Читать книгу Draca - Geoffrey Gudgion - Страница 34

Charlotte persuaded George to go to the reception afterwards. George had followed her out of the crem , wishing she had a dress like Charlotte ’ s and the body to wear it. Charlotte’s parents were in front of her, shaking hands with the line of Ahlquists . Charlotte ’ s father was a lot shorter than Harry Ahlquist, and he was a stiff little man who tilted his whole torso to look Harry in the eye, leaning back rather than looking up. They shook hands the way boxers touch gloves.

‘ Will you come back to the house? The wife ’ s laid on a bit of a spread … ’ Harry Ahlquist pushed out an invitation the way George would fend off a boat.

‘ Awfully decent of you . ’ Charlotte ’ s father spoke in clipped, plummy tones, recoiling from the invitation so much that George thought he might overbalance backwards. ‘ But it ’ s a long drive home … ’

‘ Sure. ’ Harry looked relieved. His shoulders opened, bonhomie restored.

‘ You ’ ll come though, won ’ t you, George? ’ Charlotte turned, making big, pleading eyes. She must have been dreading being stuck with Jack ’ s lot on her own.

‘ I need to get the bus back to Furzey … ’ George was like, ‘ Feck , no way ’ .

‘ We ’ ll run you back, won ’ t we, darling? ’ Charlotte turned to Jack, who was last in the line of Ahlquists . He started and said ‘ sure ’ warmly enough, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Charlotte settled it by slipping her arm inside George ’ s and leading them towards her car. George was too flattered to argue.

Harry Ahlquist ’ s house was modern and a bit flash, the kind of place a man might build for himself if he ’ d made a shedload of money and wanted to show it by having the biggest house in the neighbourhood. There was a bar-and- games room where Jack ’ s mum had laid out sandwiches and nibbles. She was a dumpy, homey sort in a black dress who fussed around everyone, but wouldn ’ t stand still long enough to talk. Charlotte disappeared, leaving George clutching a sausage roll, looking at a lawn that was filling with people she didn ’ t know. Beyond the lawn was a hedge with a gap and more steps down, and there must have been a swimming pool on the far side because shifting sunlight was shining upwards through the hedge.

George didn ’ t fit with that kind of money. She ’ d find a taxi. The boatyard could pay. Eddie had been a customer, after all. She turned to go.

Charlotte had the kind of smile that made George think they shared some private joke, and she was holding two glasses of wine with a God -I-need- this look on her face. She ’ d taken off her jacket and hat, and had thick, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail in a way that emphasised her face. As she pushed a glass at George, she looked like a model who ’ d just walked off a photo shoot.

‘ Sorry. Queue for the loo. Cheers. ’ She winced at the taste but swallowed. ‘ Today ’ s a day I ’ m really glad Jack ’ s driving. ’

‘ Where is he? ’

‘ Probably being told what a naughty boy he is. ’ She swigged again and stared into her glass. ‘ This gets better. The first mouthful kills the taste buds. ’ She linked arms again as if they were old friends, and steered George onto the lawn. No one else tried to talk to them. All around, people were hugging each other and kissing children. My, look at you, how you ’ ve grown. Already it was more like a wedding than a funeral, but Charlotte and George stood alone, surrounded by enough grass to talk quietly without being heard.

‘ Looks like you don ’ t get on. ’

‘ Oh, they don ’ t approve of me at all. ’ Charlotte panned a smile around the gathering, almost like she enjoyed their hostility.

‘ How come? ’

At the end of the lawn a group of people gathered around Harry Ahlquist all looked at Charlotte over their shoulders at the same time, and turned away.

‘ Sergeant Major Ahlquist, ’ she lifted her glass towards him, ‘ didn ’ t like Jack becoming an officer, and he especially didn ’ t like him marrying me. ’

‘ Why ever not? ’ She was friendly, she was lovely and , although her parents were a bit stuck up, George hadn ’ t seen any pretensions. Charlotte lifted her glass towards Jack ’ s mother, who was darting from group to group like a rather plump blackbird with a tea tray.

‘ That ’ s the sort of woman they wanted for their boy. I bet she gets up early to dust the ceiling and iron the cat. ’

‘ Meow. ’

‘ Sorry, that was a bit bitchy. ’

‘ I like her. ’ The only time George could remember her own mum baking savouries for her friends, they ’ d had cannabis in them. That was one weird party.

‘ And Harry Ahlquist treats her like a dishcloth. ’

‘ He seemed relieved that your parents didn ’ t come. ’

‘ Mummy and Daddy have never forgiven him for boycotting our wedding. ’ She turned her head as Jack appeared beside her and said ‘ hey ’ like they were workmates; friends but not friends enough to touch.

