Like One of the Family (4 page)

‘Hi, Blondie,' he said with a smile and disappeared up the driveway before she could say hello back.

Blondie!

Another time she and Sheena were going upstairs as he was coming down. Claire had on a blue gingham skirt and a frilled top, her fair hair bound about her head in plaits. He murmured something in his daughter's ear and passed on with a chuckle. ‘Don't you want to know what he said?'

Of course she did, but only if it was something nice.

Sheena giggled. ‘Daddy calls you the Dresden doll. I think you're more like Heidi.' She linked her arm through Claire's affectionately. ‘Daddy thinks you're awfully pretty.'

Claire hugged it to herself. The Dresden doll. It sounded delicate and exotic. Her heart went up and up.

After that she began imagining dramatic little scenes. Jane had been called away and Eddie had need of her help with a woman who had cut an artery and was rapidly losing blood. She stood beside him following his instructions to the letter and afterwards he admitted that the woman would have been dead only for her. Sometimes Jane had died (Claire felt a bit guilty even thinking such a thing) and he was lonely and seeking comfort. She sat with his head in her lap and tenderly stroked his forehead, ran her fingers through his grey-black curls. Beyond that her imagination did not go.

One evening, Claire saw Eddie and Jane, both were smartly dressed, come out of the house on their way to some function.

‘Don't forget to get out the hose and water the plants,' Jane reminded Hugh. She had on a mustard and brown Thai silk dress, with a linen jacket draped over her shoulders, and very high heels. She was wearing lipstick and she had been to the hairdressers. Claire thought she looked almost pretty.

Eddie backed the Rover out of the garage. Terry had hosed it down and given it a polish, and now the chrome gleamed and the bodywork held a blue satin sheen. He put on the brake and got out. He had on a light grey mohair suit, red silk tie and a handkerchief peeped from his top pocket. Claire thought he looked very grand.

‘And how are you, my dear?' he asked pleasantly. ‘No more bother afterwards I hope.'

Claire shook her head. ‘Thank you,' she said, remembering her manners.

‘No trouble at all... only too happy.' He made her an elegant little bow and smiled his beautiful, rather mournful smile.

‘Eddie, shouldn't we be going?' Jane sat carefully into the car, arranging her skirts so as not to crush them. She had been telling Hugh which plants most needed water. She had recently acquired a camellia in a terracotta pot and wanted to be sure he would spray the leaves.

‘Claire will help you,' she called through the window, adding in a low flattering voice to Claire, ‘Keep an eye on him, there's a love.'

When they were gone Claire and Hugh got out the hose. They attached it to a tap on the side of the house and took turns directing the jet of water across the flowerbeds. At first it was fun. They screamed and laughed, soaking plants and bushes, everything in sight. Then they turned the hose on the house and the water spurted up like they had struck oil, drenching windows and gutters. There was a muffled shout and Terry stuck his head out of the window.

‘Hey, watch it down there, you eejits,' he shouted. He leaned out, comic in hand, vigorously shaking drops from the pages. His irritated gaze took in the dripping figures below. ‘Aren't you getting a bit big for that sort of caper, Claire?' he asked scornfully. ‘Hugh will cop it when Mum comes home.'

Claire flushed, reminded of Jane's parting words. She had betrayed a trust. ‘Sorry!' she whispered, washed now by guilt. But Terry had gone back inside. She looked uneasily at Hugh. His T-shirt was sticking to his ribcage, his hair falling in a wet lick across his forehead. Her own dress clung sharply to the lines of her body, emphasising the swell of her small breasts. She went hot with shame. What must Terry have thought! She turned away.

‘What's the matter?' Hugh asked.

‘Nothing,' she mumbled.

He followed her across the damp grass, still holding the nozzle in his hand. ‘You're going home?' He sounded disappointed.

Claire wandered through the gate. She had made a fool of herself.

Claire hated it when the McArdles went off on holidays in August. They owned a holiday bungalow in County Waterford and went there every year. Jane took the whole month off and Eddie commuted for the second half, driving down from Dublin for the weekend.

Claire wandered about like a lost soul for the first week, just living for some word from them. Sheena had promised to send a postcard. Claire felt like someone on a life-support machine, merely existing until their return.

