Out of Step (18 page)

What is it about us humans, Nell thought, that we have to put our stamp on everything? We’re like children who can’t bear to pass a clean blotter in a bank without doodling on it. I suppose it’s the remnants of territoriality? Before we arrived just now, there was this smooth white page of a field, all silent and aloof and
complete
, and now here we are, a job lot of noise and colour and frivolity, messing up its perfection, making our mark and loving every min –

‘Lean over!’ Rob shouted. ‘We’re going crooked … Yee … OWWW!’ The sledge veered off as it got to the bottom of the slope and ran along parallel to the edge of the wood for twenty yards, before it hit a bump, stopped abruptly, and they both fell off. ‘OW!’ Mock agony. ‘My ribs!’

‘That was brilliant!’ Nell laughed, lying on her back in the snow. ‘More!’

‘Race you to the top,’ Rob challenged, getting to his feet and gathering up a snowball. It hit Nell on the shoulder before she could even begin to retaliate, and when she did, Rob ducked easily and set off uphill with determination. Nell had to run to catch up, and only just prevented
herself from grabbing at his hand for a tow. They trudged together towards the top, pausing every so often to catch their breath and look at the view. There was no sign of the sun now. To the north of them the sky was a dark greyish yellow.

‘Looks like more snow,’ Rob said, changing hands on the sledge rope. He put the other arm round Nell’s shoulders, pretending to lean on her for support. She stood next to him breathing hard and not wanting to catch his eye, in case he realised what he was doing, and stopped. ‘Hope so,’ she said. ‘I’d like to be well and truly snowed in.’

‘On up?’ He took his arm away.

‘Yes.’

After that first time, their ascents of the hill became slower and slower, and each time they stopped longer for breathers.

‘I just love it here,’ Nell said. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

‘Me too.’

‘Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’

‘It’s OK. I’m here now.’

‘I don’t know about you,’ Nell said, ‘but I’m starving. Do you fancy some tea?’

‘Rob looked at his watch. ‘It’s three thirty! I’d no idea. It’ll be getting dark any minute!’

‘Not knowing the time makes me feel marvellously irresponsible,’ Nell said happily.

‘Do you know R. K. Narayan’s description of childhood? That reminds me of it.’

‘No. Tell me.’

‘He said it was “Letting the day pass without counting the hours”.’

‘I like that,’ Nell said. ‘Great to be able to live that way.’

‘Maybe it’ll be possible at sixty-five,’ Rob said. ‘You know it’s always struck me as odd, that old tradition of
ours for presenting people with gold watches when they retire. Wouldn’t you suppose that must be the one and only time in their lives when it’s precisely what they
don’t
need?’

Nell laughed. It’s no use, she thought. I like the way his mind works. I like the things he says. I like
him
.

‘I suppose I’d best be off,’ Rob said. ‘I only hope the snow lasts until next weekend, or Josh will kill me.’

‘You’ve been able to see them both while Cassie’s away, then?’

‘Only with difficulty. The “friend” and I don’t exactly hit it off, so it’s been a bit of a battle. I meant to get here earlier and take them both out sledging today – another black mark, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not your fault. It was good fun, wasn’t it?’

It began to snow as they walked towards the lower gate, and back along the river path to Bottom Cottage.

‘No tea?’ Nell asked.

‘No, really. I ought to be going.’

‘I hope you’ll get back up the lane OK.’

‘Four-wheel drive. No sweat.’

‘Bye, then.’

He took her mittened hand and squeezed it between both of his own. ‘Thanks, Nell. I haven’t had such a good shout for ages.’

He set off in low gear, waving from the open window. Nell waved back, and then rushed indoors to keep warm. The snow was falling more thickly by now. She drank tea and watched the wintry scene from her window, and then suddenly remembered her Sunday paper. I’d better collect it today, before it gets dark, she thought, just in case they’ve forgotten to close the door of the box again; I don’t fancy another pile of soggy newsprint.

As she left the cottage, she heard the unmistakable but distant sound of a vehicle revving hard and going
nowhere. Someone’s stuck, she thought. Surely not Rob?’

