‘And me to her.’
Daddy clinked his glass against Mumma’s. Sitting in front of them at her father’s feet with her own pile of roasted nuts, her back against his shins, her nightdress pulled over her knees, Cord gazed out at the white cliffs of Bill’s Point around the bay, glowing coral pink in the evening light. The sea was perfectly still, a calm azure blue, and in the lane behind she could hear a wood pigeon, cooing lazily in the trees. Cord felt serene, utterly happy, and she wished she could bottle the feeling, of being here, the warmth on her arms, her father’s bony brown legs supporting her, the faintest scent of her mother’s Chanel No. 19, the light fizz of the champagne bubbles.
‘When do you start filming, Mumma?’
‘October. I’ll be away for a while. I have to go to Cornwall for the scenes with the house. So Mrs Berry has kindly agreed to help us out.’ The children groaned, and Ben made a loud disgusted noise. ‘Well, Daddy can’t be expected to look after you.’
‘Why not?’ said Ben.
‘He – well, he has to prepare for Macbeth.’ Althea looked at her husband.
‘So we’re just going to be left on our own,’ Cord said. ‘Like orphans. To fend for ourselves.’
‘Don’t be dramatic, Cord. Mrs Berry will take you to school and in the evenings she’ll make you tea.’
Cord knelt up, eyes round. ‘I can walk along the river into Richmond and catch the train by myself. I’ll be ten next year.’
Her mother leaned forward and stroked her chin. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘What about me?’ said Ben. ‘I can take her. I’m ten and I’ve been thinking, I can easily walk her on my way—’
Mumma said gently, ‘No, Ben. Anyway, you’ll be away at school the year after.’
‘I’ve said before,’ Ben whispered. ‘I won’t go to that school. I’m sorry but I just w-won’t.’
Daddy said, ‘Listen here, old chap, let’s not talk about it now. You’ll love it when you’re there. Look at Jennings. You adore the Jennings books.’
‘Yes, but that’s when . . .’ Ben’s small voice trembled. ‘I thought it was like The Magic Faraway Tree or – or The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Not – not real. Made up. I didn’t know you could really send a child away to school in real life. Or that you’d want to . . .’
‘Oh, darling,’ said Mumma, shaking her head sadly.
‘Anyway,’ Daddy turned to Mumma as if Ben hadn’t spoken. ‘This is your night, darling. Wonderful.’
‘I’m not going,’ said Ben again, and he put his hands over his ears. Cord looked at him in disgust. She jabbed his forearm.
‘Shh. I say, shh, Ben! You’re ruining Mumma’s night.’
Ben shrugged defiantly but he lowered his hands. Mumma slid the nuts towards them. ‘Here. I shouldn’t have any more. It’s a strict diet for me from now on. Tony darling, take them away—’
But then Ben screamed and they jumped. ‘What are you doing?’ Cord said furiously, and she turned and saw Madeleine Fletcher again, standing on the stairs up to the porch. In the fading light she blocked out the sun, casting a long shadow.
The Wildes looked up at her and, instinctively, Cord felt them all huddle together a little closer.
‘I came to say thank you for yesterday, Mr Wilde.’ She looked at Cord. ‘I did want to play with you. I was cross because you were nasty to me. I wanted to say sorry for being a sneak and sorry for fostering emnity between our two houses.’
Daddy laughed. ‘No, no emnity to you, darling.’
‘Sweet girl,’ said Mumma, smiling at her. She came forward. ‘Look, won’t you stay for some supper? Oh, please do.’
‘No!’ said Ben.
‘Yes, please,’ said Madeleine, and she came up the steps, and said, shyly to Mumma, ‘Thank you very much.’
‘It’s nothing. Hadn’t you better run back and tell your father?’
‘He’s gone away.’
‘Oh.’ Cord glanced over. Her mother was shaking her head at her father. ‘Tony, didn’t you talk to him . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Daddy, under his breath. ‘I thought I had.’ To Madeleine he said, ‘He’s really left you alone again?’
‘You can check the house if you want,’ Madeleine said, putting her head on one side. ‘I’m not lying. I don’t lie. He had to go to a meeting in Birmingham. Steel rods. He’s an engineer. He left me some sausages, but I don’t know how to cook them.’
