The Wildflowers

by Harriet Evans

  ‘Of course not,’ said Ant politely.

  He waited a few moments, looking out at the waves, and then he got up and went inside, with the teacups. He turned the radio down, and heard a car on the lane, a crying seagull, a distant conversation. He thought of the bicycle ride ahead, of the time in her company, of the endless blue sky, the promise of Julia’s body that evening . . . Whistling, he changed his shoes too, and used the bathroom, and then sat on the stairs, and it wasn’t until he had waited five minutes or more that he called his aunt’s name, and only when there was no answer did he open her bedroom door.

  There was no sign of her. Not in the bathroom, or anywhere in the house. He even looked in the huge wardrobe in his room, where she’d said once someone could simply get lost. And the final few boxes, too – where were they? Where were all her things? Nothing in her room . . . and when, with a sickening feeling of certain dread, Ant looked out on to the lane, her car had gone; only the tracks remained. He followed them up to Beeches, to the road, saw the faint skids as she had turned the corner, nothing more.

  There was no note, no message. No sign of the angel, too.She was gone, just as she had whirled into his life three years before, like a sandstorm, conjured up out of nowhere.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘I have spoken to the school, in case Dinah had been in touch with them. Nothing,’ the Reverend Goudge was saying, and Ant closed his eyes, listening for the comforting sound of the puffing at his newly lit pipe so it would catch. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Miss Hamilton—’

  ‘Daphne, please, I’ve told you before, Vicar.’

  ‘Daphne –’ puff, puff – ‘Yes, you see that while I have sometimes thought Dinah was a little – what’s the word?’

  ‘Eccentric? Unreliable?’

  ‘Either of those.’ Ant could hear the smile in his voice. ‘But I did think she cared for the boy, and to simply abandon him like that, he of all people – I must confess one feels a little disappointed in her.’

  There was a pause, and Daphne’s clear voice floated out to Ant, sitting on the porch steps. ‘Don’t be. I know her, better than most. I should have acted earlier. I arrived too late to stop the pattern, you see.’

  ‘The pattern?’

  ‘Dinah’s always been like this. She’s fine for ages – it can be years – and then gradually she becomes extremely odd. She can’t bear to be pinned down. She has to be free, I suppose is how she thinks of it. I’d heard of her before I first met her at the BM. Out in Babylon and Ur they used to call her the Rainmaker, simply because she’d always find the good pieces. She had the knack and I think the other chaps found it infuriating, all that work and then Dinah would stride in and pluck out a board game that had been buried in soil for millennia that some king had probably played with, or a queen’s gold death mask, or a Sumerian carving of a battle scene . . . But you couldn’t hate her, no one could. They’d clap her on the back and give her her own special chair and cheer when she’d arrive and then one day she’d just . . . disappear.’

  ‘Where would she go?’ the vicar asked.

  Daphne shrugged. ‘On to the next place. I don’t know. Search me. I didn’t meet her till she was back in London. And she was there for a time, then she vanished, and then she resurfaced in Nineveh. She hates being shut in.’ She glanced at Ant. ‘The happiest I’ve seen her is in the desert travelling up to Mosul by camel with a scarf round her head and nothing for miles and miles ahead.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘She’s cleared orf, or got herself into trouble somehow trying to clear orf. Mark my words.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Goudge, firmly, ‘the happiest I’ve seen her is here, with Anthony, being a jolly good guardian to him.’

  ‘But you’ve only ever seen him here, dear Mrs Goudge,’ said Daphne, sweetly.

  ‘That’s my point,’ said Jane Goudge, rather crisply.

  Daphne ignored her. ‘When I arrived a few days ago she was already in one of her . . . “phases”, I used to think of them.’ She stopped. ‘It culminates in a sort of breakdown, I suppose. It’s been that way for a while. Her father shot himself here, can you imagine . . . I remember Dinah saying her mother had to sell a family brooch after the funeral to pay for the train fares back to London. They waited for two days, no food, nothing, while the man made up his mind on the piece. She’d have been about ten.’

