Nowhere Girl Read online

  ‘For myself,’ said Mrs Fox, ‘I’m going back to the garden. I want to take a look in the greenhouse we passed. If that’s all right with you, of course, Miss Hammond?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Annabel. Having made her successful interruption, Mrs Fox thrust both her hands disapprovingly into her muff, and turned to plod back down the field towards the garden gate. The rest of us watched her go without speaking. Eventually her small, upright figure disappeared through the gate.

  ‘I’ll go back to the house on my own,’ I said. ‘You all go on.’

  ‘That’s the solution,’ said Annabel, ‘if you don’t mind.’ Joshua looked from her to me.

  ‘Shall we do that?’ He seemed not to mind which way the problem was settled.

  ‘Sure.’ I turned to go. Annabel suddenly smiled, her lips two thin slithers of silvery grease.

  ‘We won’t be long, anyway,’ she said. ‘Mother will show you round in the house.’

  Then, spontaneously, Bruce took my arm.

  ‘I tell you what, I’ll go with Clare. Come on, Clare. Don’t let’s dither any more. I’m getting cold.’ He was shivering. Joshua and Annabel turned the other way. We parted.

  Almost at once Bruce was forced to walk behind me because of the narrowness of the path.

  ‘Bloody damp,’ he said, after a while. ‘I loathe the bloody country.’

  The sky was full of deepening shades now, grey and pink, turtle-dove colours. Against it, winter trees stood with tousled heads of hair on skinny necks, and pigeons flew towards the same wood that Joshua and Annabel were heading for.

  By the time we reached the garden gate the daylight had closed down almost to darkness. In the silence, cinder paths between navy-blue hedges scrunched under our muddy feet.

  ‘Let’s join Mrs Fox in the greenhouse,’ Bruce said, bouncing amiably to my side again. ‘I can’t face too long with Mrs Hammond without Annabel’s protection.’

  We made our way to the greenhouse, but Mrs Fox had left. Bruce turned the rusty key and we went in. It was warm and damp and neat. Shelves of poinsettias, cyclamens and azaleas, searing red and mushy pink in the feeble electric light. Bruce ran his hand along a rusty pipe bound up with rusty rags.

  ‘She sells them, as you can imagine,’ he said, indicating the flowers. ‘She’s the sort of woman who would put six tame chickens into a battery unit if she thought she could make a profit out of them that way.’ I laughed, feeling warmer at last. He sat on the pipe, now, testing it carefully first, and looked up at me. ‘So now it’s you and Joshua?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Annabel told me he was nuts about someone.’

  ‘I don’t think he is.’

  ‘It still hurts her, you know. She pretends it doesn’t, but I know bloody well it does. She was crazy about him for three years. Nervous breakdowns, the lot.’

  I turned from him to prod the warm, feathery earth in a small pot of cacti.

  ‘What are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Film industry. What else? Totally unsuccessful, of course, and with little potential. Just striving, hoping, as they say. But I’m quite a pleasant fellow to have around on any set, so I get the jobs, and who cares about the prestige?’

  ‘How long have you known Joshua?’

  ‘Oh, years. I can’t remember when I first met him. I’ve always admired him and, to be honest, I suppose I’ve tried to model myself on him. But I’ve always been the utility model. What I can never achieve is his – distance, shall I call it? There I am, grinning away, showing exactly what’s going on in my mind, while he switches into this beautiful – distance.’ He grinned. ‘You can never tell what Joshua’s thinking. That’s what I admire. The enigma. The apparent lack of concern – then all of a sudden he surprises you. Like, when I was in hospital once for a long time, he didn’t make any promises to come and see me, like everyone else. But unlike everyone else he just came, every day. Bloody miles out of London it was, too. And I don’t mean that much to him.

  ‘Funny thing is, I’ve done a lot of the same things as Joshua – only some years later. Including Annabel, of course.’ He laughed, amused at himself. ‘Naturally, I’m nothing like Joshua was to her. But at least I offer her security, which is more than he ever did. Her mother can hardly abide me, as you can imagine, what with my lack of what she calls “background”, and that. But still, probably she won’t marry me in the end, so Mrs Hammond will be no problem.’

  I wondered how Joshua had treated Annabel.

