopping spring onions. Behind her, Rafe and Maddy stood, nervously awaiting her response. She withheld it deliberately until her voice was steady and she could trust herself to speak. Clearly. Naturally. ‘A registry wedding,’ she said at last. ‘In a registry office?’

  ‘The thing is, Mother … we talked about it. We don’t want all the fuss of a big do, do we, darling?’ He turned to Maddy. Who at least had enough sense to keep quiet. Diana thought to herself uncharitably. We talked about it. Who did? Who was ‘we’?

  Her hands were trembling. She pushed aside the small, neatly cut pile of green vegetables and turned slowly to face them. ‘Well,’ she said brightly. ‘It is your decision, I suppose. I’d just never thought … I just didn’t expect …’

  ‘We could always … well, we haven’t totally made up our minds … I guess it wasn’t quite what you’d planned …’

  That was Maddy, of course. Too eager to please. Waffling. Vacillating. Unable to take a stand. God, she was irritating! ‘No, if that’s what you’ve decided to do, Rafe, who am I to change your plans?’ She was aware that her voice was colder than it should be, but she felt as though she’d been slapped. It was bad enough coming home one evening to find his message on the answering machine: ‘Mother, it’s me. I’m in New York. I’ve got some news … well, we’ve got some news. We’re getting married! I’ll be back on Sunday night … can’t wait to see you and tell you everything. But she’s accepted. We’re getting married. I love you.’ She’d replayed the message a dozen times. Who heard such news on an answering machine? She’d erased it before Harvey came home. And now here they were, standing behind her like two nervous children, telling her they’d made all the arrangements, made all the plans. He was her eldest son – and he was about to get married in a registry office? No, it bloody well wasn’t what she’d planned!

  ‘So what do you think of it all?’ Diana asked Harvey later that evening when they’d gone and the house had returned to its usual quiet state. She kept her voice deliberately neutral. She finished brushing her hair and swivelled round to face him.

  ‘She seems nice,’ he said mildly. Harvey knew her too well to be fooled by her indifference.

  ‘Nice?’

  He put aside the journal he’d been studying and looked at her. ‘We don’t know her,’ he said simply. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’ Diana said, aware of a knot of tension slowly making its way up her spine.

  ‘What? That it seems to have happened so quickly?’ Harvey completed the question for her. ‘Well, we always said we’d leave this sort of thing completely up to them,’ he said after a moment. ‘We always said we wouldn’t interfere.’

  ‘I just find it all so odd. I mean, he hardly knows her himself! How many times have they met? Four? Five?’

  ‘Darling, Rafe’s clearly over the moon about her … let’s just leave things up to them, shall we?’

  Diana said nothing. She felt her shoulders hunch of their own volition, and a tremor ran through her, her skin contracting like water under a shiver of wind.

  51

  MADDY

  London, April 1997

  ‘Just a sec … there … that’s me finished. All done.’ Claire, the hair
dresser Diana had brought with her, finished making the last-minute adjustments and stepped away, admiring her handiwork. ‘Looks lovely, don’t you think?’ She tilted Maddy’s head towards Diana for confirmation.

  Diana nodded. ‘Indeed,’ she said briskly. ‘All set? I’m just going down to check on the caterers. Harvey’s waiting to drive you over.’

  Maddy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was her wedding day and she was completely alone. Sandy was on holiday in the Caribbean; she was the only one of her New York friends who would have been able to come. Martha couldn’t leave the farm in calving season … it was their own fault; the decision to marry quickly had been theirs. ‘We’ll have another reception, later on in the year,’ Rafe promised. ‘And then we’ll bring your mother over for a fortnight at least. Take her to Paris. If she’s going to come all this way …’ Maddy simply nodded. The whole thing still felt as though it were happening to someone else. She didn’t feel able to make a decision on her own. About anything. Least of all the wedding. Luckily, once she’d recovered from the shock, Diana had taken charge. Of everything. From the wines and the flowers in the registry office to the caterers who were at that very moment setting up tables in the garden. She’d even organised the weather; it had poured with rain the previous day but today had dawned bright and sunny, not a cloud in sight.

  Maddy got up carefully. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in beautiful, perfect little ringlets. It had taken Claire the better part of the morning to wash and set them. Her dress was simple; an empire-line ivory silk number that fell from the tight, fitted bodice in a clean, straight line to the ground. In one hand she held the posy of tightly closed ivory roses, and in the other, the beautiful silk purse her mother had sent over as a gift. She took a final look at herself in the mirror and then followed Diana out of the room. It was almost 11 a.m. The entire Keeler–Pryce clan was waiting at the town hall, just up the road. When the short marriage ceremony was over, they would all come back to the family home, where the reception would take place. She’d seen the garden from the window. It had been transformed into a fairy tale of starched white linen, Baccarat crystal and trailing bunches of white roses and heavily scented lilies. She stood on the landing for a second. The house was quiet. There were three rooms up in the attic – the guest room where she’d slept the night before; a study that Harvey occasionally used and Josh’s room, which no one went into. He’d always slept a floor away from the others, she remembered Aaron telling her once. She looked at the closed door across the landing. On an impulse she couldn’t name, she reached out and tried the handle. The door swung open silently and she stepped inside.

  It was a large room, dominated by the bed in the centre, a large peeling poster of Che Guevara on one wall and a stack of cardboard boxes against the other. There was a small bathroom leading off to one side and several suitcases piled up in the corner. She looked at the boxes curiously. They were all neatly labelled – Bosnia. Smara. Gaza. Personal Effects. Files. Reports. Whatever else Josh might or might not be, he was well organised. She’d never seen such neat handwriting. She was about to turn and leave when her eye was caught by a photograph stuck to the back of the door with Sellotape. She peered at it. It was Josh, standing with his arm around the shoulders of a girl whose face was partially obscured by her veil. One long strand of chestnut hair had escaped the veil; it cascaded in a thick, glossy tumble over his arm. She was laughing; he was not. She wondered who she was – a girlfriend, perhaps? Behind them, just visible in the frame, was an eclectic jumble of half-completed buildings, fluttering bits of plastic sheeting, corrugated iron and television aerials held aloft on spindly bamboo poles. A squatter camp of some sort. She wondered where the picture had been taken.

