Angie had surely known that he was standing there.
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A CORRIDOR ran the length of the big house, from the top of the stairs at one end to a tall arched window at the other end, looking out over a sloping field down to the lake. Five bedrooms opened off each side of the corridor, and the last room before the arched window was a bathroom, the only bathroom. The bath had feet and thundering taps and peat-brown not-quite-hot water; the toilet had an overhead cistern and a chain to pull. The children had never had a chain to pull before, and they all wanted to use it. Only Coco was tall enough to reach by himself; Clare had to lift Lily up and help her give the sharp tug that emptied down more peat-brown water (they thought it was dirty). Then Rose balanced anxiously, gripping with her hands on the edge of the big wooden seat, and dribbled her tiny wee into the bowl. They waited for the cistern to finish its slow self-absorbed water music and be full again for her turn.
This was County Clare, Ireland.
There were enough rooms for everyone staying there that summer to have slept alone if they had wanted; but out of lack of experience in such solitude-bestowing living space, they all clustered together into the four bedrooms nearest the bathroom. Even Bramâs two sisters, aged twenty-seven and thirty-one, slept in a twin bedroom together, saying they needed to âcatch up on their gossip.â Clare and Bramâs bedroom had damp-stained 1960s orange- and pink-flowered wallpaper, a green satin bedspread, and orange striped curtains in a felty synthetic material that floated rather than hung and kept out no light at all.
You could see the lake from their window too. When Clare woke early, earlier than she ever did at homeâby nature she was sluggish in the mornings and clung to the warm odorous den of sheets and blanketsâshe got up and stood in her nightdress in the window recess behind the floaty curtains. She saw dawn, she heard the dawn chorus, she saw mists lying like a layer of white milk on the fields and water, she heard the day start up outside with the multitudinous lives of animals and birds and plants, hours before the humans stirred inside the house. The cold climbed up inside her nightdress from her feet on the bare boards. She stood in a kind of ecstasy until her feet got so cold she was uncomfortable; then she put socks on and retreated back to bed to warm herself up against Bram.
This ecstasy of hers was probably absurd, in relation to the man she was obsessing about (she couldnât call him her lover, he wasnât that yet). As far as she knew, heâDavidâwasnât in the least interested in natural things; he liked London and cars and sound technology. It was Bram her partner, and not David, who was the early riser, the birdwatcher and morning-lover and fresh-air enthusiast. Davidâs taste as far as she knew (she hadnât been to his flat yet) was austerely urban and contemporary. Austerely: she felt a quiver of pleasurable chastisement at the thought of how he would cut through the half-considered shell of her homemaking with its cozy clutter.
Davidâs preferences excited her as if they were personal messages. At home she had taken to watching all the television programs he had said he liked; she had brought on holiday with her the tapes of music he had recommended, obscure jungle and drum and bass, types of music Clare had hardly known about three months ago. Whenever she got a chance to drive the car down to the shop on her own she played them, imagining him watching her to the soundtrack of the music, imagining him taking pleasure in the competence of her driving and the chic of her sunglasses. There was a momentâs dislocation when she turned off the ignition and the music stopped: a flicker, like shame, of self-consciousness left high and dry.
It would be a fine day. They were incredibly lucky with the weather on this holiday. The mini-market was
Â
A CORRIDOR ran the length of the big house, from the top of the stairs at one end to a tall arched window at the other end, looking out over a sloping field down to the lake. Five bedrooms opened off each side of the corridor, and the last room before the arched window was a bathroom, the only bathroom. The bath had feet and thundering taps and peat-brown not-quite-hot water; the toilet had an overhead cistern and a chain to pull. The children had never had a chain to pull before, and they all wanted to use it. Only Coco was tall enough to reach by himself; Clare had to lift Lily up and help her give the sharp tug that emptied down more peat-brown water (they thought it was dirty). Then Rose balanced anxiously, gripping with her hands on the edge of the big wooden seat, and dribbled her tiny wee into the bowl. They waited for the cistern to finish its slow self-absorbed water music and be full again for her turn.
This was County Clare, Ireland.
There were enough rooms for everyone staying there that summer to have slept alone if they had wanted; but out of lack of experience in such solitude-bestowing living space, they all clustered together into the four bedrooms nearest the bathroom. Even Bramâs two sisters, aged twenty-seven and thirty-one, slept in a twin bedroom together, saying they needed to âcatch up on their gossip.â Clare and Bramâs bedroom had damp-stained 1960s orange- and pink-flowered wallpaper, a green satin bedspread, and orange striped curtains in a felty synthetic material that floated rather than hung and kept out no light at all.
You could see the lake from their window too. When Clare woke early, earlier than she ever did at homeâby nature she was sluggish in the mornings and clung to the warm odorous den of sheets and blanketsâshe got up and stood in her nightdress in the window recess behind the floaty curtains. She saw dawn, she heard the dawn chorus, she saw mists lying like a layer of white milk on the fields and water, she heard the day start up outside with the multitudinous lives of animals and birds and plants, hours before the humans stirred inside the house. The cold climbed up inside her nightdress from her feet on the bare boards. She stood in a kind of ecstasy until her feet got so cold she was uncomfortable; then she put socks on and retreated back to bed to warm herself up against Bram.
This ecstasy of hers was probably absurd, in relation to the man she was obsessing about (she couldnât call him her lover, he wasnât that yet). As far as she knew, heâDavidâwasnât in the least interested in natural things; he liked London and cars and sound technology. It was Bram her partner, and not David, who was the early riser, the birdwatcher and morning-lover and fresh-air enthusiast. Davidâs taste as far as she knew (she hadnât been to his flat yet) was austerely urban and contemporary. Austerely: she felt a quiver of pleasurable chastisement at the thought of how he would cut through the half-considered shell of her homemaking with its cozy clutter.
Davidâs preferences excited her as if they were personal messages. At home she had taken to watching all the television programs he had said he liked; she had brought on holiday with her the tapes of music he had recommended, obscure jungle and drum and bass, types of music Clare had hardly known about three months ago. Whenever she got a chance to drive the car down to the shop on her own she played them, imagining him watching her to the soundtrack of the music, imagining him taking pleasure in the competence of her driving and the chic of her sunglasses. There was a momentâs dislocation when she turned off the ignition and the music stopped: a flicker, like shame, of self-consciousness left high and dry.
It would be a fine day. They were incredibly lucky with the weather on this holiday. The mini-market was
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