She haunted their garden in the evenings, slipping like a lonely ghost about the darkening perimeters. The trees were covered with slowly ripening fruit. At night they were a thick mass of sweet-smelling leaves in the gloom. She didn't like to pull an apple from the tree. It seemed ungrateful somehow, though why she couldn't say. Jane had always been more than generous to her. Claire rummaged on the ground for a windfall and bit into it. It was sharp and woody-tasting. She spat it out and reached almost defiantly to the tree. The apple that came away filled her palm and was sweet and moist on her tongue. She dropped it guiltily in the grass and went home.

By the time the McArdles had been away three weeks, Claire was counting the hours to their return. Sheena's card arrived at last, a few lines with the expected message: ‘Having a great time, swimming and playing tennis. Disco dancing at night. If only you could be here!'

Dancing! Claire felt envious. Not so much for the boys Sheena was meeting - if anything she felt distinctly nervous at the prospect of them - but for the altered status it implied. Her friend had stepped into a different world while she played at home in short socks.

The same post brought a card from Hugh. He'd caught a whopper of a fish and only wished she'd seen it. But he'd got sorry for it and chucked it back in the sea. He signed his name and Hero's paw-mark. Claire laughed and felt a whole lot better.

That evening she wandered again in their garden. The tool shed was locked and she peeped in the cobwebby window, hoping to see Hero's bed. The puppies were all long since disposed of and she felt wistful remembering their eager pink tongues, the warm solid feel of them. Hugh had wanted her to have the little black and white one she was so fond of and urged her to ask her mother, but Claire had known it was out of the question.

She could hear a radio playing in the bedroom in the house next door. She recognised the tune ‘What's Another Year?' It had been very popular a few summers before.

The lights in the adjoining houses were being turned on. Claire stood listening under the trees by the side of the garage in the faint pink light, not knowing why she did so, but reluctant to go home. The music stopped next door, and she heard footsteps approaching. She felt sudden panic at being found there and, opening the small door in the side wall of the garage, slipped inside. There was the smell of rotting potatoes. She stumbled on a coil of rope and shot out a hand to save herself from falling. She looked about in the gloom for somewhere to hide.

‘I said one drink...' Eddie McArdle's voice sounded with startling clarity at the other side of the up and over door.

‘
You said!' The woman's voice sounded amused, incredulous. ‘What makes you think it's any easier for me.'

Claire stood very still as their footsteps went on down the path. They must have been in the house all along. But where was his car? After a moment she heard the muffled slam of a car door and the engine starting up. He must have left it on the road. She waited an age, giving them time to get away before she crept out, pulling the door gently after her. She ran full tilt into him coming round the side of the garage.

‘What the hell?' He gripped hold of her, his breath coming short and quick. No less startled, she froze in his grasp as he dragged her forward into the light.

‘It's me... Claire,' she said timidly.

‘Good God!' he exclaimed. ‘So it is. Where in the world did you spring from?'

‘I was in the garage...' She blushed and hung her head. She began to shiver.

Eddie looked at her professionally. ‘Are you feeling all right?' He put the back of his hand against her forehead. ‘You feel a bit feverish.' He reached for her hand to take her pulse.

‘I'm fine,' she said, teeth chattering slightly. ‘Just a bit cold.'

‘Mmm. Your hands are icy. Better come inside. I was just about to make coffee.' He walked off towards the porch. She stood hesitantly until he called, ‘Come along,' at which she followed him inside. The drawing-room door stood open, spilling soft lamplight into the hallway. She noticed two glasses on the low coffee table and a decanter, half filled with some golden liquid. She walked on past, down to the kitchen where he was bringing the kettle to the boil.

‘Perhaps you would prefer cocoa?'

‘No, coffee is grand.' She didn't want to put him to any trouble. Besides cocoa was for children. He took down two mugs from the dresser, scraped a spoonful of instant into each and filled them up with boiling water.

‘Jane never remembers to buy coffee. Fortunately there is just enough.'

Claire thought of the way Jane made coffee, almost entirely on milk, and wrapped her cold fingers about the mug. ‘How are they all?' she asked shyly.

