Ivy and Abe

by Elizabeth Enfield

  ‘It’s not as big as the Van der Zees’ but the water felt warmer and there was a boy having drowning lessons.’

  ‘Before breakfast?’

  ‘It was half past seven. I’ll give you all a franc to spend if you swim before breakfast every day for the rest of the holidays.’

  ‘How much is that?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘About a florin.’

  ‘What do you mean “drowning lessons”?’ I wanted to know more about the boy.

  ‘Well, he obviously couldn’t swim, and the instructor’s method seemed to be to drag him out to the middle of the pool, with a metal pole, then take it away, so he had to swim back to the edge.’

  ‘So, he could swim?’

  ‘Only just.’

  ‘I’m going to get some honey,’ I said, but I hovered shyly as the boy arranged several individual servings of jam, spooned into miniature glass saucers, in the palm of one hand.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, without looking up.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘You arrived yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, with my family.’

  ‘Me too.’ He smiled.

  I spooned some honey into one of the glass dishes and tried to think of something else to say.

  ‘I’m Abe, by the way.’

  ‘Oh, I’m Ivy.’

  ‘Like the Mamas and Papas’ song?’ he asked, and I didn’t know how to answer.

  I was so used to people saying ‘like the plant’ that I’d been expecting that, and I’d never heard of the Mamas and Papas but didn’t want to admit it. ‘I suppose so,’ I said.

  ‘My brother listens to them all the time,’ he said, as if to explain why he’d asked and to excuse me my ignorance.

  A win on the football pools had brought us to France. Previous holidays had involved caravans, or the Hillman Imp with a tent in the West Country. ‘I thought we’d go somewhere different this year,’ Dad had announced one evening, just before we all got up from the kitchen table and began our allocated kitchen-tidying tasks.

  ‘Where?’ Jon asked.

  ‘The Lake District?’ Cathy suggested.

  ‘Scotland?’ I tried.

  Abroad didn’t enter anyone’s mind.

  Dad removed the checked napkin from his lap, folded it into a square, rolled it up, slowly and deliberately, and pushed it through the centre of one of the bone rings that had been a wedding present, along with a set of white napkins, which Mum kept for a ‘best’ that seemed never to materialize.

  ‘France,’ Dad said, setting the napkin down so that the ring knocked the table with a tiny triumphant thud.

  ‘France?’ Jon asked. ‘How come?’

  ‘Yes, France. Because I had a bit of luck with the pools.’

  ‘When?’ Jon helped him fill in the coupons.

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘When I went to stay with Simon?’ He looked put out.

  ‘Yes.’ Dad sounded defensive.

  ‘How much did you win?’

  ‘Four hundred and fifty pounds!’ He thumped the table with his hand, but Jon was not so easily put off.

  ‘How did you select the teams?’

  ‘I closed my eyes and brought the pen down.’

  I could tell Jon was miffed, despite the win. They had a system, the two of them, and random selection was not part of it.

  ‘I just wondered what difference it might make if I gave it no thought at all.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Jon said, quietly, clearly miffed that Dad had done it without him.

  ‘It’s enough money for us to get a new battery for the car, buy a new washing-machine and all go to France for a week. We’ll get the ferry from Dover to Calais and drive to Deauville from there.’

  ‘Deauville?’ Cathy asked, diverting the conversation from the means of the win to the result.

  ‘It’s on the coast, in Normandy,’ Dad said.

  And now we were there, and Dad was full of relentless bonhomie. It was as if he thought we’d all follow suit – or maybe it was just Mum he wanted to cheer up. She was strangely quiet and occasionally snappy.

  She certainly wasn’t herself in the bar that evening, when Dad insisted on us having ‘an aperitif’ before dinner with one of his oft-repeated ‘When in Deauville!’ exclamations.

  The bar was empty, except for the barman, setting up a television in the corner.

  ‘Deux Dubonnet,’ Dad ordered for himself and Mum, ‘et un Britvic.’ That was for me.

