I walked slowly down the stairs, listening for the click-clack of her heels. And as I reached the final step, her voice was suddenly there.
‘Howard. Hello.’ She was stroking the spines of the books on her trolley. ‘Isn’t there a dance at the power station on Saturday?’ she said.
So later that evening I probably came in whistling.
‘I’m beginning to think you’ve got a fancy woman,’ said Mum.
Nothing else was said until the Saturday morning before the dance. Every other Saturday I would take Mum to the covered market in Oxford to buy what she called ‘some real meat’. She didn’t trust Hughes’s in Darvington. ‘It’s too cheap,’ she said. ‘And it’s all wrapped up, ready. I don’t trust that. You don’t know what it is. I want to see it on the counter. I want to see him cut into it.’
But that Saturday I had to buy some new trousers for the dance. I knew that none of the trousers I usually wore would be acceptable. They were not what young men wore. They were the sort of trousers worn by men in banks, in schools, in offices. I needed something that would show Kathryn I was a worthy dancing partner for a woman in a blue mini-dress.
So I’d have to say something to Mum. I was twenty-eight years old. This was the first time I’d wanted to tell Mum about any girl.
That morning she cooked us bacon, eggs and fried bread, like she always did at the weekend. I cut into my egg and the yolk leaked into the bacon fat.
‘Into Oxford today,’ I said.
Mum folded a rasher onto her fork. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if that market is worth it.’
‘Maybe it isn’t. It’s quite expensive. You could try somewhere else. Somewhere closer.’
‘I can’t buy the meat in Hughes’s, Howard, if that’s what you mean.’
‘But like you say, it is expensive. In Oxford.’
She nodded and continued to eat.
I put down my knife and fork.
‘You’re not making much of a dent on that bacon, Howard.’
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘the thing is, I’d like to go on my own today.’
She didn’t stop chewing as she stared at me. She swallowed, dabbed the corner of her mouth with her apron and picked up her teacup.
‘I see. Well, you can do as you like. You’re not my little man any more. You’re grown now.’
She blew loudly into her tea. Then sighed. Then blew loudly again.
‘Mum – ’
‘It’s all right, Howard, really.’ There was a little laugh in her voice, and she arranged her mouth in the way she always does for photographs: lips turned slightly up at the corners. ‘You go and do what you have to. Whatever that is. I won’t stop you.’
‘Mum – ’
She put up one hand. ‘I mean it.’
‘It’s just that I’m taking a girl out tonight.’
Slowly, her hand came down and rested on the top of her cup. All her fingers curled around the rim, as if she was afraid that something would fall into her tea. She stared at her hand.
‘She’s a lovely girl, Mum. She works in the library.’
She nodded, keeping her head bowed over the teacup. I noticed that her grey roots were beginning to show.
‘In fact, you know her. It’s Kathryn Welch.’
She took a breath. ‘Howard. You don’t have to tell me. What I mean is, I don’t want to know. Unless – ’ she clenched the tea cup tighter – ‘unless I really have to.’ She looked at me, her grey eyes small and frightened. ‘Do you understand, son?’
On our first date, Kathryn wore a pink outfit. It made her look like a rosebud.
We sat at a table, staring at our drinks. I remember watching a bead of moisture slip down her glass of gin and tonic. Every time she reached forward to pick up her drink I thought I’d be able to touch her hand. It would be easy: I’d just reach out and fold my fingers around hers. And she’d look up and say my name. Oh, Howard.
But she kept on sipping, and my hand stayed cold around my pint.
Derrick Pearce looked over from the bar. He wore a bright purple shirt and tie, and pointed shoes.
I got up to go to the toilet, and when I came back, Derrick was in my seat, leaning over Kathryn, whisky glass in hand. She was smiling, and her hand was at her neck. ‘Why don’t you come and dance, love?’ he was saying.
Kathryn looked up at me.
‘Just one dance,’ said Derrick, twisting round to give me a wink. ‘Howard won’t mind. Will you Howard?’
Kathryn’s eyes searched my face as she took a sip from her gin and tonic.
‘I would mind, actually, Derrick.’ I tried to smile at her. ‘I would mind a great deal. But it’s up to Kathryn.’
She put down her drink and, without even looking at Derrick, she stood up and led me to the dance floor. We danced together all night, my hand resting in that warm little hollow at the bottom of her back.
two
Spring, 1966
The film’s sharp edges scratched at my hands. I held its end up to the light and looked through the perforations along the top before tucking it in the slot. Soon Kathryn’s image would be there, captured on my film.
I’d bought a camera in Ivor Field’s Photographic Supplies in Darvington. An Ilford Sportsman. It was second-hand but looked as good as new; they’d thrown in a black leather carrying case for nothing. The man in the shop, who called me ‘Young Man’, showed me how to unscrew the case from the camera’s bottom. But, as he pointed out, this wasn’t really a necessary skill, as you could easily take as many pictures (or ‘shots’, as he called them) as you liked with the strap still safely hooked around your neck. You need never risk dropping it.