But halfway up the lane she came upon his Land Rover. It looked as though it had ploughed into a snowdrift, and then slipped backwards and sideways into the ditch, where it now lay with one of its wheels in the air. The trampled and scraped snow all around it bore witness to Rob’s unsuccessful efforts to extricate it. It appeared derelict and decidedly embarrassed. Nell patted its bonnet consolingly, looking round for its owner, but there was no sign of him.

When she got to the top, she found him standing by the road, stamping his feet. He smiled sheepishly when he saw her.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I was just debating whether to try to hitch a lift, or walk along to Home Farm and ask Tom if I could kip for the night on their floor.’ His hat, shoulders and eyebrows had collected enough snow for an avalanche, Nell noticed, trying not to laugh.

‘I came up for my paper,’ she said, explaining herself. ‘How did it happen?’ She wiped her eyes with the backs of her mittens.

‘God knows! I’ve been up and down here in all weathers and never ended up helpless in the ditch before. I think the truth is, we’ve not had this much snow in the past decade. I’m just not accustomed to it.’

‘Well, there’s no point hanging around here,’ Nell said. ‘There may not be any more passing traffic tonight. And anyway, it’s freezing.’

Rob nodded. ‘I don’t particularly want to bother Tom either; not now his wife’s in hospital…’

‘Oh dear,’ Nell said, po-faced. ‘You’re in trouble then.’ She went across to her box and extracted the bulky newspaper, stuffing it under her coat. ‘I’m afraid I can see only one possible solution to your particular problem.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘You’ve no other choice.’ Nell smiled wickedly. ‘You’ll just have to swallow your pride, or whatever, and come back down and stay with me.’

‘Tell me about your wife,’ Elly said. She was lying in Malachy’s four-poster bed with her face against his chest, and playing idly with his fuzz of hair, twisting it into little spirals with her fingers. He shifted the arm under her head, slightly, an unconsciously dismissive action.

‘What about her?’

‘Everything. How long were you married?’

‘Ten years, thereabouts.’

‘And were you happy?’

Malachy kept his eyes closed.
‘All happy families resemble one another, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,’
he quoted. ‘Have you read
Anna Karenina?’

‘Don’t change the subject!’ She tried to tickle him, but he lay there, controlled, unmoving. ‘Don’t you want to tell me about her?’

‘It’s old history,’ Malachy said. ‘We were very young. We met and fell in love, and then she died. A tragedy for me, of course, but a common enough occurrence in this life, I suppose.’ He raised his head to look at her. ‘What about that massage you promised me, or have I already worn you out?’ The blue eyes challenged her.

‘Turn over then,’ she said, pushing back the duvet and waiting as he rolled on to his front, resting his head on his crossed arms. Then she sat astride him, and squeezed his hips between her thighs. He had nice slim hips for a middle-aged man.

‘How old are you?’ she asked him, pressing the muscles of his shoulders in firm circular movements.

‘Fifty-five. Why?’ His voice was muffled.

‘No particular reason. So there’s twenty-three years between us. It seems nothing at this age, does it? But in twenty-three years from now, my Will and Sam will be thirty-one and twenty-nine, and that seems unimaginable.’

‘Mmm. Don’t stop. That feels marvellous.’

She worked her way down his back, pummelling him. His skin was still a little tanned from the summer before – or maybe from a sunlamp? His generation had no sense! She felt superior and loving all at once, and leaning forward, kissed each shoulder blade in turn.

‘Is it strange to have a grown-up son?’

‘Not really. It just happens.’

Elly was progressing downwards, shuffling herself backwards along his legs as she went. ‘Rob’s not a bit like you to look at. Is he at all like you in character?’

‘No. He takes after his mother.’

‘Do I sense some disappointment there?’

Malachy just grunted.

‘You’re not very forthcoming today,’ Elly complained. She leant forwards and blew two raspberries on the soft cheeks of his bottom. They made satisfactorily rude noises. Malachy smiled, turning his head sideways and squinting at her.

Then he closed his eyes again. ‘Keep going. That’s heaven.’

Elly stroked his back up and down lightly with smooth delicate hands, and then massaged it hard again, making him groan with pleasure. She thought, This may look one-sided, with me doing all the giving, but in fact it isn’t. Being a good receiver is just as necessary, and Malachy receives like no one else I’ve ever known … She leant forward again and caressed his back up and down with her pendent breasts, hardening her nipples with the gentle friction. Then she collapsed onto him with her full weight and took the lobe of his right ear in her mouth, nibbling it.