Something in Cord’s heart was jabbing into her ribs. She didn’t feel sorry for Madeleine, not even in the odd Victorian white broderie-anglaise pinafore and buckled-up shoes with no socks that she was wearing, with her bitten nails and her tired face and thick hair hanging like a cloak around her. She realised she was in awe of her. How desperately lonely, or afraid, she must have been to swallow her pride and come back over to this house with these children who’d been so mean to her.
I am going to be nice, she thought, remembering her father’s words. Understanding obscurely that Madeleine wouldn’t want her to feel sorry for her, Cord stood up and said offhandedly, ‘I’ll show you where to wash your hands for tea if you want. We were – we were just going to have some supper with our parents.’
‘We’ve had tea,’ said Ben. ‘What are you talking about? She can’t stay, we’ve had tea.’
Cord sighed. Ben never understood when the battle had moved elsewhere, when the armies were pitching their tents on another field.
‘Ben,’ said Mumma, whisking a tea towel off the food that Mrs Gage had laid out ready for Tony and Althea. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Well, I think she should go home.’ Ben glanced at Cord for approval.
‘Madeleine is a guest in our house,’ said Daddy, finally losing his temper.
Ben shouted, ‘I DON’T CARE! I live in this house and you don’t take any notice of me.’
Daddy stood up, his face white. ‘Get out.’ He pointed towards the French windows. ‘Get out. I’m sick of the sight of you, you ungrateful little coward. Complaining about every little damned thing when I try my best for you. Go to your room. We’ll see you at breakfast.’
Ben gaped at his father, and Cord and Madeleine, in the doorway, stood quite still. Then he said, ‘Cord—’
There was a tone in her father’s voice Cord had never heard before. ‘I said, go to your room. Now, otherwise I’ll beat you.’
Cord felt hot, sweaty. He’d never do that, would he? Daddy, so soppy he wept loudly when Ben found the dead blackbird chicks in the nest, or when Cord sang Ave Verum in her school concert?
‘I – sorry, sir,’ said Ben softly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Yes, you did. You’re the eldest child and you still behave like a baby. You let Cord lead you around like a whipped dog. Get out of my sight.’
Mumma was in the doorway, watching them both, and she beckoned Ben through, kissing his hair. ‘Off you go, sweet boy,’ she whispered, hugging him tight. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘He has to grow up, Althea.’ Cord heard her father hurl the words viciously at her mother as Ben went slowly downstairs. ‘You spoil him.’
‘I don’t spoil him,’ Mumma said, under her breath. ‘Tony – you have to go easy on him. You know you do. It’s not his fault.’
There was silence for a few moments, and they heard Ben’s bedroom door bang shut.
‘I’m going to make a phone call,’ said Daddy, and he stamped down the stairs towards the bedroom.
‘Is it really all right?’ Madeleine said behind her and Cord jumped. ‘If – if I stay?’
‘Oh – oh, yes, of course. Come in with me.’
Madeleine seemed to hesitate. ‘I wanted to go back and get something.’
‘What? I can lend you some clothes. If you want. I think you look nice. And we can look at my cassettes while Mumma finishes getting supper ready.’
Madeleine shrugged. ‘OK. Thank you.’
Cord shrugged too. ‘S’fine. Do you want to look at my ABBA photos? They’re downst
airs, in our room.’
But Madeleine said no, it was best to leave Ben to himself for a while and so they should stay upstairs. Cord, wishing she’d thought of that, had to agree.
‘Did you see them on the Seaside Special on TV last week?’ Cord continued, leaning against the door frame and pushing herself away with her hands behind her back. ‘They did “Waterloo”, and “SOS”. We’re doing a show out here on the porch next week, different songs and music. You should—’
Madeleine interrupted. ‘Well, I don’t really know ABBA’s songs. I’ve got a transistor radio. With an earpiece. I listen to John Peel in my dorm at school.’
‘Oh.’ Cord considered this for a moment. ‘You should talk to Ben about boarding school, he thinks it sounds awful.’
‘It is awful,’ said Madeleine. ‘But it’s better than being with Daddy. I’m with Aunt Jules at the weekends and that’s fun. We go to the zoo and walking across the downs. She makes cinnamon toast. And she’s got a huge cat called Studland . . .’ She rolled her hair around her finger, then shook it in front of her face, as though she’d said too much. ‘Anyway. Aren’t you all pleased about your mother’s news?’
‘What news?’