The case was new leather. I brought it to my nose and inhaled: it smelled fresh, a bit like the earth I’d dug round my new roses the day before. I loved the sound the button made as you pressed it to take a picture (‘a firm touch is what’s needed, Young Man,’ said the man in the shop, ‘as I’m sure you know’). A definite click, no going back. There were dials around the lens, with numbers marked on. I had a booklet which told me all about what they meant. As long as I could focus, the man said, I could take a picture. It was just a matter of getting Kathryn within the central square, framing her, and closing the shutter. Click.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early spring. Kathryn and I had been courting for a few months, but this was the first time we’d arranged to meet at my house.
I remember the light coming through my curtains that morning; how I knew it would be warmer that day from the way the sun seemed to penetrate right through the material.
As I watched for Kathryn from my bedroom window, the glass became wet with my breath.
Eventually she came into view. She was wearing a yellow dress and cardigan. She’d come out without her coat, but was carrying a yellow umbrella. She frowned as she walked; the little nick in the centre of her forehead deepened as she examined each of the houses along our road. It was as if she’d never seen them before, although she’d lived here all her life.
I thought about opening the window, leaning out and snapping her right there and then, framing her little frown in my central square. Click.
‘Howard. She’s coming.’
Mum must have been watching, too, from the living room window.
‘I’ll get the door,’ she called, before I could make it halfway down the stairs. I ducked into the living room so that I wouldn’t be waiting behind Mum when Kathryn came in.
Then I realised I still had the camera around my neck, so I took it off and placed it on the nest of tables. I clicked the case shut and arranged the strap so it curled around the case.
I stood by the fireplace. Placing one hand on the chimney-breast, I attempted to lean against it in a relaxed manner. I wished Mum didn’t have that photograph of me in my school blazer on the mantelpiece. ‘You loved that school, Howard. I couldn’t drag you away from the place,’ she always said when she caught me scowling at it. ‘I loved the blazer,’ was what I wanted to repl
y. The feel of the silk embroidered badge on the breast pocket. The shiny buttons on the cuffs.
‘Do come in, dear.’
I took my hand away from the chimney-breast and put it in my pocket.
Kathryn stood in the doorway, her shoulders slightly hunched. She looked all round the room, that nick still in her forehead, before she looked at me.
‘Go on in, dear. Howard’s been waiting for you.’
Kathryn stepped forward. Mum edged past her into the room. ‘Well, this is nice,’ she said, standing by me, pulling her face into a smile.
‘What a lovely photo,’ said Kathryn, gesturing towards the fireplace.
‘Howard loved that school.’
Kathryn raised her eyebrows.
‘Have you got the camera all ready, son?’ Mum asked.
Kathryn looked at me. I nodded towards the nest of tables. ‘I bought it. Yesterday.’
‘I expect he’ll want to take some snaps of you, dear. All dressed up in your nice clothes.’ Mum’s smile didn’t move as we stood in silence, staring at the camera.
‘Shall we go?’ I suggested.
‘We can’t drive on a day like this,’ said Kathryn, looking up at the sky.
The front path glowed in the sunshine. I decided to sling my jacket over my arm.
Kathryn stopped and stood at the gate. A tulip brushed her leg as she swung round to face me. ‘We should just walk, don’t you think?’
I had put a new blanket on the back seat of the car.
‘Just walk?’
‘It’s such a lovely day. It’s a shame to waste the sunshine, sitting in a car.’
I’d spent all yesterday afternoon brushing out the upholstery and polishing the dashboard and the mirrors. I had removed Mum’s Mills & Boon novel from the glove compartment, replacing it with a new bag of barley sugar. I had imagined unwrapping them for Kathryn, feeding her sweet morsels as we drove.
‘Come on,’ said Kathryn. ‘I know where we should go.’ We walked through the village in silence, swapping the odd small smile, until we reached the church. I thought about asking Kathryn if I could snap her in front of the yew trees in the graveyard; the daffodils were out and with her yellow outfit it would have made a pretty picture. But instead I asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Not far.’
We took the lane around the side of the church. Kathryn led the way, her hand trailing along the old stone wall. I walked behind, watching her skirt sway slightly with each step.
‘I enjoyed the dance, Howard.’
‘Do you know Derrick Pearce?’
She twisted her umbrella in her hand. ‘A little.’
‘He mentioned you, at work. Before the dance.’
‘Did he?’
‘He mentioned that he’d spoken to you.’
‘Really.’
I waited for more.
‘I think he was keen on me for a while,’ Kathryn said.
‘I see.’
‘I don’t like him much, though.’
‘No.’
The lane smelled of rain and earth. It had become warmer and my toes rubbed together in my shoes. I would have to choose thinner socks tomorrow.
‘I’ve been planting some more roses.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I’ve bought a yellow one. It’s the colour of your dress.’
She turned and gave me a quick, bright smile before continuing down the path. The lane became thinner and darker. Blossom hung over our heads; a few petals were already floating to the ground.
‘How do you know Derrick?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know him, Howard.’
‘I thought you did.’
Kathryn stopped walking and looked into my face. ‘He came into the library. Like you.’
I laughed. ‘Derrick Pearce, in a library?’
‘What’s funny about that?’
