The Pools Read online

  I think Rob must be about to make his move, because he twitches his arm. But he moves it so slowly towards Luke I know he’s not going to make any impact. Not at that speed. Then Rob stretches out his hand and slips all his fingers into the front pocket of Luke’s jeans. He slips them in, easy, like I slipped into the pool when I’d torn my palm. Luke doesn’t flinch. He leans back against the trunk, as if he’s relieved, and I see them kiss.

  When we get back, Mum says, ‘That boy came round for you.’

  He’s never done that before.

  ‘He stood on the step and just gawped at me. There’s no light on in there, is there? No one’s home.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ asks Simon, shaking out his Barbour jacket with a clacking noise. Mum raises her voice. ‘That boy. The backward one. You know.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Simon, with a look at me. ‘Him.’

  ‘I told him you were out with your boyfriend,’ Mum says. She lets out a tinkly laugh and flings her arms around Simon’s waist, beaming up at his glasses. She’s probably inspecting her reflection in them. Her perm’s dropped out now, but she’s wearing a new shoulder-padded cardigan and full eye make-up. Simon clamps her round the middle and she gives a squeal. ‘Ripe for the plucking,’ he says, winking at me.

  nine

  Howard

  November, 1985

  I hadn’t been in the library for years, but nothing had changed. The heavy door still kept the outside world out, and sealed the silence in. The boiled wool doormat was a little thinner than before, the returns counter a little more scuffed, but the thick lettering of the signs, ‘Issues’, ‘Reference’, ‘Quiet please’, remained.

  When I walked in, I was met by a blast of warm air from the overhead heater, and I remembered sweating beneath such a blast when I’d asked Kathryn on our first night out. That she’d said yes had felt like a miracle back then.

  There was the familiar smell of sweaty hands on old books, of unwashed men with beards and overcoats, dozing by the radiators beneath the windows. I didn’t see the man with the carrier bags, which surprised me.

  And she was there, of course, my wife, Kathryn, behind the counter, on the phone. She didn’t see me come in, so I stood and watched her for a while. I wouldn’t say that I hid behind the shelf, but I was sure that she couldn’t see me where I stood, holding a book on Tractors and Other Farm Vehicles before me. I took a good look at her. She was wearing a green polo neck jumper, I hadn’t noticed that during the afternoon, and her hair, slightly grey in her fringe but otherwise still a good colour, looked odd because one side was tucked into the woollen roll around her neck. I wanted to go and straighten it for her, but I remained standing with the book open in front of me. She leant on the counter and laughed at something one of the borrowers said, and I watched the wave of hair that was tucked into her jumper bend back and forth as she moved.

  I reflected that I hadn’t seen her behind the library counter for about fifteen years, and that now I had secret knowledge of her. Now I could watch her and know that she was wearing a slip with a rose pattern in black lace. Now I knew that it was thin and worn at her side, and that one strap was frayed on her shoulder. No one else in the library had that information. Secret information.

  As I approached the counter, I found myself smiling. I kept one hand in my pocket, and I ran a finger over the gun of the model Somua tank that I’d taken from Robert’s bedroom.

  ‘Howard, what are you doing here?’

  I kept smiling, feeling my teeth going dry in the hot air of the library.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Kathryn. ‘I was a bit worried about you when I left.’

  ‘Kathryn,’ I said. ‘I’m going to take that lock off Robert’s door.’

  Kathryn glanced around the library. ‘Can we talk about this later on?’

  Behind her, one of the librarians had stopped filling in whatever form she was apparently concentrating on.

  Kathryn leant over the counter and touched my sleeve. ‘Why don’t we talk about this later?’

  I was still smiling. ‘He’s my son and I’m going to remove that lock. I just came to tell you that. There’s nothing to discuss.’

  Kathryn let go of my sleeve. ‘If you do that, I’ll replace it.’

  ‘I won’t have locks on doors in my house.’

  A woman with a little girl in a bobble hat on her hip slapped a pile of picture books on the counter. ‘I’ll take these, please,’ she said, stepping close to my side. ‘When you’re ready.’