  It was early evening. A milky full moon had risen, huge above the calm dove-grey sea and above it hung a single star, steady and still. Ant stared up at it. He wondered where Dinah’s telescope was. All these things, these hanging threads that she’d left behind though there was no sign of her. The church bazaar had been a roaring success. Most of the sales had been Dinah’s possessions that she’d donated. The stuffed monkey. Eunice the doll. Old marble dice. People who had nothing were queuing to get into the vicarage garden to buy a piece of Dinah Wilde’s menagerie.

  I miss you, he mouthed silently, into the air.

  He could hear the vicar’s confusion in his voice when he spoke. ‘Thank you, Miss Hamilton. I suppose the first consideration must be to decide what we do with Anthony, as she was his legal guardian, and he is now left without one.’

  Mrs Goudge, who had accompanied her husband, suddenly spoke. ‘The best place for him is at school,’ she said, firmly. ‘I have had a letter back from them. Miss Wilde had already paid the fees in full for the rest of the upcoming year. Extraordinary. Term starts again on Thursday, wasn’t that the day, Ambrose? He certainly can’t stay here, at the Bosky.’

  ‘I’d like it if he did,’ said Daphne. ‘He hates the school.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ said Mrs Goudge. ‘But Miss Wilde was adamant about it. She wanted him to have a good education. Some order. After everything.’

  ‘Perhaps she knew . . .’ Reverend Goudge said, slowly. ‘Oh, dear.’

  She knew, Ant wanted to shout. She knew she’d clear out, that’s why all this school business happened. She was already planning to leave. She’d been planning it from the moment she arrived in the hospital. But why did she spend all that time teaching me things and helping me? Why did she make me love her?

  Mrs Goudge said, ‘What should one do about the house? One can’t simply just leave it. Who knows when she’ll be back?’

  ‘I don’t mind staying here,’ said Daphne, and he almost believed the reluctance in her voice. ‘I have to work on my book and since her old flat was bombed – I was renting it orf her, you see – I’ve had nowhere else to live.’ She shrugged sadly. ‘After all, who knows what she had in mind? Poor Dinah.’

  ‘She gave the Bosky to Anthony,’ said Mrs Goudge, rather sharply. ‘So you’ll have to ask him.’

  Daphne tapped a cigarette on the table. ‘I’m sorry. Gave what?’

  ‘Signed it over to him. Earlier this summer. She told me, after church, the week before she left. Funny, she sought me out really, said it out of the blue. It was as if she wanted to tell me.’ She gave Daphne a glance through narrowed eyes. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  There was the tiniest, tiniest pause. ‘No, but how wonderful. I’m awfully glad. Well, I shall ask Ant – or maybe if the house is his he’ll have ideas of his own. Poor Dinah, it’s hard to know what she wants us to do—’

  ‘You know,’ Ant said, his voice rising. ‘You know why she left. Don’t lie, tell the truth for once—’

  Daphne put her hand on her heart, her blue eyes huge. ‘Ant, that’s terrible, of course I don’t—’

  Ant couldn’t stand any more. He stood up, nodding at the vicar, and simply ran through the fading ragwort and vetch along the path towards Bill’s Point, his heart thudding in his ears. There were pillboxes, newly built, and a couple of soldiers, strolling along the beach. He’d seen American soldiers when he and Julia had gone to Bournemouth for the day.

  She was waiting – she was always waiting for him, always there.

  ‘Hello,’ Julia said, pulling him down on to his back so he lay up looking at her on the rug she had spread out. S
he moved on to his leg, and started taking off his shirt. He raised his knee, so she went up and down, as though riding a horse, and she slid to the side and laughed and he caught her. ‘I’ve seen a couple of bats, flitting around. Beautiful.’

  ‘Shh,’ he said, and he began unbuttoning her blouse.

  ‘How’s things?’ she said, as he fumbled with her suspenders and her woollen slip.

  ‘I don’t want to talk, do you mind?’ he said. ‘That woman – she’s – she’s the devil. I’m sure she made Dinah leave somehow, but I can’t prove it. I don’t know why . . .’ He bent his head, kissing her neck. ‘Please, let’s not talk.’

