Playing with the Grown-ups Page 17

  Kitty computed in her head which was the lesser of the evils.

  'No. I'll have cereal, please. But I'll have it with apple juice.'

  She poured the apple juice on to her Alpen, and took a bite. They were all watching her, she realised.

  'Delicious,' she said.

  In the next village over there was a rave. She had never been to a rave. Dylan went to raves all the time, he told them about Raindance, Vicks inhalers and glow sticks. Kitty put on her Lycra black dress and tights with a pair of platforms. She thought it was a suitable costume for a rave.

  'You might get a bit cold like that, Kitty.' Dylan was wearing jeans, trainers, and a duffer-hooded sweatshirt.

  'Oh, I never get cold, don't worry, I'm hot-blooded,' she said.

  They walked the seven miles back, because Lulu and Lester had gone to see friends, and they weren't coming to get them until midnight. Kitty thought the rave was probably not a rave at all, because it was a crowd of teenagers in a church hall drinking cider and dancing to the Prodigy, who you could hear on Top of the Pops. She felt cheated, but also a bit relieved. Dylan was disgusted.

  'My fucking cousin,' he said morosely. 'That's what comes from living in Wales. Cloud thinks a tea party in a church hall is a rave, cause he's never been to Spiral Tribe. Hippy Loser.'

  'Dylan, I'm freezing! My feet are killing me.' Her teeth chattered.

  'I did TELL you,' he said to Kitty. 'Give me your hands.' He rubbed them hard.

  Honor and she were both barefoot. Their shoes from Office were not equipped for rambling in the mountains. There were no cars on the roads, just nothingness, and air so rich and full it took Kitty's city breath away and made her chest sting. It was thicker than the air at Hay, but she felt at home, the sheep watching with placid eyes, and greenish black as far as the eye could see. Honor and Shone, children of London, were nervous, every animal noise making them jump, cowpats an assault course. They held hands, and looked miserable. Kitty was in her element. She skipped and jumped and ran and sang at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing back to her like a friend. Dylan joined in, and he knew all the words to James Taylor.

  'God. You two are so gay.' Shone and Honor glowered at them.

  She forgot about Jenkins and her mother, and she didn't worry about what her mother was doing without her. I don't need to think about her all of the time, she thought. Joy welled up in her. She had the same feeling she'd experienced daily in the ashram, which was one of inexplicable love for everything in the world.

  Honor and Shone were fast asleep, Shone snoring like an old Morris Minor starting. Kitty's eyes were shut, but she was awake and buoyant with living. Dylan's hand lightly stroked her arm. She was still, her face turned away from him. Slowly the hand moved higher and higher, till it rested on her shoulder, then her collarbone. She ached for him to move it further, across her rib cage and her breasts, further still, but she didn't want to be complicit in those light torturous butterfly strokes, she wanted to be willing as if in a dream.

  His fingers fell about three inches above her nipple. There they stayed, stroking the same spot, until she felt raw as sandpaper. She stretched out, murmuring a little, pretending to be asleep, until his hand actually connected with her nipple. She didn't know what should happen next. His hand ceased moving, as if it was surprised, and she fell asleep with it rooted to her.

  When the sun's rays were hot on the floorboards, she opened her eyes and saw he was looking at her. She didn't want him to know she remembered, so she said, yawning, 'I slept so WELL last night. It must have been that walk, I felt exhausted.'

  'Yeah, so did I,' he said quickly. 'I was knackered. I went straight to sleep, nothing like the country air.'

  During the day, she kept looking at his hands, and every time she did, a shock went through her like a mini electrocution. It seemed magical to her that the mere glimpse of his hand could cause her cells to leap in such pleasurable recognition.

  'You're being very weird,' Honor said.

  'I know. I can't explain it. I think I feel very happy,' Kitty said truthfully.

  She wanted to stay in the cottage, bathing in the river, knitting big scarves for Dylan to wear in the winter.

  Back at home they had roast chicken for supper. Sam and Violet had been to Alton Towers. They fought over who could define the rollercoaster with the best aplomb; her mother smiled affectionately. She seemed happier.