‘ I ’ m just telling George some family history. ’

Jack said ‘ Uh -huh? ’ in a tone that told George he wasn ’ t too sure about that, but Charlotte carried on anyway. ‘ We wanted close family to wear morning dress , you see. Harry threw a wobbly and told Jack ’ s people not to come. ’

‘ But why? ’

‘ Inverted snobbery. ’ Jack answered for her. He had a strange way of standing, with his weight on his right leg and his left leg flexed, on its toes. ‘ He said there was no way he was going to pretend to be a toff, so we could go to hell. ’

I could see the pain behind his eyes. It must still hurt.

‘ So you had no one there from your side? ’

‘ School friends. Marines friends. A guard of honour with an arch of swords outside. ’ He bent to touch his sister ’ s children, who were playing catch around his legs, unaware of the social tides around them. A preschool boy chased a girl at the giggly- screamy stage of infancy. The seal pup with tits glared across the lawn like she could call them back with a look.

‘ That ’ s Tilly, ’ Charlotte whispered, smiling sweet acid at Jack ’ s sister. ‘ Daddy ’ s little girl. ’

‘ But no family? ’ George prompted Jack.

‘ Grandpa came. He defied the ban. That ’ s why Charlotte ’ s people came today. ’

Jack watched the party with a l et ’ s -get-this-over- with look on his face. The children ran off around the corner of the house, the boy leading his younger sister, both laughing.

Charlotte smiled again, a bit more grimly this time. ‘ So we ’ ve gone our own way ever since. Now I ’ m the bad girl for taking … ’

She stopped as a child screamed. It wasn ’ t the grazed-knee scream of a tumble, but a high-pitched note of terror, and beyond the scream was a low thunder like a block being pulled along a wooden deck. The noise ended with an impact but the screaming continued for as long as it took the girl to run back across the lawn and bury her face in Tilly ’ s skirts. The boy followed, also running, trying not to look frightened.

‘ There ’ s a monster and it growled at her. ’ The boy was wide-eyed as Tilly knelt and hugged the girl, who snivelled into her chest. Jack disappeared around the corner of the house and came back cradling a black, wooden carving shaped like an arching horse ’ s neck, about four feet long. It took George a moment to recognise Draca ’ s figurehead. Jack stopped at the edge of the lawn, keeping his distance as the girl ’ s screams became frantic.

‘ Is this the monster? ’ Jack spoke gently, making light of the moment.

‘ It growled at her. ’ The boy was insistent.

‘ Like this, perhaps? ’ Jack dragged the carving against the boundary fence, wood on wood, so it made a low rumble. The girl still cried. ‘ Let ’ s cover it up, shall we? ’

Harry arrived to see what all the fuss was about, and Jack rounded on him, angry but whispering.

‘ That was supposed to be in the coffin with Grandpa. ’

‘ Nasty thing. Shouldn ’ t be part of a Christian burial. ’

‘ Since when did you get religion? ’

‘ You can take it back where it came from. ’

‘ That would have meant a lot to him. ’

‘ Well it ’ s too late now. I ’ ll find something to wrap it in. ’

Harry strode off, shoulders stiff like he was biting back another comment. As Jack turned, holding the carving, it seemed the figurehead watched Harry go, not Jack. There was a darkness about it that wasn ’ t just its colour, it was more like a shape that sucked in the light. If it hadn ’ t already been in shadow when Jack propped it up against the fence, George would have checked to see if it threw one. It looked frigging evil and , if she had been a kid, it would have scared the shit out of her. She stared at it after the crowd drifted back to the lawn, and it stared back like it was aware. George swallowed, forcing back a weird sense that it knew her. More than that, she could believe it knew she was afraid. In all this crowd, was there only her and the little girl who could see that? It was unsettling in the way that thunder from an empty sky is unsettling. It makes you look around and shiver and wonder what the feck is going on. In the end , George turned away, the first one to blink, and gulped wine.

Behind her the funeral was turning into a party. There was no grieving, no tears, no retelling of happy memories. The children were the first into the pool. Tilly jumped in after them, wearing a bikini that bulged like her kids ’ flotation rings. One or two of the other parents changed into cozzies and joined them, and within a few minutes the focus had shifted to the poolside. Harry disappeared into a wooden changing hut, shouting at his wife to bring towels and spare costumes.