He looked up and smiled. ‘Enjoying themselves.'

‘And Hero?'

‘Off on endless forays, following scents. She's a country dog at heart. Wouldn't be surprised if she decides not to come back at all.'

She stared at him. What would Hugh say?

He laughed at her concerned face. ‘Only funning,' he said. ‘Hero's no fool. She knows when she's well-off.'

She nodded, relieved.

He took her mug away from her. ‘It's cold in here. Let's go into the drawing room. It will be pleasanter there.'

He put his arm around her, ushered her down the hall and into the drawing-room. He set down the mugs on the coffee table.

‘Sit down, Claire.'

She sat in the armchair closest to her. He lowered himself into another and took up the whisky decanter. With a pleased grunt he poured himself a drink. She realised he was a little drunk.

She sipped the coffee, wondering when she should go.

‘How have you been enjoying the summer?' Eddie took a swig from his glass and waited, head on one side. When she was silent he prompted, ‘Go on... tell me what you've been doing? I'd really like to know.'

She said she went to the library every day, took out a lot of books.

‘You've spent all your time reading!' He laughed. ‘In this hot weather?'

She coloured, stung by his air of amusement.

‘I like to read.'

‘Absolutely nothing wrong about that,' he conceded. ‘I only wish the same could be said of the twins. Those two never open a book.'

‘Christopher... my brother... is a bit like that,' she admitted.

‘Younger than you, isn't he?'

‘Yes...two years... but he acts a lot younger.'

He smiled and nodded. ‘Boys mature more slowly than girls. I'm not surprised an astute young lady like yourself has already noticed this.'

She felt inordinately pleased by his approval.

‘Tell me your favourite authors.'

She did. This was the real world, more real to Claire than her own. She became animated. She was aware of his eyes upon her and felt excited and a little carried away by his attention. ‘I mean in
Jane Eyre
she's merely a governess and Rochester is the master of the house, but when he challenges her opinions she has the courage to stick to them and even when he's terribly fierce and rude to her she doesn't allow him to intimidate her. You see although Jane cares for him passionately she preserves her detachment from him,' she concluded earnestly, trying to remember in which textbook she had come across this observation.

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You're really quite smart, aren't you, Claire? And romantic too.'

Yes, she supposed, she was. Certainly she loved reading about people in unequal circumstances falling helplessly, hopelessly in love and cleaving together, despite dreadful opposition.

‘Apart from reading how else do you enjoy yourself?'

She searched about but could find no answer. With Sheena away, reading and visiting the library were her only pastimes.

‘I expect you play tennis?'

‘Now and then.' Why on earth had she said that when it wasn't true except for knocking a tennis ball against the back wall?

He nodded. ‘I like a game myself. We have plans to build a hard court at the back. Not this year. Maybe next. You must use it, of course.' He got up suddenly and leaned over her head to switch off the lamp.

‘That's better, isn't it?' He sat down again. ‘More restful.' He began talking about Sheena, the fun she was having flirting with the boys in the neighbouring cottages on their holiday site.

‘She's becoming very mature, filling out. Her breasts are as developed as a sixteen year old.' Eddie laughed. ‘Driving the young lads mad. Sheena will give them a run for their money.'

Had he said breasts? She felt a sudden shock and went hot all over.

‘Had your first date yet?' he asked her.

She shook her head.

‘It won't be long.' He smiled across at her. ‘You are very mature for your age, Claire. Anyone would take you for older. Did I tell you that before?'

She was silent.

‘And extremely pretty. But that's not the only thing... you have an air of fragility that is very appealing. You don't mind me saying so?'

Her head swam, her mouth felt dry. She had a sense of unreality again. The room was bathed in the reflected glow from the lantern in the driveway. Meeting his intent gaze in the pearly half-light she became shy. A little scared. She sat rooted, unable to move as he leaned over and stroked her bare knee, pushing her skirt right up till his fingers brushed against the vee of her pants. He talked dreamily about Sheena's exploits with the Waterford boys and stroked her as if he wasn't aware of what he was doing. Her head felt thick, confused, her blood was drumming in her ears.