  'Did you have a nice time?' She put her hands on Kitty's shoulders as they did the washing up. They were dry and thin, like the wishbone from the chicken.

  'So nice,' Kitty said.

  'What were Dylan's parents like?'

  'It was just his mum and her boyfriend. They were so sweet, you would really like them. She was great, the sort of person you'd be friends with.'

  She didn't tell her mother about the pot smoking or the sleeping in the same room as the boys, because she knew she wouldn't understand that it was all done with innocence.

  'What does she look like, Mrs Dylan?' her mother asked.

  'Pretty, but in a different way to you, and much older than you are.'

  Her mother smiled, and her face lit up from the inside like someone had turned on a light.

  'Is it nice to have the youngest mummy?' she said.

  Dylan was normal with her at school, and Kitty felt confused. It was as if the week had never happened. She stared at him, trying to find answers in his eyes, but they were not forthcoming. He teased her, and his voice was as it had been before Wales. Sharp, and shooting up at the end of sentences, so each one sounded like a question. He ignored her in front of other people, and stopped writing her funny notes in English. He laughed at her in tennis practice. She began to wonder whether it had been a dream. She stared at Nicky's hands instead.

  Her telephone rang late in the night, and she thought that it was Jenkins, stating his intention to come home. The voice on the other end of the line sounded at first like a little girl's, and it was crying.

  'Kitty,' the voice said.

  'Yes? Hello?'

  'It's Dylan. It's terrible, Kitty, I've done something really bad.' He sobbed.

  She said what her mother would say. 'Hush, darling, it's all right. What's happened?'

  'Shone and I got arrested in Leicester Square, for buying ganja. We're in the police station, my mum's gonna be so mad at me,' he wailed.

  Kitty did not think this was romance as she imagined it. Boys weren't meant to cry.

  'Are you drunk, Dylan?' she asked.

  'Yeah, wasted. I love you so much, Kitty, I love you.'

  She heard Shone in the background, saying, 'Shut up, Dylan, give me the phone, you sound like a dickhead.'

  'No!' Dylan shouted like a petulant child through his thick sobs. 'I love her!'

  There was a tussle for the phone, the sound of it being dropped on a cold hard floor, painful retching and then a click.

  It rang again.

  'What?!' Kitty said.

  'Kitty, it's the magician.'

  'Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Hi.'

  'Hello to you. I want you to meet Tex, he'd be your best friend in the world. He's so great, my boy. You're both so great. Destined for all good things. Just think, you could be brother and sister or husband and wife . . .'

  'Can he play Scrabble?'

  'Like a champion. But your mummy's the best at Scrabble, the best at everything. She has the most elegant feet I've ever seen.'

  'Jenkins, please come back; we need you.'

  'I wish I'd been your father - your real father. I could have been so good if I was the real thing. Shall we pretend?'

  'Yes, we can pretend,' she said.

  'Good, now I can go to sleep. You're a tonic. The magician is rendered somnambulant through the emotive powers of Miss Magpie Jenkins née Larsen-Fitzgerald of Clapham SW11.'

  She knew he would hang up.

  'Promise you'll call Mummy? Please?' she said quickly.

  'Oh I promised so many things. But I l
ove her, God, do I love her.'

  'Could I lie with you?'

  Her mother was curled, in a sleepy half-ball.

  'Of course, my baby. Are you all right?'

  'Yes. I miss Jenkins a bit, that's all. I can't sleep.'

  'Oh Kitty, I'm so sorry. It's wretched. I miss him too, more than I could ever explain. I feel like my heart is wandering around the desert on its own, lost. We'll be all right. We'll always be all right as long as we have each other.'

  'Mummy? Do you think if you hear someone throw up on the phone it can put you off them?'

  'Absolutely,' her mother said. 'Without question.'

  Her mother came to the first night of the school play. Kitty looked for her in the audience. She was sitting in a fur coat, next to Nora in the middle, and she gave Kitty a little wave. During the play, she watched her mother's face that was like a lighthouse guiding her in the dark, every smile bringing her closer to shore, a laugh inspiring her to sing louder, or wiggle her bottom with extra vigour.