George wasn ’ t tempted. She hadn ’ t had a reaction like that about an object, a thing, since she was a teenager and saw an ancient stone head in the British Museum. Aztec, or something. It was only carved stone, like the figurehead was only carved wood, but she knew something unspeakable had happened around it. She ’ d even thought that the horror was still inside it.

So she hung back, wishing she could go back to the yard. Soon only Jack, Charlotte and George were left on the lawn, looking over the hedge at the crowd around the pool, until Harry emerged from the changing hut. He strutted round the side of the pool, running his thumbs backwards and forwards inside the waistband of his swimming shorts and laughing with the people already in the water. He had a good body for a guy who must be late fifties, barrel chested and muscled like a man who worked out a lot, and he knew it. George could tell that by the way he called out to people. The words might have been ‘ having fun? ’ but the message was ‘ look at me ’ . And he didn ’ t just jump into the water : he bombed, showering anyone still on the poolside. When he surfaced and stood, laughing, shaking the hair out of his eyes, the water had turned the hairs on his back from blond to a dark, streaky pelt. For a moment George closed her eyes, and the image of him silhouetted against the water stayed printed on her mind in shades of brown. She rarely liked people with browns. Too frigging opinionated.

‘ Come on, Jack, come and join us. ’ Harry had spotted the three of them still up on the lawn. He crouched in the water, his arms lying on the surface, shoulders glistening. There was an edge to the words that made them a command, not an invitation.

Jack shook his head, pulling back. Charlotte ’ s hand came up and touched his shoulder in the first act of intimacy George had seen between them.

‘ Some other day, perhaps. ’

His mother hurried down the steps to the pool deck, clasping an armload of towels. ‘ You ’ ve still got your old swimming shorts upstairs, love. ’

‘ No thanks, Mum. ’

Harry ’ s hand smacked the surface, making a small splash of irritation. ‘ Get in here, both of you. Let ’ s be a family, for once. ’ His smile hardened. Harry Ahlquist didn ’ t like to be refused.

‘ I ’ d rather not. ’

Tilly turned, standing belly-deep with a child in the crook of her arm, squashing it against a struggling bikini. Her eyes were on Charlotte , even though she spoke to her father.

‘ Leave them, Dad, if they think they ’ re too good for us. ’

Charlotte tugged at Jack ’ s sleeve while Jack and Harry glared at each other.

‘ Time to go, darling. We need to run George home. ’

Harry ’ s jaw tightened so that small cords of muscle appeared in his cheeks. ‘ Bit stuck up for us, are you? ’

‘ Bye, Dad. ’ Jack turned away.

‘ Too snooty, eh? So what ’ s different about you? ’

‘ Yeah, Jack, what ’ s different? ’ The sunlight turned the glare around Tilly into an acid green.

Jack froze, and took one deep breath with his nostrils flaring before spinning round and lurching down the steps to the poolside. Charlotte rushed after him, reaching out a hand to restrain him . ‘ No, Jack! ’ But the shirt she tried to grab was already being pulled over his head.

‘ What ’ s different, eh? ’ The shirt landed in the hedge. The tension across Jack ’ s shoulders twisted into wires up his neck, tight as a boat ’ s backstay. He bent over, and a shoe spun through the air to clatter against a table.

‘ Don ’ t, Jack. ’ Charlotte put her arm across his back , but he shrugged her off and almost fell over as he slipped off the other shoe. ‘ Jack, not like this! ’

She was shouting, but Jack ignored her.

‘ What ’ s different, you ask? ’ He pushed his trousers down below his knees and George tensed, wondering what the feck was happening. She gasped when he kicked out of them to stand in his boxer shorts, hands gripped into fists at his side. ‘ That ’ s what ’ s different. Now back off . ’

On the far side of the pool, Jack ’ s mother screamed and raised both hands to her mouth, dropping her armload. A blue- striped beach towel slipped off the tumbled mass and unrolled itself into the water. The party noise faded. Even the children shut up, and looked at the adults, but the adults were all looking at Jack.

His right leg was normal. Muscular. Hairy. Toned. So was his left, down to the knee. The knee itself and the top of the calf was a mess of white scar tissue, like melted candle wax, and the calf ended in a stump and the thin, shiny, metal shaft of an artificial limb. The foot still wore its sock and looked the proper shape, but was too big for the spindly stick above it. Jack ’ s mother sank onto a plastic seat, hands still at her mouth, weeping noisily with her eyes locked on the leg. Harry just stared, his mouth slack.

‘ Badly done, Jack. ’ Charlotte retrieved a shoe from under a table, and pulled Jack ’ s shirt out of the hedge. She pushed it into his chest and grabbed his arm to turn him towards the steps. ‘ Badly done. ’