  Kathryn opened the top book and picked up her stamp.

  ‘It’s coming off,’ I said. ‘There’s no discussion.’

  The little girl in the bobble hat looked at me and laughed.

  Kathryn thumped her stamp onto the white page. ‘Due back on the thirtieth,’ she said to the woman, sliding the books back over the counter. The woman put them in the bottom of her pram; her little girl waved at me as they walked away.

  ‘Children should not be allowed to have locks on doors.’ In my coat pocket, I grasped the long point of the tank’s gun.

  ‘I think you should go now.’ Kathryn’s voice was steady but low.

  ‘It shouldn’t be allowed. I didn’t have a lock.’

  Kathryn slammed the stamp down on the counter. ‘Sometimes I wish I had a lock,’ she said, sticking out her chin, ‘I wish I had a lock. Did you know that, Howard?’

  The librarian behind her pretended to sift through a pile of forms, but her head was cocked in our direction.

  ‘Did I ever tell you that? Did I ever tell you that, when we were first married, it drove me absolutely – ’ she paused and bit her lip, ‘spare, it drove me absolutely spare, the way you watched me all the time, the way I couldn’t move without you flinching, without you asking if I was all right, if I needed anything, asking what was I doing, asking where was I going. All the time, asking questions, checking up on me, all the bloody time! It was a relief when Robert was born because at least then you had someone else to keep your beady eye on.’

  We stood for a moment, staring at each other. The librarian behind Kathryn had stopped shuffling her papers and was perfectly still.

  I let go of the tank’s gun and buttoned up my coat. The last hole was so stiff that my fingers slipped as I tried to grip the button and force it through. ‘I’m taking the lock off Robert’s door. As I said, there’s no discussion.’

  Kathryn blew up into her fringe. ‘Each time you take that lock off, I will replace it.’

  ‘There’s no discussion, Kathryn.’ I turned to go.

  ‘Howard?’

  I looked back.

  She gave a little laugh. ‘Everyone calls him Rob now.’

  ten

  Joanna

  November, 1985

  Shane isn’t in his shed, so I ring the front door bell. ‘God Save the Queen’ plays three times before Mrs Pearce emerges.

  ‘Joanna! I haven’t seen you for such a long time.’ Her face looks baggy from sleep. The theme music to That’s Life blares from the living room.

  She touches the sleeve of my new black wool coat. Boxy shoulders, square front pockets, stand-up collar. Simon gave me the money for it, folding a fifty, still warm from his wallet, into my palm. He keeps his wallet in the breast pocket of his rainmac. The black leather’s so new it creaks when I open it. Inside, there’s a photo of a woman – not my mum, not me. A neat blonde bob and flat red lipstick. It must be his ex-wife, the one Mum told me chucked him out because they couldn’t have children. I’ve thought about taking that photo, hiding it in my knicker drawer. Just to see what happens.

  ‘Come in and have a cup of tea, Joanna, love.’

  ‘Is Shane in?’

  She cranes her neck around the doorframe, as if she can spot him from there. ‘He’s in the shed, where he always is. Isn’t he?’

  ‘No.’

  Her mouth makes a round ‘O’ shape and she blinks a few times and yawns. Then she grabs at my sleeve again and holds on. ‘Come in and have a cup
of tea.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘There’s cake. The Thorn Birds is on in a minute.’

  ‘But I have to find him.’

  My voice must sound urgent, because she nods and lets go of my arm. ‘All right, love.’ She thinks for a minute. Then she says, ‘Oh. I know where he might be. He’s got a new job.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down the farm. Plucking turkeys for Christmas.’

  As I open the gate, I hear her call out behind me, ‘Have you heard from your Dad?’ But I know she knows the answer.

  The farm is on the other side of Calcot. There’s a short cut from the church lane, past the pools and across the fields. Shane won’t worry about walking back this way, even though it’s really dark now. So dark he won’t know where the fields stop and the sky starts. Or where the gap between the bushes down to the water is.