  ‘Maddy?’ Harvey’s voice suddenly floated up the stairwell.

  Maddy gave a guilty start. ‘Coming,’ she called back and quickly closed the door. She hurried down the stairs. Harvey was waiting for her on the bottom landing.

  ‘You look lovely, my dear,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Simply lovely.’

  ‘Th … thank you,’ Maddy stammered. As remote and unapproachable as he could sometimes be, there was something undeniably kind about Harvey. She felt the soft tug of tears in her throat again.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, smiling down at her.

  She nodded, drew a deep breath and walked down the stairs towards him. He offered her his arm. As she took it, his hand closed over hers. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she repeated.

  ‘Of course you will.’

  Throughout the short ceremony she was conscious only of Rafe’s hand in hers and the faint but discernible sounds of traffic on Upper Street. The window of the registrar’s office, where they both signed the enormous leatherbound book, was partially open. The service – if that was the right word – was short and to the point. She signed with a hand that shook only a little. Then it was Rafe’s turn. His handwriting was much like himself – strong, clear, steady. She kissed him; there was a good-natured, muted cheer from the friends and family who’d gathered to toast them and then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. They made their way through the corridor to the front steps where still more friends and relatives were gathered. She was passed from one to another; introduced to this aunt, that friend, this colleague, that cousin. She would not remember a single name. By the time the party finally left the town hall and made their way slowly down Northampton Park Road to the house, her arm was numb and her cheeks ached from smiling.

  Back at the house, she excused herself and quickly headed upstairs to change. Again, it was Diana who’d come to the rescue. Her after-ceremony dress was equally beautiful and equally simple – a soft rose-coloured linen shift with a pretty ivory silk and cashmere cardigan and simple black slingbacks. She unpinned her hair and fixed the black silk rose that she’d bought the day before just above her ear. The diamond on her finger caught the light; she stared at herself in the mirror. Mrs Rafe Keeler. She touched the rose again with trembling fingers, then turned and closed the door behind her.

  In the garden, champagne flutes were handed round by long-haired girls in black skirts and crisp white shirts; music flowed from the living room; the laughter and chatter rose all around her. All was exactly as it should be. Rafe caught sight of her and hurried over; he tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a smile and handed her a glass before he was dragged away again. She saw Diana moving regally through the crowd, stopping here and there to accept congratulations on the happy couple’s behalf. Why do people congratulate the parents of the bride and groom? she mused, sipping her champagne and glad of the momentary lapse in everyone’s attention.

  ‘I hope you don’t feel overwhelmed by all this.’ Someone spoke just behind her. ‘We’re a bit of a clan.’

  Maddy jumped and turned round. The man standing in front of her was tall and powerfully built with dark hair greying at the temples and deeply hooded dark eyes behind rimless glasses. ‘I’m sorry?’ she stammered.

  ‘I was just saying I hope you don’t find us all rather daunting – the whole clan, staring at you … but on second thoughts, you’re probably managing just fine.’

  ‘They’re all … you’re all very kind.’

  ‘You look wonderful. Rafe’s a lucky man.’

  Maddy blushed. There was something strangely familiar about him; he reminded her of someone. ‘Have we met?’ she asked, trying to place him.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Rufus. Harvey’s brother. Rafe’s uncle. And now yours, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh.’ She shook the hand he offered. She’d heard his name before – he and Diana didn’t get along, apparently. She’d overheard Rafe and Aaron arguing about where to seat him at the wedding. But before she could say anything further, Rafe suddenly appeared. ‘Uncle Rufus,’ he said, grinning. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘Half an hour ago. Nearly didn’t make it.’ He cocked his head towards Maddy. ‘She’s lovely. Lucky
you.’

  Maddy felt herself blushing under his gaze. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, touching his arm impulsively. He looked down at her hand but said nothing. She withdrew it hurriedly. Had she done the wrong thing? Again? Luckily there was no time to ponder the question. Someone else appeared, claiming their attention.

  ‘Aunt Hermione,’ Rafe duly intoned as Maddy felt herself being enveloped in yet another soft, perfumed embrace. When she managed to extract herself and look round, Uncle Rufus was gone.

  ‘Rufus!’ Diana heard Harvey’s cry of surprise and almost dropped her glass. A ripple of fear ran lightly up and down her spine. She had to hold herself very still for a second to control the expression on her face before turning slowly around. ‘Darling, look who’s here!’ Harvey’s deep voice was tinged with delight.

  ‘Rufus.’ She forced a smile to her face. ‘What a surprise. We didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on it. I’m en route to the US – only just made it in time.’ He bent down and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘How are you?’

  It was all she could do not to turn away. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. Her skin burned where he’d touched it.

  ‘We did send you an invitation, you know,’ Harvey said, draping an arm over Rufus’s shoulder.

  Rufus smiled. ‘Yes, I did get it. Just wasn’t sure where I’d be. She’s lovely.’ He inclined his head in Maddy’s direction.

  ‘Isn’t she just? Lucky chap, Rafe. Now, what’ll you have? No, don’t tell me … a Bloody Mary.’ Harvey grinned at him. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Double, if you don’t mind.’

  Harvey walked off in search of his drink and Diana was left alone with him. She bent her head, pretending to fiddle with a thread in her skirt.

  ‘Where is he?’ His voice was a tightly held thread in her ear.