  ‘Would you like a beer, Jon? Or a Dubonnet? You too, Cathy? When in Deauville …’

  ‘I’ll have a beer,’ Jon said.

  ‘Dubonnet.’ Cathy caught my eye, smoothing the fabric of her new cheesecloth dress and watching as the TV was manoeuvred into place.

  ‘C’est pour la lune. It is for the moon,’ the barman translated. ‘Demain. Tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah, oui. Oui. Oui!’ Dad replied, animated. ‘The moon mission.’

  ‘We have to watch it,’ Jon said, as we settled at a table by the window.

  ‘I still don’t believe they’ll be able to actually land –’ Dad began, but we were interrupted by the arrival of another British family in search of aperitifs.

  Abe’s.

  ‘Bonsoir.’ Dad half rose.

  ‘Bonsoir,’ Abe’s dad said, awkwardly, then, ‘Evening, everyone.’

  ‘Hello,’ we mumbled, all so obviously English.

  I caught Abe’s eye.

  ‘I’m Richard.’ Dad began a general round of introductions.

  ‘This is Pam,’ Abe’s dad responded, ‘I’m Greg, and these are Jackie, Kirsty, Tessa …’ He paused. ‘Our older boy’s at university and didn’t want to come. And you’ve met Abe.’

  ‘I saw you swimming first thing this morning,’ Dad said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’ve you travelled from?’ Dad asked his father.

  ‘We live near Lanark, in Scotland,’ he said. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Sussex. Small village you won’t have heard of.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Pulborough?’

  ‘Know it!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. We used to live in Sussex, not far from there. We moved before Abe started school.’

  ‘Well, what a coincidence,’ Dad said, as if it was. ‘So why did you move? For work?’

  ‘Initially,’ Abe’s father said.

  ‘Greg got a job in Oxford and we were there for a while,’ his mother expanded. ‘We moved to Scotland a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Pam wanted to be near her family.’ He put his arm round her. ‘Five kids are a lot to cope with.’

  ‘Quite a clan!’ Dad smiled, and raised his glass as if toasting them. ‘Is this your first time here?’

  ‘Pam and I came to France years ago, before the children were born, but not this part. We tend to holiday at home. This year I was invited to speak at a conference in Paris …’

  ‘Greg teaches at Glasgow University,’ Abe’s mother interjected. ‘American history.’

  ‘Very nice,’ Dad said, looking at his watch. ‘I’m sorry but we should be getting going. We’re having dinner down by the harbour.’

  I was old enough to have an inkling that Dad was put out by Abe’s father being a university professor, by his having been to a conference en route, by their having been to France before. He did that thing he always did when he was bothered by something, humming under his breath. As we got up to go, he held his arm out so Mum could walk ahead. I could still hear him as I followed, then his sharp intake of breath as Mum tripped, losing her balance and clutching a table to steady herself.

  ‘Steady on, Janet,’ he said, cross, not concerned.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cathy went to her.

  ‘Yes.’ She held on to the table, as if she still needed its support.

  ‘Your mother’s had a bit too much Dubonnet,’ Dad said, his tone jovial but I could tell he was annoyed.

  ‘I only had a glass. I just tripped,’ Mum protested, but the
re was an edge to her voice I’d never heard before. She was angry and upset.

  ‘Are you squiffy?’ Dad asked. Then he looked at her more closely and something registered. His whole demeanour changed. ‘Are you all right, Janet?’ Now he was concerned.

  I felt uncomfortable.

  ‘Yes,’ Mum said, but even in that one syllable I heard her voice crack.

  Over dinner, she talked a little but her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

  ‘Are you going to try an oyster, Ivy?’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘But you won’t get pudding unless you do.’ Dad’s pleasure-pain principle at work.

  ‘What do you think?’ Mum asked, as I washed the horrid slippery thing down with a glass of water.

  ‘They’re disgusting.’

  ‘At least you tried one. When in Deauville!’ Dad said again.

