Flesh and Blood (2 page)

2 Bathside

“See you, then.”

His father was in the driver’s seat of the Volvo, shirt sleeves rolled up against the July heat. He glanced up. “Hmm?” he grunted. “Oh, sure. See you, Matt.”

“We’re off to Bathside – remember? Mum and me. Going to the seaside to visit Gramps.”

His father was still peering into the open briefcase on his lap. “Sure,” he said darkly. “I remember, all right.”

At last, he snapped his briefcase shut and swung it onto the passenger seat, then looked up at Matt. “You take care, all right?” he said. Then he smiled cruelly, and added, “And don’t forget to give them all my love.”

“You’ll call in, won’t you? If you’re passing.” For some reason, Matt wanted to prolong this moment.

His father shrugged. “Who knows?”

Then he put the car into gear and swung out into the road, steering one-handed as he yanked his seat-belt across his chest. Matt stared after the car until all that lingered was the bad eggs smell from its catalytic converter.

~

It took them an hour and a half to get to Bathside by train, and Matt and his mother barely spoke for the entire journey. Then, just before they reached the station, he noticed his mother watching him.

“He’s not well, you know,” she said uncertainly. “Gramps is an old man. That’s why he’s staying with Carol – he couldn’t cope on his own. It was Gran that kept him going.”

Matt nodded.

“I just want you to be prepared,” she went on. “When someone as old as Gramps loses their independence, they sometimes... well, they sometimes lose touch.”

There was a taxi office just across the street from Bathside station. Matt waited outside with the bags while his mother went in and arranged a ride. Soon she emerged with an overweight man in his fifties, who took the bags without a word and went round to put them in the boot of an old Toyota.

Matt sat in the back as the cab swung out into a street lined with shops.

After a few minutes, the taxi stopped in front of a row of terraced houses. This didn’t look like the street where Aunt Carol lived...

Outside, Matt looked at his mother, waiting for her to explain. She pointed towards one of the houses and said, “That’s us.”

Matt followed her gesture. A wrought iron name-plate told him that the house was called
The Gullery
, and a board in the window said:

family bed & breakfast

no pets / smoking

no vacancies

“It’s all right,” said his mother, smiling awkwardly. “Mrs Eldridge is expecting us – we’ve booked.” She reached for the bags, but Matt stopped her.

“Why?” he said. “I thought we were staying with Aunt Carol.”

She shook her head. “Carol’s got her hands full with Gramps and her three,” she said. “And anyway, I think we should start as we mean to go on.”

~

Mrs Eldridge was about the same age as Matt’s mother. Fortyish, plump, with permed black hair, and tiny eyes set in a round, full moon face.

“Ah, Mrs Guilder!” she said, backing into a dark hallway. “Come in, come in. Your rooms are ready for you. This your son, Matthew? My, my. Here, let me take those.” With that, she took the bags and headed up the steep stairs.

Matt sidestepped a toddler’s plastic tricycle and followed the two women upstairs. What did his mother mean by that, he wondered?
Start as we mean to go on
.

“It’s a full house this week,” said Mrs Eldridge. “A full house: we’ve got a young couple from Bedford and Mr Cranston on the first floor. He’s a regular, Mr Cranston – last week of July every year. He’s a dear, Mr Cranston. Always pays in advance. Bathroom’s here – “ she indicated a door marked bathroom “ – and your toilet’s upstairs.”

The top floor held two bedrooms and a toilet barely big enough to open the door into.

“Thank you, Mrs Eldridge, I’m sure it’ll be very comfortable,” said his mother.

Their landlady left them standing in one of the bedrooms.

His mother turned around, sweeping the sandy blonde hair out of her eyes. “What do you reckon?” she asked. “Which room do you want?”

Matt crossed the landing. Both rooms had twin beds with beige candlewick counterpanes, and a chair and dressing table made from dark, polished wood. The wallpaper was flowery and browned with age, the net curtains a grubby off-white.

“Hard to choose,” said Matt, over his shoulder. His mother was still in the other room, so Matt dumped his bag on the chair and went across to the window. Through the net curtains he could see across the street to an identical terraced row. Maybe a third of the houses in this street were bed and breakfasts, he estimated.

They probably all had the same wallpaper, too.