  As they sang the resounding finale, her mother clapped heartily, and called out 'Bravo!' Kitty didn't mind that the other parents were staring at her mother, because she was beguiling, and her hair fell in glossy curls over her white fur, and she knew that the question on everybody's lips was, 'Who is that woman?'

  'Your mum is really fit. I'd do her.' Nicky sidled up to her, a lopsided smile on his face.

  'Fuck off. You're disgusting,' Kitty said.

  Her mother glided over, a bunch of white lilies spilling from her hands.

  'Darling, I thought I could take you and your friends out to celebrate. You were an utter triumph. You can really dance too. I'm so proud of you, my beauty.' She registered Nicky. 'Hello,' she said. 'Would you like to come to dinner?' She touched his arm, and he jumped back like he'd been burnt.

  His face was red, and he stuttered.

  'No, he's not invited,' Kitty said. 'My REAL friends are over there.' She felt the warm stab of revenge, and it was sweet.

  Taking her mother by the hand she guided her through the crowd, leaving nothing but a snaky trail of Mitsouko and some wobbly-looking fathers.

  That weekend it was raining, the house terse and claustrophobic. Kitty couldn't think of anything to do, and everyone was busy. Honor was at an Amnesty International symposium, and Candy was in the country at a French revolution party. Her mother was holed up in her room with a migraine and there was a sign on the door in her writing begging 'Please do not disturb at all, please! Love Mummy.' The writing was shaky, as if it had been written by an elderly Victorian widow, scratches of ink on her headed writing paper.

  Kitty could hear her crying. She went downstairs to make some toast with straw berryjam. She decided to make her mother some porridge, and on it poured the top of the milk, and honey, a thick cloud of a spoonful.

  She made a tray, and took it up. She opened the door very carefully and slid in. Her mother was sprawled out like a baby horse, in her long white nightdress with pansies embroidered at the bosom, hands covering her eyes.

  Kitty knelt on the floor, because she knew any movement on the bed could cause a ricochet of pain to scissor Kitty through her head. She took her hand.

  'Is that my big girl?' Marina said.

  'Yes. I wanted to see if you were all right,' Kitty whispered.

  'Yes, no, yes, no. No, I don't think I am all right. I've done something very awful.'

  'What?' Kitty said, her voice louder, watchful.

  'If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone; it has to be a secret.'

  'I promise,' Kitty said.

  'I'm a horrible person; I don't know how any of you can love me . . . look what I've done to myself.' Her mother pulled up her nightdress and pointed to her legs. 'Look!' she said.

  The skin looked obscenely naked because of the needle marks and bruises that spanned from the top of her thighs to her knees like a broken map. Kitty shrank back.

  'What have you done?' she said. 'What is that?'

  Her mother held her arms out and tried to pull Kitty to her. Kitty spun away and ran backwards into the bathroom. Her mother cornered her there, until she felt that her back was embedded in the wall, sconce-like.

  'I didn't mean to,' her mother said. 'It was all from the doctor; I was just in so much pain - it was my headaches. You can't understand the pain.' She went to lift up her nightdress again as if to illustrate her point.

  'Please, don't - I don't want to see again,' Kitty said.

  'You must see, you must see how bad the pain was to understand, look what my pain has made me do to myself.'

  She showed her once more, and Kitty retched.

  'Please don't show me any more, Mummy.' Kitty began to cry.

  'Shush, don't cry. Everything will be all right, I just need to go to the hospital for a few days and have a little rest. That's all I need, a rest. We won't tell anyone why, OK? But you have to promise me, cross your heart you won't tell.'

  'I don't have anyone to tell,' Kitty said, and she realised this was true.

  'You must not tell Nora or Bestemama or Honor or anyone.'

  'I won't,' Kitty promised.

  She made her mother a cup of tea, and helped her pack her bag. They packed with purpose. Clean nightdresses, knickers, scented candles, and cold cream. Kitty put in a copy of The Borrowers, but she knew her mother wouldn't read it. They sat in the back of a cab, neatly, and when the cab driver asked how they were today, her mother said, 'I'm not very well.' Kitty squeezed her hand.