  Mum ignored him. I couldn’t interpret her look. ‘I think they’re disgusting too,’ she said, smiling at me conspiratorially.

  Later, Dad, Jon and Cathy stayed up to watch the moon landings, but Mum said she was tired and would go to bed. I went up with her. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ I asked, as we walked up the stairs to our adjoining rooms.

  ‘I’m fine, Ivy.’ The annoyance was in her voice again.

  ‘Are you enjoying the holiday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I really like it. I’d like to come back.’ I was prattling.

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I’d like to go to other places too. Other countries on the continent, maybe even to America one day.’

  ‘You’ll have to be an air hostess, then.’

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘They’re like hostesses on aeroplanes. They look after people on their flights. You’d get to travel a lot.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I thought there must be other jobs that involved travel. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be stuck on a plane but I didn’t say so. ‘Night, Mum,’ I said, when we reached the door of my room.

  I waited for her to say something motherly, to ask if I’d be happy on my own in the room until Cathy got back, perhaps to come in, draw the curtains and turn back the covers on my bed. But she didn’t.

  ‘Goodnight, Ivy,’ she said, in a tone that was unfamiliar.

  When Cathy came in, much later, I woke as she closed the bedroom door. She climbed into bed beside me.

  ‘Cath?’

  ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’

  ‘Did they land?’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  Silence. I tried to imagine it. I’d looked up at the sky hours earlier when I closed the curtains and had seen the moon suspended in the night. It seemed almost impossible that someone might be about to climb out of a rocket and walk on it. I wished now I’d stayed up and that Mum had too.

  ‘Do you think Mum’s all right?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Why?’ Cathy said, settling into the pillows.

  ‘I don’t know. She just seems a bit …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I expected Cathy to say something dismissive, like ‘Why are you worrying, then?’ but she didn’t.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Cathy said. ‘I’m sure she’s fine, though. Are you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Why wouldn’t I be?

  ‘And you’re having a good time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your friend seems nice. They were just coming in as we went up.’

  I knew whom she meant, but ‘My friend?’

  ‘The boy in the bar. The one who has swimming lessons.’

  ‘I haven’t really spoken to him.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘Night, Cathy.’

  ‘Night, baby.’

  Sometimes she called me that. She was only two years older but it was a hangover from when I was born. She used it when she was feeling protective towards me.

  ‘Night.’

  The next time I saw Abe he was alone by the pool, lying on a towel, no sign of his family. The pool was quiet at that time in the afternoon and I planned to do lengths. I hadn’t anticipated finding Abe there and I felt awkward.

  ‘Hi.’ He waved.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  Abe stood up. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Yes. The others are still in their rooms.’

  ‘Are you going swimming?’

  ‘Yes.’ I didn’t know whether to sit next to him or settle somewhere else. To join him seemed too forward, but to sit elsewhere unfriendly.

  ‘Tessa and Kirsty are playing tennis. They said they’d come over when they’re done. I’m not very good at it.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ I laughed.

  I was bad at all forms of ball games. That was partly why I liked swimming.

  Abe nodded towards the ground. ‘Do you want to sit with me?’

  I spread my towel next to his, a foot or two between them, and tried to think of something to say.

  ‘Did you watch the moon landings?’ It was what everybody was asking.

  ‘Yes. We went to a barber’s shop in town.’

  ‘A barber’s? Where you get your hair cut?’

  ‘Dad saw a sign there earlier saying there was a television and it would be open half the night. He thought it would be fun to go there. And it was. Did you watch?’

  ‘No.’ I wished I had now. ‘The others did but Mum and I went to bed.’

  ‘It was weird seeing them there on the moon, the same moon we saw over the sea when we went out to dinner.’

  Then he took off his T-shirt so that he was just wearing his trunks.

  ‘Are you going swimming?’ I asked.

  ‘Not yet. I will in a bit.’ He lay back on his towel.

  ‘Right.’

  Shyly, I removed my top to reveal the swimsuit I was wearing underneath.

