They all started giggling. ‘A mighty monster ant. And you say, hey, don’t touch me, mister monster ant, don’t woggle your long green tentacles at me …’ Giggling, Andy put a spoon into the jam and heaped it on to a piece of bread. He lifted it; the lump of jam slid off on to his jeans. ‘Whoops.’ He was shaking with giggles.
‘But don’t you see?’ Claire cried. ‘About the aborigines –?’ She stopped. They didn’t understand what it was about at all; they didn’t care.
The thing was back in her hand now; it was shorter and damper. She passed it to Laura.
‘Er, no thanks,’ said Laura, who was still fighting for breath.
She’d just noticed that the dropped ash had left round white holes in the knees of her black tights, holes the size of sixpences, widening and shrinking ones. The room still swayed to and fro, most oddly. ‘We must go,’ she said.
‘Splitting?’ Andy raised his head from the inspection of his jeans.
‘Yes,’ said Laura, longing for air. ‘Claire has to drive back to London and I have to go back to Hall.’
‘In Hall, are you? Dead place, full of straights.’
‘Oh but –’ Claire began, and stopped. She thought of Mike’s passionate voice as he read about the aborigines. This lot didn’t seem to care about anything at all. ‘I’ve met such nice people there today.’
Andy turned to Laura. ‘Well, my girl, the sooner you get out of there the better.’
‘Yes,’ said Laura casually, ‘I’m thinking of leaving next term and moving in somewhere else, so I can – you know – be myself.’
‘Laure!’ cried Claire. ‘Is that true?’
‘Oh yes.’ Though actually she’d never considered it until now.
Avoiding Claire’s eye, she got up carefully. The room still slopped backwards and forwards, but once she was outside she felt better. Night had fallen and the rain had stopped. She took a deep, deep gulp of air.
‘Do you feel high?’ Claire was inspecting her with interest.
‘No,’ she replied, truthful at last. ‘Sick.’
Laura being disinclined to talk, they walked back to the car in silence. With what pleasure had they walked down this street! But now the mood was spoilt. Passing the black railings, Laura wondered angrily Why? Why can’t I just be myself like Claire? Why do I have to try to make an impression when Claire doesn’t?
And later that night, having seen Claire off on her dark voyage, she wondered about moving out of Hall. Perhaps, if she lived alone, her character would tauten up and she would no longer find herself bending with every different person she met. Claire, in her charitable way, would call that being sympathetic, identifying with people. Not true. Even with Mike, Laura thought, nice friendly Mike, I was tilting my head at the right, thoughtful angle when he was reading that thing from the newspaper.
She was in bed now. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and gazed at her silent room, its washbasin glimmering in the moonlight. I’m a whole mass of people, she thought That’s my trouble . And none of them – except when I’m alone, or with Claire – none of them is convincing.
Somewhere out in the echoing night a dog barked. Outside these four warm walls there were real sadnesses, and real problems, and spaces and aborigines …
Laura snuggled down in bed, cosily wrapped up in her blankets and complexes.
six
CHRISTMAS EVE, AND all along the Harrow avenue lights glinted in the windows; fairy lights, lanterns. Stretches of hedge, then fence, then stretches of hedge again; in between them, gates – The Lilacs, Woodland View, Greenbanks. Beyond the gates, pale in the gathering dusk, gravel drives and beyond them houses, similar but not identical, each with its shadowy double garage.
Out of the gate marked Greenbanks, a house whose double garage had Tudor eaves, issued a little party of three – two sisters and Badger, who was a border collie with a black and white face.
‘Woods?’ suggested
‘But don’t you see?’ Claire cried. ‘About the aborigines –?’ She stopped. They didn’t understand what it was about at all; they didn’t care.
The thing was back in her hand now; it was shorter and damper. She passed it to Laura.
‘Er, no thanks,’ said Laura, who was still fighting for breath.
She’d just noticed that the dropped ash had left round white holes in the knees of her black tights, holes the size of sixpences, widening and shrinking ones. The room still swayed to and fro, most oddly. ‘We must go,’ she said.
‘Splitting?’ Andy raised his head from the inspection of his jeans.
‘Yes,’ said Laura, longing for air. ‘Claire has to drive back to London and I have to go back to Hall.’
‘In Hall, are you? Dead place, full of straights.’
‘Oh but –’ Claire began, and stopped. She thought of Mike’s passionate voice as he read about the aborigines. This lot didn’t seem to care about anything at all. ‘I’ve met such nice people there today.’
Andy turned to Laura. ‘Well, my girl, the sooner you get out of there the better.’
‘Yes,’ said Laura casually, ‘I’m thinking of leaving next term and moving in somewhere else, so I can – you know – be myself.’
‘Laure!’ cried Claire. ‘Is that true?’
‘Oh yes.’ Though actually she’d never considered it until now.
Avoiding Claire’s eye, she got up carefully. The room still slopped backwards and forwards, but once she was outside she felt better. Night had fallen and the rain had stopped. She took a deep, deep gulp of air.
‘Do you feel high?’ Claire was inspecting her with interest.
‘No,’ she replied, truthful at last. ‘Sick.’
Laura being disinclined to talk, they walked back to the car in silence. With what pleasure had they walked down this street! But now the mood was spoilt. Passing the black railings, Laura wondered angrily Why? Why can’t I just be myself like Claire? Why do I have to try to make an impression when Claire doesn’t?
And later that night, having seen Claire off on her dark voyage, she wondered about moving out of Hall. Perhaps, if she lived alone, her character would tauten up and she would no longer find herself bending with every different person she met. Claire, in her charitable way, would call that being sympathetic, identifying with people. Not true. Even with Mike, Laura thought, nice friendly Mike, I was tilting my head at the right, thoughtful angle when he was reading that thing from the newspaper.
She was in bed now. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and gazed at her silent room, its washbasin glimmering in the moonlight. I’m a whole mass of people, she thought That’s my trouble . And none of them – except when I’m alone, or with Claire – none of them is convincing.
Somewhere out in the echoing night a dog barked. Outside these four warm walls there were real sadnesses, and real problems, and spaces and aborigines …
Laura snuggled down in bed, cosily wrapped up in her blankets and complexes.
six
CHRISTMAS EVE, AND all along the Harrow avenue lights glinted in the windows; fairy lights, lanterns. Stretches of hedge, then fence, then stretches of hedge again; in between them, gates – The Lilacs, Woodland View, Greenbanks. Beyond the gates, pale in the gathering dusk, gravel drives and beyond them houses, similar but not identical, each with its shadowy double garage.
Out of the gate marked Greenbanks, a house whose double garage had Tudor eaves, issued a little party of three – two sisters and Badger, who was a border collie with a black and white face.
‘Woods?’ suggested
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