~

Carol met them at the door with a hug that took in both Matt and his mother. “Darlings, darlings,” she said. “Come in.”

They lived in an old guest-house near the sea front at Bathside. Carol showed them into the front room, sweeping through to turn off the TV. Tina and Kirsty were sitting together on a long black, velveteen sofa. Until their mother had interrupted they had been playing a computer game, but they didn’t complain, they just put their handsets down on a coffee table and rose to greet the visitors.

“Tina, Kirsty, they’re here,” said Carol, somewhat unnecessarily.

The two girls peered through their glasses at Matt and allowed themselves to be kissed by their aunt.

“How was your journey down?” asked Carol. “Would you like a drink? We have tea in the afternoons – I find it so refreshing in this heat, don’t you? Earl Grey or Darjeeling? Tina, go and click the kettle, be a dear. I’ve filled it, I’ll be through to pour in a minute.”

Tina turned and headed for the door, shadowed by her younger sister.

Matt sat in an armchair, his aunt’s voice fast becoming a mere background noise.

A little later, Carol seemed to notice him sitting there. “Girls,” she said, “why don’t you take cousin Matthew to see the beach, while Aunty Jill and I catch up?”

Matt glanced at Tina and Kirsty just in time to see a look pass between them: a strangely mature look, as if they were recognising that they shared a burden.

~

He walked with Tina and Kirsty to the end of the road, and waited for a gap in the traffic so they could cross to the Promenade.

They passed the memorial, a white six-sided block taller than Matt, standing on a grassy island where the road forked at the top of the Prom. Each face of the block was inscribed with a long list of names, detailing the town’s men lost in both world wars.

Matt paused and looked for the end of the list: there were two Waredens named. Clearly, Gramps’ refusal to join up had not been a family thing. He wondered what he would have done in such a situation. Had it taken more courage to go to war, or to be a conscientious objector, he wondered? You never know your own courage until it is tested, he supposed. Many people must pass an entire lifetime without ever facing such a test.

His cousins were waiting for him across the road.

The Prom was below them, at the foot of a steep grassy slope. People lay on the grass, while others walked with dogs, or chased around on bikes. The tide was high, the water a muddy grey, lapping meekly at the concrete flood walls. A series of stone groynes reached out into the bay, and groups of children had gone out along these to dive from the ends.

His cousins were watching him as he looked down towards the bay. It was quite startling how alike they were, despite the years between them.

“Finished school for the summer?” he asked awkwardly.

Kirsty looked away, leaving her older sister to reply. “Yesterday was our last day,” Tina said solemnly.

They headed down one of the zigzag paths that led to the Promenade. Matt could smell the salt on the air now. “I’ve always liked the sea,” he said. “Do you like living here?”

Kirsty nodded, stopping at a sharp look from her sister. Tina said, “The sea is a wild place. Nothing can tame the sea. Nothing can beat it back. We like it.” She paused, then asked Matt, “Do you like living in Norwich?”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“Are you going back soon?”

He looked up, surprised by her sudden pointed tone. “I... yes, I expect so,” he said. “We’ve just come to see Gramps. And you, of course.”

There was a perceptible lifting of tension, as Tina allowed herself to smile.

She took Matt’s arm – her fingers cold and sharp, like the claws of a bird – and led him across the Prom to the flood barrier. “It’s so nice to have visitors,” she said, her voice far less strained than before. “Do you think you might be going back to Norwich
tomorrow?
”

~

“Oh yes, we were in Yugoslavia. 1938, I think. Stayed in Split first of all – I had to show your mother what was left of Diocletian’s Palace. Then we went down the Adriatic to Dubrovnik to stay with a chap I met at Barts. Georgios Constantine was his name. Fine doctor. Killed at Tobruk in ’42. Can’t remember which side he was on, the fool.”

Gramps was sitting in an armchair, a glass of sherry in one hand, the other clutching at his stick. His face was flushed, his eyes distant as he relived one of his Mediterranean jaunts. As a young man he had travelled widely. Matt’s mother sat on the sofa, leaning forward. She’d probably heard this tale a dozen times, but she was smiling, encouraging her father to go on.

Matt caught her eye as he entered the room and he couldn’t help smiling too. Gramps seemed fine.