  ‘Are you going in now?’

  ‘I might wait for a bit too,’ I said, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. ‘Warm up a bit first.’

  I glanced across at Abe, wanting to study him without him noticing. I breathed in, aware that my fledgling breasts rose as I did. Did Abe notice? He smiled at me, then closed his eyes.

  ‘Ivy what?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you got any other names?’

  ‘Trent.’

  ‘Middle name?’

  ‘I haven’t got one.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They couldn’t think of one for me.’

  That was what my parents said when I asked the same question.

  ‘I’ve got three.’ Abe opened his eyes again.

  ‘Three?’

  ‘Abe Craig Joseph Aiken McFadden. Aiken was my mum’s name but we’ve all got it as a middle name.’

  ‘That’s a lot of names,’ I said, then worried that I might have sounded critical. ‘But it must be good having so many.’ Chatting wasn’t coming easily to me. ‘Abe’s an unusual name.’ I tried instead.

  ‘It’s short for Abraham.’

  ‘I’ve never met an Abraham before.’

  ‘I’ve never met an Ivy.’

  ‘You don’t have an old aunt called Ivy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Most people do.’

  ‘It’s an old-fashioned name …’ he considered it ‘… but it suits you.’

  ‘Thanks!’ I felt the ice had broken.

  ‘I didn’t mean –’

  ‘I think it might be time for your swim!’

  ‘I think it is.’ He grinned, and I wasn’t sure if he winked at me as he stood up. Maybe he just squinted into the sun.

  Dad must have exaggerated the drowning lessons. Abe wasn’t a brilliant swimmer but he could stay afloat. I joined him. I swam a few lengths with my head under water before pausing and blinking the water from my eyes.

  ‘You’re a good swimmer, Ivy.’

  ‘I swim at the local pool a lot. They have a club.’

  ‘I’m going to get out now.
’

  I watched the dark hairs on the back of his legs glistening as he climbed the steps and ran his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes.

  Then I put my head under water again and began swimming, counting the lengths. I planned to do fifty. I tried to ignore the fact that Abe was probably watching me. But I was conscious of his presence, as I tried to concentrate on elongating my strokes, as the instructor at our local pool at home had shown me.

  When I finally got out Abe’s mother was there, sitting on the grass beside him, the other side of my towel. ‘Hello, Ivy,’ she said.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, bending to pull my towel off the grass and wrap it around me.

  ‘You’re a good swimmer.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I felt my earlier awkwardness begin to return but his mum was nice.

  ‘Abe’s been having lessons here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe by the end of the week he’ll be as good as you.’

  ‘Mum,’ Abe said, but he smiled at her as he said it.

  ‘I came to give Abe some money to go to the shops. We’re going on a picnic tomorrow. He needs to practise his French and I want him to buy some cheese.’

  ‘I can’t really speak French,’ I said.

  ‘Nor can I!’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way of buying cheese.’ His mother laughed. ‘Bring it up to our room when you get back. Bye, Ivy. Nice to meet you properly.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said, laying my towel down and sitting on it. ‘So you have to go and buy cheese?’ I asked Abe.

  ‘Soon. Why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘Into town?’

  ‘Why not?’

  I didn’t see him again for a few days. We went to Mont Saint-Michel on one of them and Dad had given us each another franc when we reached the monastery at the top of the rocky island promontory. ‘For being good climbers,’ he said.

  Jon and Cathy had looked at each other and raised their eyebrows, as if there was another reason, and Dad had said, ‘Okay, because I’m feeling generous, then.’

  We’d all laughed, not because Dad wasn’t generous but because it was unusual for him to hand out money that had not been earned by climbs or dawn swims here and at home by various chores.

  ‘Are there any jobs need doing?’ I’d asked before we left, keen to bring some money to spend on the holiday.

  ‘You can iron Dad’s handkerchiefs,’ Mum had said, and handed me a pile, folded and creaseless. She’d already ironed them but money had to be earned. It was never just given away.