  There’s still a light on down the lane. I run my hand along the icy graveyard wall. My fingers are stiff with cold. The wind’s getting stronger. It blows strands of hair across my face, into my mouth. I hook them out and look into the blackness ahead.

  That sign will be above me now. Possible Entrapment.

  I step off the path and head through the twiggy trees to the look-out where I was with Simon earlier. I can wait for Shane to walk by there.

  The place is totally different in the dark. I have to feel along the wall for the entrance, and I snag my fingerless glove on a splinter. There’s a smell of piss that I didn’t notice this afternoon.

  The bench shoots cold into my arse cheeks. I sit up very straight. My hands are rammed into my pockets. I listen to every sound. Bare branches click against the wooden roof in the wind. Something plops in the water. There’s a long, low creaking noise somewhere that could be a tree.

  I think about Rob and Luke. I wonder if they came in here, after we’d gone. I wonder if they lay on the cold bench together. Half singing, half sighing. Kissing. Their hands in each others’ pockets.

  I wonder if Rob would do that with me.

  Then I hear his beat.

  I sit. Shiver. Wait.

  It gets louder.

  I step out of the look-out and push through the branches. I’m right in his path. He doesn’t flinch or shout out, even though there’s no way he could have known I was there. He just turns off the Walkman, licks his big lips and blinks, like his mum.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say.

  My heart’s banging. My hands don’t feel cold any more. He sniffs and looks over my shoulder at the darkness that’s the pool behind us. The wind blows the hood of his parka up against his neck. I imagine it getting caught on the patches of stubbly-soft hairs there.

  ‘I came for you,’ he says.

  ‘I know.’ I hook the hair out of my eyes and smile at him. ‘I came to find you.’

  He starts laughing then. Not his half-hidden laugh. A loud laugh that sounds like a honking goose. He doubles over with it.

  ‘What’s funny?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re always – ’

  But he’s laughing again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Looking. Looking for each other,’ he says. He honks out some more laughter.

  I step closer to him. My hair blows into his face but he doesn’t brush it away.

  Then I slip my hand in the pocket of his trousers. It’s not easy to do, not like it looked for Rob and Luke. I have to step in really close so my nose touches his shoulder and twist my wrist round at the right angle. There’s not much room in there.

  He stops laughing and swallows. ‘I’ve got a job,’ he says. ‘Turkey plucking.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I say, digging around in his warm pocket, breathing into the shiny parka material, until I feel what I’m after. ‘That’s good, Shane.’

  He goes very quiet. His dark eyes look like glass. The fur of his parka hood brushes against my cheek. I stretch my fingers out in his pocket, circling them round and round on his thigh. With my other hand, I shove my fingers beneath his belt until I find the zip. I open his fly. I don’t look at his eyes. I look instead at the fur in close-up. Strands of it go wet with my breath, get stuck on my lip. I stroke him, and it feels softer than I expected, but also drier.

  Shane stands there and lets me do what I want in the darkness.

  I want my fingers caught in his little hairs. My hand rising up and down. I want his hand over my head. His hand over my whole head.

  Every night after that, we meet in the look-out, and I open Shane’s fly and dig until I find what I want.

  On Shane’s hands there’s turkey blood from his job at the farm. One night he brings a bird’s foot with him. ‘Listen,’ he says, pulling the tendons back and forth. The claw stretches towards me.

  ‘I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘Listen.’

  He pulls again and the bones inside the turkey’s skin shift and groan. The sound reminds me of the creak of Rob’s not-real leather jacket.

  ‘Are they dead?’ I ask, ‘when you pluck them?’

  ‘’Course.’

  ‘Are they whole?’

  ‘Headless,’ he says. Then he adds, ‘And bleeding.’

  I imagine rows of them hanging up, their necks sputtering gore, their feet creaking.

  ‘They’re completely dead, though,’ I say. ‘They’re not twitching, or anything.’

  ‘They’re still warm,’ he says, leading my hand to his pocket.