‘Well, the big part, in that TV series,’ Madeleine said.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I – I overheard you. As I was coming over here. The wind’s in the right direction.’
‘Oh. Yes, it’s great, I suppose.’
‘None of you seems that excited!’ said Mads. ‘I’d be excited if my mum was going to be a huge TV star.’
‘She won’t be,’ said Cord, dismissively. She could hear the low rumble of her father’s voice from downstairs. ‘I mean, she’s always acted, but Daddy’s the star.’ She pointed down. ‘He’s the best actor of his generation. Guy told me.’
‘Who’s Guy?’
‘One of their friends. He’s a stage actor too, like Daddy.’ Cord tried to explain. ‘Mumma doesn’t like the attention. She acts to hide away. Daddy acts to see everyone, to be loved, to feel the crowd adoring him. He’s like a dog, he just wants affection. Poor Spam,’ she said, inconsequentially. ‘Poor girl.’
‘Spam?’
‘A dog Ben found.’
‘I saw him with it.’
‘Her. She was called Spam.’ Cord was only half concentrating; through the wooden boards she could hear that Daddy’s voice was raised and he was shouting.
‘I’m trying to be as reasonable as I can! How dare you. No – that’s too far.’ There was an awkward silence.
Cord, who always talked too much when she was nervous, said, ‘Well, that’s great. We can play ABBA, the actual album called ABBA, on the record player. My favourite song ever is “I’ve Been Waiting for You”. Then, I like “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do”. Five times!’ she said, breathlessly. ‘Ben hates them. I want to be a singer when I’m older. Or a judge. I’m actually going to change my name to Agnetha.’
‘I don’t understand why you called yourself Agnetha when you like Anni-Frid’s voice better.’
‘How did you know that too?’
Madeleine seemed to freeze. ‘Oh – I was on my way to the beach. With some friends. They heard you say it.’
Cord had made up her mind now to be nice to this strange girl, so she sat down on the sitting-room floor, and pulled over her basket of cassettes. ‘Look, here’s the TV Times, look at Anni-Frid there, she’s got her yellow cat tunic on, that’s the advert for the Seaside Special. Uncle Bertie’s promised me if they do Top of the Pops he’ll try and pull some strings so I can go and watch them. I can’t remember what you said your favourite ABBA song was?’
‘Don’t have one,’ said Madeleine. She shook her long hair so it fell around her shoulders and over her knees. ‘I like Bolan, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie. Don’t really know ABBA apart from “Waterloo”.’
‘Gosh. OK then, let me play them to you,’ said Cord, pretending not to show how very shocked she was by this. ‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, go on then,’ said Madeleine, smiling behind her sheet of hair, and Cord began hunting through her stack of albums.
How could they have known what would happen?
Fifteen minutes later Daddy returned from his telephone call and was on his most sparkling form and they sat down to supper. He apologised, held Mumma’s hand and called her a genius and told them she was destined for superstardom, he drew Madeleine out of herself, got her to tell them about her school in Bristol and how she’d been Mytyl in The Blue Bird, looking for the blue bird of happiness. Madeleine was almost animated, propping her elbows on the table as she talked. The quiche was delicious and Daddy said, at the end of it, ‘I’ll take Ben down a plate. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.’
‘You weren’t too harsh, you were sticking up for me, he was being quite rude,’ Madeleine said unexpectedly, and Mumma and Cord smiled at each other, at the obviousness of Madeleine’s adoration of Daddy. Over the years it would become a joke, how Madeleine worshipped Daddy, all because he’d run her over.
Now, as Daddy pushed back his chair with a plate for Ben, Mumma poured herself some more wine. ‘Children do the plates at supper,’ Cord told Madeleine, collecting up the dishes.
‘Cord, she’s a guest,’ said Mumma.
‘No,’ said Madeleine. ‘I’d love to. Please. Then I’ll go. Thank you awfully.’
‘You’re staying the night,’ said Mumma, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in her chair. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own, Mads.’
Madeleine said, ‘I’m always on my own, I’m used to it,’ and then they heard Tony, crying out into the night.
‘He’s gone,’ he was shouting, and he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ben’s gone, he’s run away.’
‘No, Daddy, it’s a joke, we’re not going to do it any more,’ said Cord, smiling at him and then her expression froze, her father pushing her aside, thrusting the note at his wife.