  ‘Like a bastard,’ replied Bruce crossly. ‘Really dreadful. Always letting her down, getting at her, threatening her. He had the upper hand completely. Of course,’ he sighed, ‘he was right. That’s what she responds to best, and that’s what I just can’t do. I can’t treat her like that, not loving her like this. In fact there’s only one way I know I really can please her, and that won’t last for ever, will it?’

  He stood up. We were exactly the same height.

  ‘So now you’re going through it all? I wonder how you’re making out?’

  ‘Who can tell?’ I asked. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Well, as long as Joshua can’t tell what effect he’s having on you, you’ll keep him. That’s where Annabel went wrong. He was bored stiff as soon as she began declaring her love. He’s a terrible child like that. Win the chase, and the game is over for him, no matter how good the prize.’

  We left the greenhouse and he locked the door again.

  ‘If you ask me, you’re doing pretty well,’ he said. ‘You’ve got him in pretty good shape.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said. It was quite dark in the garden now. The lights from the house flickered through a tangle of silhouette bushes. Bruce took my arm and led me to the path.

  ‘If ever I can help,’ he said.

  *

  Back in the drawing-room Mrs Hammond and Mrs Fox sat in opposite arm-chairs by the fire. Mrs Fox had a pile of magazines dumped on her knee. Mrs Hammond had probably put them there, saying ‘Something to read,’ like a doctor’s receptionist, not caring how unsuitable they were as long as they kept Mrs Fox quiet. Mrs Hammond herself dabbed expertly at a piece of petit point. Her spiky diamond fingers made small rhythmic jumping movements that flashed with flames from the fire. A table with a white cloth and fragile plates covered with silver lids was laid by the sofa.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ said Mrs Hammond, raising her blue eyes to us above her pale blue sewing glasses. ‘I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.’

  ‘Clare fell over and we had to get her clean,’ said Bruce. ‘The trouble is, there are so many bathrooms in this house it took quite a time deciding which one to use.’

  ‘Bruce, your bitter little jokes,’ said Mrs Hammond. ‘It’s Christmas Day, don’t forget. Well, shall we start without them?’

  Mrs Fox thankfully removed the pile of magazines from her lap to the floor.

  ‘I could do with a nice piece of Christmas cake,’ she said. ‘That’s one thing we always did away with, Christmas cake. Edith couldn’t manage the icing, what with her teeth, and Henry was allergic to marzipan.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Mrs Hammond.

  At that moment Joshua and Annabel came through the door. Joshua rubbing his hands, Annabel with noticeably shining hair that looked as if it had been brushed extra hard to disguise previous dishevelment.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ she said, ‘you should have started. God, what you missed, though. It was so beautiful in the woods, you can’t imagine.’ She looked at me, elated. I felt my face red from the fire. ‘You should have come, in spite of the mud.’

  ‘What was so beautiful?’ asked Mrs Fox.

  ‘What?’ Annabel ran her hand impatiently through her hair.

  ‘I said: what was so beautiful in the woods?’ repeated Mrs Fox.

  ‘How do you mean?’ said Annabel.

  ‘I mean exactly what I say,’ said Mrs Fox.

  For a moment there was puzzled silence in the room. No-one cared to help.
I glanced at the loud ticking clock. Ten past five. We could leave at six. Annabel drew a chair up to the table and sat down. She motioned to Joshua to sit beside her.

  ‘For heaven’s sake! Am I being that inarticulate? Perhaps you’re not a country lover. Perhaps you only like towns in winter …’ Her voice was feeble. She was put out.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Fox, and gave me a small, private smile.

  The rest of us joined Annabel at the table. Mrs Hammond, with a flicker of new respect, poured Mrs Fox the first cup of tea. We ate crumpets and banana sandwiches. The huge Christmas cake was decorated with icing-sugar hills. Small plaster figures ski-ed down the slopes and nylon fir trees were dotted in the valleys. Mrs Fox laughed with delight.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’ she asked Bruce.

  ‘Never,’ he said, ‘dreadfully vulgar, isn’t it?’ Annabel and Joshua both laughed at the same time. ‘When I was a child my mother would buy a slab of Dundee cake at Christmas time and spread on a thin bit of icing herself. We thought that was lovely.’

  ‘Really, Bruce, you’re always trying to shock me,’ said Mrs Hammond.

  ‘We must all play something after tea,’ said Annabel. ‘Wouldn’t that be a good idea?’

  ‘I think we really ought to be getting back,’ I said.