‘I didn’t have him down as a library man, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t have you down as a library man, Howard.’ She carried on walking, twisting her umbrella in time with each step.
We came out of the lane and into the fields behind the power station.
‘I haven’t been down here for a long time,’ Kathryn said.
From where we stood, I could see the cooling towers of the power station on one side, and the pools – the disused gravel pits – on the other. The power station pumps its surplus ash into these pits. They’re really the best place for it. Things seem to grow down here, whatever happens.
The closest pool shimmered in the sunshine, its surface glinting through the leaves as if there was nothing beneath. At that moment, it looked as if it was a real lake, not a man-made, oversized puddle.
Steam rose from the cooling towers into the sky. People often think there are burners or something sinister inside them. When the power station was first built, Mum thought the village would be choked by smoke. ‘My washing will be black,’ she said. But I explained to her that each tower is actually a hollow concrete shell. They’re just for cooling the water from the power station. It’s not smoke coming from the towers; it’s condensation.
‘I swam here once.’ Kathryn had made her way through the trees and was standing at the edge of the first pool, grasping the elderflower bushes on either side of her, peering into the water.
‘Be careful,’ I said, following her. ‘There’s a sign here somewhere. Deep water leading to possible entrapment.’ I tried to make my voice light.
She leaned over a bit further, making the branches sway. ‘It was so cold. Even though it was the hottest day I can remember.’
I undid the camera case. ‘Look at me,’ I said. She looked back and I pushed the button. Click.
She blinked. ‘I wasn’t ready.’
I snapped the camera case shut. ‘When was that?’
‘What?’
‘When you swam.’ I worked my way to the edge of the bank where she stood.
‘A long time ago.’
I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed, and was surprised by the hardness of the bone there. ‘We could swim here, if you like.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever do that again, Howard.’ She circled the tip of her shoe in the mud.
After a minute, I asked, ‘Can I take another picture?’
As I positioned myself a few feet from the bank and tried to get Kathryn in focus, she glanced up at the cooling towers behind me.
‘I hate those towers.’
I turned the dial until her edges became crisp.
‘The way you can’t escape them.’
‘Smile.’
‘They’re so… overwhelming.’
I clicked. ‘You didn’t smile. I’ll have to take more if you don’t smile.’
She continued to gaze over my head at the cooling towers.
‘They’re my work, Kathryn.’ I closed the camera case.
‘I know. It must be worse for you.’ She walked back up the bank towards me, her feet slipping slightly in the soft earth.
‘Not really. I like seeing them again. If I’ve been away.’
She stumbled a little then and caught hold of my arm to steady herself. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Six towers. Six towers means I’m home.’
The sun was getting lower in the sky and the afternoon light was softening around us. Kathryn put her hand up to my cheek and ran her finger along the length of my nose. ‘Six towers,’ she said. ‘Funny. I’ve never counted them.’
I smiled at her. ‘But I know everything about them, you see.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. I know what they’re for. Why they’re important, necessary. And you don’t. Which is why you don’t like them.’
She laughed. ‘Is that right?’
‘Each one of those towers cools the water from the power station condensers, using the natural updraught of air. And that’s necessary every time you switch a light on. Those towers are a miracle, Kathryn. They help keep Calcot illuminated. They keep the whole county illum
inated. And warm. They keep everything running.’
She twirled her umbrella. A bird skimmed over our heads and across the water. ‘There’s other things, though, that we need,’ she said. ‘To keep things running. Apart from heat and light.’
‘Not much,’ I said.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and I smelled the warmth of her thick hair. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. I suppose not.’
It was a quiet wedding. Kathryn carried red carnations; I remember thinking that with all those frilly edges they weren’t quite right for her, but they suited the registry office with its green leather armchairs and photos of local councillors on the walls. When we signed the register Mum’s hand rested on my shoulder, and Kathryn stared as I wrote my name with the fountain pen. ‘Your signature,’ she said. ‘It looks different from how it did in the library.’ I gave Mum my camera to take some pictures, but none of them came out very well. I still have the one I took, of Kathryn just after the ceremony, standing in the doorway of the town hall, looking off to the right, holding her bunch of blooms down by her thigh, the fleshy tip of her nose slightly pink from the cool spring day. On the back of the photo I wrote, Mrs Kathryn Hall.
The house was a surprise for my wife. We’d been living with Mum for a few months after we were married, which I didn’t mind, but Kathryn was keen to move for obvious reasons. So I’d been to the council and put our name on the list, and this place had come up in Totleigh Way. It was just down the road from Mum’s and it had gardens back and front, so I took it immediately.
It was a hot day when we came here; the grass out front was scorched, and there was dust all over Kathryn’s new shoes by the time we made it to the door.
‘It doesn’t look too promising from the outside,’ I said as I pushed the key in the lock. Kathryn squeezed my hand. ‘Our new house!’ she whispered.
I thought afterwards that I should have carried her over the threshold, but she was in the door and up the hall before I could say anything.
We stood in the hallway in silence. It was cool in there even though the sun was blazing outside, and the smell of damp rose up like rotten fruit.
The Pools Page 3