  He dropped them off at a dark Gothic building in Chelsea, and took her mother's hand, saying, 'Feel better soon, love.' He looked at Kitty almost sternly and said, 'Take care of your mum, she's the only one you'll ever have.'

  She helped her mother check in at the reception, writing her name and her date of birth, and in the column where it said 'Reason for seeking treatment', her mother took the pen and wrote 'GRIEF' in big black letters.

  When Kitty left her mother cried out like she was homesick, until a broad nurse led her away. Kitty could hear her mother's thin cries in her ears, and in the cab home she rubbed at them fiercely, to banish the sound from her head.

  In the letter her mother left for Nora, she said she'd decided, on a painful whim, to seek treatment for her migraines at a special clinic that used bio-feedback.

  'What is a migraine anyway?' Nora said. 'When I was young it was just called a headache. I tell you, she's something your mother - always got to have one better then everyone else. Why did she decide to suddenly go today?'

  'I don't know,' Kitty said. 'It was a really bad one.'

  'Well, at least Violet and Sam will go to bed on time. Now it's just boring old me.'

  Kitty buried her face in Nora's neck.

  'You're not boring. Don't ever say that. You're the best.' She felt like crying.

  'Oh Pest,' Nora said. 'It's not easy, is it?'

  'No, it's not,' Kitty answered. 'I don't know why.'

  The doorbell rings, and Violet catapults down the stairs with Little Dorritt calling a symphony behind her.

  'God, that dog is noisy,' Ingrid says, laughing on the doorstep.

  'She's not, she's just excited,' Violet says. 'She leads a quiet life.'

  Ingrid scoops Little Dorritt up into the grey downy nest that is her coat and the dog collapses on her back, offering her stomach up in blissful surrender.

  'She's such a slut,' Sam says.

  'Don't call my dog a slut, Sam.' Violet swats him. 'You'll hurt her feelings.'

  'She's not your dog, she's Mum's dog.'

  Kitty comes down the narrow stairway, carefully holding on to the banister.

  'Please don't fight,' she says warily.

  'It's how we express our love for one another. Calm down.' Violet points to Kitty's stomach. 'Look, Ingrid, Kitty's had sex.'

  Ingrid takes Kitty into her arms.

  'Not my eldest niece. As a doctor, I can tell you for sure it was an immaculate conception. Hello, my love,' she says. 'Are you tir
ed?'

  Ingrid has to go home to Barnes to put her children to bed.

  'I'll go and see her in the morning,' she says, getting into her Volvo. 'What a bloody mess. Will you do me a favour, Kitty? Don't mention it to Bestemama when you see her. She's fragile, and she's got enough on her plate with Dad's stroke. I don't think she could take it. They have become very old suddenly. I want them to have peace. They both deserve it. God, the order of life is so strange, isn't it? One's parents who have spent their lives caring and protecting are almost overnight reduced to vulnerable children who need looking after themselves. But I suppose you know all about that.'

  'Different,' Kitty says, kissing her aunt goodbye.

  Chapter Nine

  Candy called and offered to take Kitty swimming. She said she was lonely.

  'I need to keep fit, darling,' she said. 'My bum is starting to hang. I don't like it. I walk out of the room backwards when there's a man in my bed, which is rare these days, to be perfectly frank.'

  She was a member at a ritzy health club in South Kensington, and she could take a guest for twenty pounds. Kitty liked the thought of being on Candy's health plan.

  Candy wore a white string bikini, and her belly button had a diamond in it. Kitty looked at her bum to see if it truly was hanging, but to her it looked perfectly round and high.

  'Do you want to know something I do?' Candy asked.

  They floated lazily on their backs in the empty pool, looking up at the ceiling which was a pastel mess of cherubs. If you stuck your head under the water, music played. Kitty wondered if Candy thought she looked awful in a swimsuit.

  'What do you do?' she asked.

  'If there's no one else here I go over to the jets, open my legs and I make myself come.'

  'Oh my God, that's so sick!' Kitty said. 'How?'

  'Have you never read Nancy Friday?' Candy said. 'It's so funny; it happens really quickly. Do you want to have a go?'