  ‘What on earth for? You can’t be that engaged on Christmas night. You’re either doing something positive, or you’re not.’ I looked at Joshua.

  ‘I’m in no particular hurry,’ he said. ‘What about you, Mrs Fox?’ Mrs Fox was trying to unstick a fir tree from her huge slice of cake.

  ‘Can I keep it?’ she asked, as it broke away, a heavy chunk of icing clinging to its roots.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Hammond, ‘and if you all agree to stay to dinner we’ll have my special soufflé that comes in on fire.’ She smiled conspiratorially at her daughter.

  ‘In that case we should stay, shouldn’t we?’ Mrs Fox asked Joshua. ‘We couldn’t miss that. In my day,’ she explained to Mrs Hammond, ‘I was quite a gourmet. It was all because Henry’s patients would come to me to try out their little experiments.’ The fir tree and the thought of a fiery pudding had won over Mrs Fox. Her noble stand against the Hammonds was weakened, and she had them in her control now. Annabel, triumphant, encouraged her to tell stories. Mrs Fox took her cue, performed, and was well received.

  ‘Such a beautiful cardigan, that, Mrs Fox,’ said Annabel at one moment. In the firelight its icy coloured sequins sparkled with gold; fulgid, alive, reflecting dancing patterns on her face.

  ‘You exaggerate,’ said Mrs Fox, ‘it’s just an old thing I got at a jumble sale.’ Bruce turned wickedly to Annabel.

  ‘What do you mean by beautiful?’ he asked.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ She screeched with laughter.

  ‘You’ll learn to laugh with people one day, you patronising bitch,’ he said quietly, so that Mrs Fox shouldn’t hear.

  After tea he and I played Scrabble while the other four played bridge.

  ‘I’m sorry you weren’t able to get away,’ he said. ‘Dinner will doubtless be the kind of merry occasion you wouldn’t have minded missing. Mrs Hammond likes her champagne.’

  A white-coated Spanish butler appeared with the first bottle at six-thirty. Mrs Hammond broke up the game of bridge to take a glass with her to the kitchen. Annabel went up for a bath.

  ‘I can’t lend you anything for dinner, I suppose?’ she said, before she left. ‘We’re not exactly the same size, are we?’

  ‘She’s a great one for always making her point,’ said Bruce, when she had left.

  ‘She hasn’t changed,’ said Joshua. He came and sat down on the low fire stool. ‘You seem to be casting a certain gloom.’

  ‘I’m not feeling my gayest.’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, idiot.’ It was then, in the light of the fire, that I saw a miniscule speck of silver grease glinting on his chin. I took my handkerchief and wiped it off.

  ‘Silver shines,’ I said. I paused, fighting not to say it. I lost. ‘It must have been beautiful in the woods.’ For a moment Joshua stiffened, then he smiled. Bruce watched him carefully.

  ‘She pounced on me like a tiger,’ he said.

  ‘The bitch. Christ, the bitch.’ Bruce winced. ‘It was only after lunch, just before we came round to meet you.…’

  ‘I’m sorry Bruce. But anyway, she didn’t succeed.’ Joshua put his hand on my knee. Bruce untied the laces of one of his gym shoes then re-tied it, more tightly, with a fierce tug.

  ‘My trouble is, I love the girl,’ he said. ‘I love her with a ludicrous passion that doesn’t get either of us anywhere. I know my role. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to stop playing it.’

  Annabel reappeared an hour later. She wore a magnificent gold trouser suit whose top was unzipped to just below her breasts. Plainly she wore no bra beneath.

  ‘Wow,’ said Bruce, sadly.

  ‘Fantastic,’ said Joshua. They both rose to fill her glass.

  She laughed at their attention. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ she asked me.

  ‘Great fun,’ I said. My cardigan felt enormous and hot. My feet blazed in my thick boots. My head ached from the heat and champagne.

  At eight o’clock a gong was rung. Dinner was served. We filed in like two badly matched teams; Mrs Hammond, Annabel and Mrs Fox dressed for the occasion; Bruce, Joshua and I decidedly out of place in the claustrophobic, red dining-room. The mahogany table was laid with a clutter of candles and crackers, dazzling silver and glass, and a dreadful winter-scene centrepiece with a mirror lake, cotton-wool snow and more nylon fir trees. Jonathan would have loved it.

  Soup, first. Mulberry coloured stuff thick with croutons.

  ‘What an amusing little soup,’ said Bruce, to break the warm silence.