  Sometimes, he brings me back a handful of the prettiest feathers, speckled with brown and yellow, like tiger fur. Not gaudy, though. Fine. On the way home from the pools, I stick them behind my ears, through my buttonholes, in my hair. And at night, in bed, I run them over my belly, my tits, letting the lightness linger on each nipple, and I think of Shane’s hands.

  eleven

  Howard

  December, 1985

  I came home from work on Friday night and found Kathryn sitting on Robert’s bed, talking to him and Luke. The two boys were propped up on pillows, leaning against the headboard, and my wife was curled at the end of the bed, one foot dangling over the side.

  ‘Before I was married, I might have done,’ she said, laughing.

  Kathryn was the last to see me standing in the doorway. Robert nudged his mother’s knee with his foot, and she twisted round. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Howard. You’re home.’

  I loosened my tie. ‘Yes. I’m home.’

  The three of them watched me in silence as I pulled the tie from around my neck and let the fabric snake over my wrist before wrapping it into a tight ball. Then I turned and walked downstairs.

  After tea, I asked her, ‘What do you talk to them about?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said, not putting her book down. Then she added, ‘Sometimes we talk about how things were when I was their age.’

  Kathryn at fifteen. I remembered it well. I remembered once walking past her house and seeing her sitting on her front lawn. Her father was trimming their hedge. She had a big blue flower pattern on her dress. I remembered her knees: how rounded and soft-looking they were, and how they fitted perfectly together – the full bone of one snug in the hollow of the other – as she sat with her legs tucked around the swirl of her skirt. I thought she was admiring her father’s skill, but the roar of a motorbike behind made me realise why she was sitting there. Who she was waiting for.

  The next morning, after Kathryn had gone to the library, I left the house and got in the car to drive to the new supermarket. I had to scrape the windscreen and wipe the side window to see out. My hedges were bare, but I’d managed to keep the grass out front looking fairly healthy. The garden would survive a hard frost, I thought.

  I was halfway down the road when I saw Luke cycle past, hat perched on the back of his head, white scarf hanging loose.

  I pulled in and watched him in my rear-view mirror. He cycled up our path and didn’t bother dismounting his bike to ring the doorbell. Robert answered, grinned, ducked back inside, and then came out of the side passage, pushing his bike.


  I balled my fingers inside my jumper, thinking it would be warmer there.

  Luke’s bike wasn’t, I noticed, quite as good as Robert’s. We’d bought Robert’s just a year ago – at the time he’d wanted the same model as Paul, but I’d got him a better one, a Raleigh Dynamite. No Minnie Mouse bell this time, either. It had metallic paint that reflected all colours in the sun. The spokes ticked cleanly as he wheeled it down the path.

  They pedalled slowly together, rising up and dipping back down to their saddles. I heard a hoot of laughter. Robert wore a new black woollen jacket which looked like the ones the men in the turbine hall had, except his didn’t have C.P.S. stamped on the back in chalky white letters.

  I started the engine.

  When they’d turned the corner of the road, I gave them a few minutes, then I followed, keeping well back.

  Coming into the High Street, I saw their bikes propped up against the window of Burgrey Stores. I was careful to pull in a fair distance down the street. I watched the door of the shop. A man with a dog and a paper rushed out; a woman walked in, shaking her open purse and frowning; and a few minutes later, the two boys emerged together. A girl with long blonde hair followed them. I recognised her as the shop’s Saturday girl.

  I hadn’t planned to be doing this, I reminded myself.

  Then something unexpected happened. Before the boys cycled off, the girl held Robert by the elbow for a long moment and looked into his face. Robert smiled at her, and Luke looked the other way.

  I sat for a while, watching the two boys pedal down the road, wondering about what had just happened. The girl stood on the pavement and watched them until they turned the corner. I thought she might shout out after them, but she didn’t, she just stood there, gazing after my son. Then she swung back into the shop, her hair sweeping behind her.

  That afternoon, I visited Burgrey Stores.

  I hadn’t been using the shop as often as I once did. The supermarket now met all our weekly shopping needs, and I liked strolling along the wide bright aisles, considering which brands offered the best value, surprising myself with the occasional impulse buy.