‘Is this an erogenous zone?’

‘No,’ Malachy said, rolling over suddenly and entering her in two fluid movements. ‘But this is!’

‘The over-fifties can’t do this, you know.’ She lay on her back with her knees wide apart, laughing at him. ‘They need at least two hours for todger-turnaround time.’

‘I’m not one of your limp statistics.’ He held himself large, but quite still inside her, teasing. Elly began to wriggle, urging him to move, feeling the swelling crescendo of orgasm beginning again, but needing him to drive it for her. ‘So, what am I?’ he asked, a now familiar game.

‘You’re amazing.’

Little thrust. ‘And?’

‘Extraordinary.’

‘And?’ He began a delicate rhythmic movement. She lifted her pelvis to meet him, holding on to his buttocks, to engulf as much of him as deeply as possible.

‘Wonder… ful…
please… now!’

And only then did he begin to give her what she wanted. She opened her eyes briefly just before the climax and saw that his were wide, and suffused with triumph. He has me just where he wants me, she thought. Then, in amazement:
And I love it!

Nell cooked Rob an impromptu supper of spaghetti carbonara, using the ham she’d intended for her own meal, and a small tin of mushrooms she had in hand for emergencies. He sat on the other side of the kitchen table from her, looking, she thought, surprisingly shy. She handed him a bottle of cider and, just as he was pouring it, the power failed and all the lights went out.

‘Damn!’

‘Sit tight,’ Nell said. ‘I think I can find my torch in the dark.’ She felt her way to the wall, and round to her dresser where it was kept. ‘I’ve got candles too,’ she said,
ferreting through a drawer by torchlight. ‘… Yes, here’s some.’

‘And matches?’

‘Over on the mantelpiece.’

Rob reached for them and, taking the candles from her, lit them one by one and dripped their wax on to a couple of plates to stick them upright. Nell sat down again and began winding spaghetti onto her fork.

‘You look as though you belong here,’ Rob said.

‘I do.’ She smiled across at him in the flickering half-light.

‘Yes, but I meant … Oh I don’t know … as though you’d always been here.’

‘That’s exactly how it seems to me.’

‘I used to feel that way too.’

Is he hinting? Nell wondered. Does he want me to invite him to stay again? Maybe … But I’m not going to risk being turned down a second time. If he’s changed his mind and really does want to lodge in my spare room, then he’ll have to make the effort and ask me himself.

‘Is this all right?’ she asked, of the food.

‘Delicious. More cider?

‘Thanks.’

‘There are often power cuts here,’ Rob said. ‘But they don’t usually last long.’

‘Well, at least we’ll still keep warm,’ Nell said. ‘Thank goodness the heating isn’t electric.’

‘How is the woodburner?’

‘Difficult,’ Nell said. ‘It still smokes horribly first thing.’

‘Most probably needs its chimney cleaning out. Wood produces a lot of tar as well as soot, you know. You need someone experienced to sort it out for you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Maybe I could help?’

‘Maybe you could,’ carefully noncommittal. He’s so different on his own from when he’s in a crowd of people, Nell thought, remembering the party on the houseboat.
Perhaps Malachy/Bert puts him off his stroke; represses him in some way.

‘Tell me about your father,’ she invited him.

‘Why?’ He looked guarded at once.

‘No reason. I’m just interested.’

‘Everybody is always more interested in him,’ he said lightly, but with feeling.

‘No, I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t care about “The Actor” image. I wondered what he was like as a father. Did you inherit your ease with children from him?’

‘Not really,’ Rob said. ‘He’s only “easy” in public.’

‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’

‘We’ve never got on very well, no.’

‘That’s a shame. What about your mother?’

‘She committed suicide when I was nine.’

Nell held his gaze across the table. His face was only half illuminated; black on one side, and unreadable. She dropped her eyes first. ‘But that’s dreadful. How did you manage?’

‘We had an exciting life, travelling about in the States and Europe, wherever Bert happened to be working.’

‘But who looked after you?’

‘Oh, Bert wasn’t alone for long. He attracted a succession of failed actresses, all dying to play the maternal rôle.’

‘Did you realise what was going on, then?’

‘I had a pretty fair idea. Then years later I learnt to distinguish his favourite mistresses from the overnight stands.’