  ‘Bruce, I never know whether to take you seriously or not,’ said Mrs Hammond. Her cheeks were flushed to the same colour as the soup. ‘The funny thing about me is, I never know whether someone is complimenting me or insulting me.’

  ‘That is a happy confusion in which you should always remain,’ replied Bruce.

  ‘What a lovely centrepiece!’ Mrs Fox left her soup to prod the cotton-wool snow with a finger. ‘Did you make it, Mrs Hammond?’

  ‘Of course. Everything in this house is home-made that can be home-made. I’ve always been very good with my hands.’

  ‘And does Annabel take after you?’ The old sharpness had returned to Mrs Fox’s voice. Bruce answered her.

  ‘She’s marvellous with her hands,’ he said. Joshua spluttered into his soup. Annabel glanced at him through half-shut fake lashes.

  ‘What do you say to that, Josh?’ Joshua looked from Bruce to her.

  ‘Oh, marvellous,’ he said lightly. ‘Anything you under take to do, you do well.’ Everyone but me laughed. Mrs Hammond joined in the spirit of the joke.

  ‘I don’t know what Joshua and Bruce can know about it,’ she said, ‘I swear they’ve never caught her knitting, or arranging flowers or anything. How can you judge?’

  ‘We can judge,’ said Joshua.

  I pushed my soup away, sickened. Annabel noticed immediately.

  ‘Anything the matter, Clare?’ ‘No.’

  ‘You must be dreadfully hot in that cardigan.’

  ‘I am, rather.’

  ‘Poor you. We can’t open the window, either. There’s something wrong with the sash.’ I felt a hot icicle of sweat trickle down my spine. The candle flames wavered and fattened before my eyes. I removed my hand from where it had lain slumped on the table. Five misted-up fingermarks remained on the shining surface. ‘It’s ghastly, suffering from heat,’ Annabel went on. ‘I feel so sorry for people who do. I love it, myself. Crazy about the sun, aren’t I Josh? Do you remember? St Tropez? I’m quite happy just to lie. Just to lie in the sun for hours, doing nothing but getting brown. I suppose it’s awfully boring, really, for anyone who’s with me. Wasn’t it, Josh?’

  ‘Fairly,’ sai
d Joshua. They smiled at each other, acknowledging the lie. Something grated behind my eyes. On Christmas night last year, Jonathan, in his shiny old dinner jacket, had said I was beautiful. His mother’s diningroom had been uncomfortably hot, too. But he had noticed my unease halfway through the smoked salmon. Without saying anything he had opened the door and make a chink in the heavy curtains. He had cared.

  Joshua was warming to Annabel’s reminiscences. He sat with his fork suspended over his plate of left-over turkey disguised in a spicy sauce, his face hard-cut shadows and planes in the candlelight, his eyes restless behind the massive frames of his glasses, his mouth upturned on one side only as he smiled – beautiful.

  Joshua – get up from the table now, come over to me, take my hand, and tell everybody we are leaving….

  ‘Annabel is such a sophisticated traveller,’ Joshua was saying. ‘Wherever you go she knows about the most interesting church, the best local wine, the cheapest good restaurant, don’t you? And then she’s always changing, aren’t you? Three or four times a day as far as I could make out. She manages to produce endless clothes and yet a very small amount of luggage. I could never understand it.’

  ‘Quite,’ snapped Bruce.

  Let’s go right now, please Joshua. Out into the night, quickly to the airport. Let’s catch a plane to anywhere, anywhere as long as it’s away from these people. And let’s tell them why we’re leaving.

  The promised soufflé came, swaying pale and high above its dish, blue brandy flames lapping up its sides. Mrs Fox clapped her hands.

  You could buy two of those miniature bottles of brandy, and we could ask the air-hostess for a rug. …

  I looked at Joshua, but his eyes flicked away, back to Annabel. She was flushed now, not an ugly red flush with hard edges, as I felt my own to be, but the natural colour of her cheeks was intensified just enough to make her hard eyes bluer. She was excited, beautiful, prepared to make her next move, any move, so long as Joshua kept reacting.

  ‘But my darling Josh,’ she said, you are such a child on holiday. Remember? Remember how you always used to be running away from me in foreign towns, playing childish games. I could never speak the language, that was my problem, so I could never ask if anyone’d seen you.’ Joshua paused in the middle of helping himself to the soufflé.