  She nodded, smiling, wriggling out of her skirt, their eyes on each other all the time. She helped him with the French letter and took off her own blouse, so they were naked and joined together. For the first time since Dinah had left, Ant felt free, his mind clear, his clothes shed. He put his hands on her hips and moved her up and down and she ground against him, smiling down at him.

  ‘Oh, yes—’ she said, ‘I say, Ant, can you move a bit deeper so I – Hey! OI! YOU! Who’s that?’

  She leaped off him and they heard scurrying amongst the reeds. Pulling her blouse about her, and her skirt back on, Julia gave chase. Ant, his erection melting away like snow in July, scrambled into his trousers.

  As he caught up with her, at the top of the lane that led down to the beach one way and along to the cliffs the other, they saw a lone figure in neutral colours running away.

  ‘Bet it’s a soldier,’ he said, pushing her behind him. ‘I saw two on the way here.’

  ‘Urgh,’ said Julia, fastening her blouse. She was panting. ‘Oh, gosh. Filthy buggers. One of them tried to kiss Phoebe at the bus stop the other day, did you know that?’

  ‘American?’

  ‘One of our lot. There’s hundreds of them about.’

  They walked back to the rug. Julia flopped down again, defeated, and put her arms behind her head. ‘What’s that star?’

  ‘What?’ He was only half listening to her.

  ‘There. One star, in the sky. You know all the stars.’

  ‘Don’t know this one.’ He sat down beside her.

  ‘Look at it properly.’

  He shook his head, and she edged towards him, and shuffled her head on to his lap. He stroked her hair, looking down at her dear, round face. Upside down, it was unrecognisable, just features.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll come back,’ she said, after a while, and she felt for his hand and squeezed his fingers.

  ‘She took the angel,’ said Ant. ‘I don’t think she’s coming back. I think she had to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged, looking out at the lone star. ‘It doesn’t twinkle. It must be a planet. It’s Venus. Dinah would know.’ He was silent, Julia too, and he had never felt closer to her than then. Her kindness, her restlessness, her excitability, all were still when she needed them to be. ‘I think she’s gone back to Baghdad,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Don’t be silly – how would she get back there?’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s Dinah. She’d find a way. A war train, or smuggling herself on to a submarine, or something. She won a bet to get here . . .’ He screwed up his face. ‘Maybe she didn’t. Maybe nothing she said is true at all. The point is, she’s not coming back. She signed the house over to me.’

  ‘But why?’ said Julia.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I mean, why does it matter if you have the house or she does, if she’s not there? She’s your guardian, everything would be yours anyway. Why did you have to own it, and not her? Was she in trouble?’

  ‘I don’t know. She—’ And Ant rubbed his face, and sucked his lips, in an effort not to cry. ‘I miss her,’ he said eventually. ‘She made me go to school because it’s what my father wanted, and she didn’t have the money, I still don’t know where she got it from. I hate it, and I’ve been thinking, I know she hates it too. But she’s done it because she thinks it’s for the best, even though she’s wrong. She came back because I needed someone. She’s left because she thinks it’s for the best. And I can’t help thinking she needs me now, and I’m not with her . . .’ His face crumpled, and Julia sat up and hugged him.

  ‘I know,’ she said, over and over again. ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘There’s no one else,’ he said.

  ‘There’s me.’ She kissed his wet cheek. ‘I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll come to this beach when we’re old, and you’ve got a limp, and you’ll take me in your arms again and kiss me.’ Her cheeks were red; her eyes shone, half-discs gleaming in the dusk. ‘We’ll be bored of peace, you know. Our children will climb on the dragon’s teeth and they’ll have sunk half into the sand and be covered in moss. And I’ll have gone everywhere and seen everything and you’ll be a famous actor . . .’ She knelt up, and stroked his hair. ‘Not now. Not yet. You’ve got to go to drama school. Be as good as possible. For her especially, but for me.’ He laughed, and she laughed too, but then she said, quite seriously, ‘If you’re famous, and you’re on stage, she’ll always know where to find you, and if you keep coming back to the Bosky, then she’ll always know where to find you.’

  ‘I love you more than anything,’ he said simply.

  ‘Me too. I know.’ And she took his hand, put it to her breast, then kissed him, moving on top of his crossed legs and rocking against him.

  ‘Julia.’