‘No. This is real.’ Flecks of his spittle flew into the dark air. ‘He’s packed his things – he left this –’ He was holding a note, which fluttered in his shaking hands. ‘Ben – Ben’s gone.’
Cord, looking from Daddy’s agonised expression to her mother’s face frozen in horror, mouth wide open, felt a terror that never really left her. That her parents were not in control, that, in fact, they knew as little as she did.
Chapter Seven
Three years later
Sunday, 26 July 1978
When I took up the floorboard on the porch this year to remove the book I felt rather embarrassed. I know them so well now surely I don’t need to keep the book there. But I am still afraid they might decide they don’t like me so it is good to keep the book safe. I feel calm when I think about it in its little box, safe under the house next to the strange bird man & the old toy car & the ice-lolly sticks.
The Wildflowers are arriving today. When was the last time they were all here together? Well, I know, obviously, I know everything, it was when Ben disappeared.
I can’t believe it’s been a year since I saw any of them. In fact it is Three Hundred and Forty-Nine Days.
Cord is terrible at writing letters. Ben is even worse. I have so many questions but I obviously can’t ask them all, they’d be scared if I did as it is rather strange to want to know as much as I do & I know that but during the rest of the year (349 days) without them sometimes I think I will burst with wanting to know what they are up to as Althea is the only one I ever see and even then that is because she is on television, and not in real life.
1. What clothes will Althea have bought? She seems to have more than ever now. Will she tell me anything about the new series of “Hartman Hall”?
2. What will Cord be into? She is always into something new, ABBA, then when Ben was in hospital she listened to a lot of David Bowie with him, he’s got a transistor radio like mine. So being Cord she is suddenly world expert on him. I learn all about something so we can talk about it together and she’s always moved on to som
ething else. After Bowie it was space shuttles. Everything about how they’re made. Last year she was obsessed with chess and Garry Kasparov! And I’ve never played chess ever before so I spent all year learning it & joined the chess club. I got really good because of my strange brain liking things like chess, in fact, I am the best at chess in the whole school and represented Bristol in the Inter-School Chess Championships & then I got one letter from her, ONE LETTER this year in June and she said she hadn’t played chess all year she was obsessed with Brezhnev and the Communist Party and Russia and she was a communist!!!!!
I give up!!!!
Well, I haven’t learned about Communism. She can whistle for it. I understand what she’s like why she’s like it, Cord needs something to think about and I like that too. The thing is we don’t have anything in common really, apart from laughing. We laugh all the time. She’s just so funny.
3. What about Ben? How do I feel about Ben?
(((((No one knows about last summer in the beach hut and I have kept it to myself all year. Anyway there is no one to tell. I don’t know much if Cord would like it. It was the last night. I was sad. Ben told me what happened when he was missing for the very first time and we were very quiet afterwards and then he leaned over & kissed me & said thank you for being my friend & not feeling sorry for me. I said, that’s OK.
I hate people feeling sorry for me. Althea does a bit and it makes me feel all funny inside. I DON’T like it.
It was the nicest thing that’s happened to me and I will carry that till the day I die which I hope is right here with all of them because I will never ever love anything or anyone as much as them.)))))
That is the most top secret thing I have ever written.
Gary says they are coming in time for a late lunch because Althea has an interview with a newspaper in the morning. Gary is their name for Mrs Gage. Althea likes nicknames, Mads, Bertle, Gary. Gary has made meat loaf & a salad. I am hiding behind the wild roses watching her. The hollyhocks are out, they wave in the wind, they’re almost as tall as the roof. The doors on to the porch are open, I can see the checked lemon curtains flapping in the breeze and I can hear Terry Wogan on the radio and I can see into the beloved house, I can see the picture of Great-Aunt Dinah on the wall opposite, the raffia wine bottle that’s the candlestick, the two wooden stools we always fight to not sit on, the huge chocolate brown teapot on the side, the old worn basket chairs, the dresser, the pile of board games all neatly packed away for once. Stuck behind the dresser on the floor I can see the paper ballgown of the Queen of the Fairies cut-out set we had two years ago which Cord lost & she was so upset about. It’s funny, here we play with childish things, silly games and dolls, and it doesn’t matter. The ballgown is jammed between the skirting board and the dresser, it must have fallen down there. I will creep in now and go and get it and give it to Cord when she arrives, she will be so pleased with me and I need to straighten the floorboard, I can see I didn’t put it back down properly.
The Wildflowers Page 9