Just then, his grandfather looked up. “Well, if it isn’t that young Matthew Guilder – although not so young, any more. Fourteen, are you?”

“Fifteen.” Just.

Gramps nodded. “Good to see you, my boy. You look the spitting image of your father, not that that’s your fault, of course.” He chuckled at his own joke, then continued, “I was just telling your mother...”

And then his expression faltered, as he struggled to recall.

“Yugoslavia,” said Matt’s mother gently. “1938. Your honeymoon.”

“I know, I know!” he snapped. “I know what I was talking about, don’t I, girl? You always did butt in.”

He had puffed himself up with his sudden outburst and now he let himself slowly subside, slumping back into his seat. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Matt wasn’t sure if he was sulking at the interruption or had lost track again. He was still sitting like that, slumped in his chair with his mouth open, when Carol and Kirsty appeared in the doorway.

“We eat at six sharp during the week,” said Carol. “Would you like to come through, now?”

Kirsty took Gramps’ hand and helped him to stand. It was the first time Matt had seen her do anything independently of Tina.

He followed them through to the dining room.

A long, rectangular, pine table had been laid out for dinner, with cutlery, cane place mats, up-turned wine glasses and neatly folded paper serviettes at each place. Matt couldn’t help recalling the funeral once again: Carol rushing about with the food, Tina and Kirsty handing out paper plates and serviettes.

Carol guided him through to sit at the far side of the table next to Gramps. Beyond his grandfather, Kirsty perched on a stool she had brought in from the kitchen. It was cramped at the table, with barely room for the eight place settings.

There was a serving hatch in the far wall, and Matt could see through into the kitchen. Tina was filling serving dishes with something from the cooker, while her mother fussed at something in the sink. Occasionally, they exchanged a few muttered words and Aunt Carol would step to the kitchen door and peer out along the hallway.

Matt glanced at his mother. She was staring down at her place mat, a blank, polite look on her face.

Kirsty was leaning against her grandfather’s arm, humming a tune Matt half-recognised but couldn’t quite place. Gramps stared through the serving hatch with an unseeing look, his mouth still opened a little way as if he was about to speak.

After a few minutes, Carol came into the room. “Apologies,” she said, past a brittle, forced smile. “I misjudged the timing.”

She put a long silver dish of new potatoes on a mat in the centre of the table, then stepped aside as Tina brought in a dish of peas, French beans and baby carrots.

Aunt Carol glanced over her shoulder again, then said, “I’m afraid Vincent and Uncle Mike haven’t returned from work yet. Apologies, again. I
told
them six o’clock.”

She went into the kitchen and moments later returned with three plates, each with a piece of baked fish arranged in the centre. Tina brought the remaining three plates, two with fish, and one with some sort of nut roast for Gramps.

“Do start, please,” said Carol, spooning some potatoes onto her father’s plate.

~

Matt had nearly finished when Uncle Mike appeared. He shuffled into the doorway and stopped abruptly at the sight of the meal in progress. He squinted at the brass clock on the sideboard, then raised a hand to his face in an apologetic gesture.

“Carol, love,” he said. “Sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I was held up. Stuck at the office with the VAT man.”

Carol glowered at her husband, over a half-raised fork. Slowly, she lowered the fork. Then she smiled. “Michael,” she said. “Aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ to Jill and Matthew?” All the time she spoke, her smile never faltered.

Mike looked at Carol and Matt. He still hadn’t moved from the doorway. He nodded. “Evening,” he said. “How was the journey down?”

“Fine,” said Matt’s mother awkwardly.

Tina came in with her father’s fish. Matt hadn’t noticed her slipping through to the kitchen to get it.

Uncle Mike came to sit by Matt. He smelt of beer and cigarettes. He must have had his meeting with the VAT man in the pub.

Mike picked at the fish, all the time under the relentless gaze of his wife. “Where’s Vince?” he asked, after a time.

Carol looked at the clock, then shook her head. “That boy,” she said. “I told him six o’clock.”

Tina and her mother removed the plates and the empty vegetable dishes. There was apple pie and cream for dessert. “Tina made it all herself,” said Carol proudly.

“It looks lovely,” said Matt’s mother.

They ate in awkward silence. Just as they were finishing, the front door thumped shut.