  The voice was near at hand, cold, light, and they both jumped again.

  ‘It is you. Come here.’ Ant’s heart lurched sickeningly. Julia leaped to her feet and he got up after her, and there, in the clearing in front of them, was Alastair Fletcher, Julia’s father, and, looking like the cat who’d got the cream, her brother, Ian. He was pointing.

  ‘I said it was them, didn’t I,’ he said, and then stepped back, and crossed his arms.

  And Alastair didn’t even look at either of them, but away across the sea. He said, quietly, ‘Julia, get your shoes and come now.’

  ‘Daddy – we weren’t—’

  His voice was like ice. ‘You will come now.’

  She began picking up her gas mask, the rug, her skirt which she had just removed. But she was clumsy and dropped them all, and Ant tried to help her, and the used condom and its packet fell out of the rug on to the ground, and one of Ant’s shoes.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Julia, perfectly calm, but her face was white. ‘I’ll – I need to gather it all up, and Daddy, we weren’t doing anything wrong.’

  ‘You’re a whore, you know that, don’t you,’ said Alastair, conversationally. ‘A whore is a wanton, and you are that. So I’m glad your mother’s dead. So she can’t see she has a whore for a daughter.’

  Even Ian stopped smiling and looked rather taken aback. Julia slipped into her shoes, with a sob. ‘Daddy, please don’t say that.’

  His voice cracked. ‘How you could – nope, we’ll not discuss it. You’ll go back tomorrow to school, a week early. I’ll not have you in the house again. Not until you’re married. As for you,’ he said, turning to Ant, ‘I see why Dinah’s gone. You’re perverted and dangerous, and she’d had enough of selling things that weren’t hers, putting up with you and your nancy-boy fear of the dark and complaints about school . . . Oh, she pandered to you for all those years and you showed her no gratitude. You’re a bad lot, Anthony. Bad to the core of you.’

  He grabbed his daughter’s arm and with the other hand pointed at Ant. ‘You. Stay there. Wait till we’ve gone back down.’

  ‘Sir, please listen—’ Ant began, but they made to leave, Alastair tapping his daughter’s arm, and he pointed at Ant.

  ‘I mean it. I’ll hurt her unless you stay here.’ So Ant stood still, stunned as though Alastair had actually hit him, and he watched her go, and his failure to help Julia stained him forever.

  As Alastair, Ian and Julia went back up towards the lane, Julia stumbled in her unfastened shoes. Ant saw Ian sharply pushing her along to be quick
er and she stumbled again. Her father walked beside his son, head down, hands in his worn tweed jacket.

  Ant watched them go and, after a minute or two, followed behind, as quietly as he could. He watched as she went into the house with them, but she didn’t turn round.

  Now it was almost dark and the moon was higher. Venus shone steadily, as Ant, more tired than he had ever thought he could be, climbed the steps up to the porch. The scent of rosemary was heady in the night air.

  There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you love, remember.

  Dinah had said it, that first day here, when he had placed the angel above the lintel and she had told him he’d be tall one day.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  He pushed open the door, and there was Daphne, on the window seat with the blackout blind pulled down, reading and smoking. Her soft head glowed in the low light but otherwise she was cast into shadow and he had the fanciful thought for a second or two that she was like a malevolent spider, waiting for him in the corner of the room.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. He thought she jumped when she saw him.

  ‘Oh, hello, Ant. Come in.’

  Ant sat down heavily at the kitchen table. He was very tired. He felt old, suddenly, much older than fifteen, and he couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to live to be seventy, or eighty. Getting up every morning, carrying all this – this – with him, for ever, all the time, the only escape when he was with Julia, or if he was on stage, pretending to be someone else.

  In the glow from the oil lamp Daphne’s features were exaggerated: her round cheeks and protruding cheekbones more pronounced than ever. Her crown of blonde hair seemed to be a dirty kind of yellow. She patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

  ‘M’all right here, thanks,’ he mumbled. ‘I might go to bed soon.’

  ‘They found you with Julia, did they?’ she asked, almost conversationally. ‘I heard that nasty little boy shouting to his father after he’d seen you. Have you been up to no good? Did you ask her permission?’