In the King's Arms (19 page)

“You’re both incredibly bull-headed, that’s for certain. So essentially, you’re twins. And what have I always, always told you?”

“Loads of things.”

“Blood’s thicker,” said Peter, draining the bottle with a noisy slurp. “And now you’re in the bloody thick of it.”

L
ILY ARRIVED, a few days later, with Peter and her trunk. It was early evening, mid-March. The countryside was peaceful and still, and the moon shone softly in the sky. The cold was not as fierce as she remembered.

Helena Kendall opened the door and took Peter in her arms. “Welcome home, darling,” she said. Peter wasn’t used to this at all. Then Helena let go and did the same to Lily.

“Welcome home, darling.”

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Kendall,” Lily said, though Helena’s collar muffled her voice.

Helena wasn’t letting go, and her grip, surprisingly strong, sent a charge through Lily’s body, head to toe. Archibald peered over his half-glasses with a faintly sad expression, as though he wanted a hug like that too (and never had received one).

“Good to see you, young lady,” he said.

“Hullo, Lil,” said Timothy, a bit cavalierly.

He’d been instructed to be “especially nice” to her. When Lily was at last able to turn around, she saw the familiar yellow hair and round, round eyes, staring up at hers.

“Hi there, Tim,” she answered.

She noticed that he’d shot up over the past few months; his body was beginning to acquire Helena’s (and Peter’s) rangy look.

“Have you had a good winter?”

“In-like-a-lion-and-out-like-a-lamb,” he said, in one breath.

“That’s March, darling, that’s close, and when in March does winter end precisely?”

Lily nearly fielded the father’s question, but it (along with Archibald’s patient stare) was meant for the little boy.

“Dunno.”

“Yes you do, Timothy, on the twenty-first. And how many seasons?”

“Twenty-first,” his son said, still echoing the first point.

“Where’s your cat?” asked Lily.

“My Whiskers?” Timothy looked touchingly grateful for the interruption of his catechism. “My Whiskers having his tea in the kitchen. I had mine. I ate fish-fingers.”

He held up three fingers to show how many he’d had.

“You had four, darling, not three,” Archibald chided. “Three plus one makes four.”

“Three or four, as long as you enjoyed them.”

Lily felt wistful. How could she ever have feared the little child?

“You two must be famished,” said Helena, interpreting Lily’s wistful look as hunger for fish fingers.

“No, we ate on the train,” said Peter, grabbing Lily by the hand.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

“I know where it is,” she whispered, embarrassed. “Shouldn’t we stay down here and be sociable for a while?”

“You can come back down a little later,” he said, pulling her up the stairs. “Let’s get you settled first.”

He opened the door on the clean little room with its freshly made bed, and they sat down next to each other.

“I’m terrified,” she said.

“I know. Your eyes are all bulgy.”

“Shouldn’t Julian be back already?”

“I guess it’s going really well over there for him. He must be seeing a lot of people and everything. It’s not as though he even knows you’re in England. He’ll be so happy to find you here.”

“So convenient,” she muttered.

Peter put his hand reassuringly on hers. She looked up at him in surprise, but did not feel repulsed.

“God, I love you, Peter. You know that, don’t you?”

He grew bright red.

“Hey, Peter. So you don’t know everything, after all.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. His hot cheeks and delicate, heron-like features, so unlike Julian’s brashly carved ones, made her feel he was a shy Victorian (a Victorian spinster, maybe). Her only impulse was to make Peter feel treasured, beautiful.

“What are you doing?”

She slowly put his hand down.

“I think the hormones of Julian Junior are making you cross over to the berserk side.”

“Maybe so.”

She looked down sadly at her lap. Her hair shone softly in the light. He reached out his hand, tentatively, and stroked it, patiently, the way her father did when she was a girl. It was a light touch, undemanding. Her hair rustled softly, like a wing, by her ear.

“You silly,” he said, “with your naughty thoughts and deeds. Look, we’ve had a long day.”

He got up and put her suitcase on the bed.

“Unpack, and let poor Peter go to sleep.”

“Wait. Don’t go. What’ll I do? I’m wide awake.

“Do I just go downstairs and sit by the fire as though nothing happened?”

“Yes. Do just that and they will, too. They’re the best actors in the family, those two.”

“All you English are pretty good at that. Acting like it’s just another day when your house has burnt down and you’re running into the street, naked.”

“Grace under pressure makes heroes, my darling.” He paused by the door and added, sternly: “You must get some.”

L
ILY DUTIFULLY CREPT DOWNSTAIRS and sat by the fire, as though nothing had happened. Whisk was sprawled along the hearth like a tiger-skin, but otherwise, she was entirely alone. The grandfather clock ticked audibly as she flicked through a dog-eared
Horse and Hound
, and after a few minutes of this, she decided to get up and browse through the larder. Bread and jam would hit the spot right now, she thought.

As she neared the kitchen, she heard her name mentioned, but only faintly, as though in a ghostly dream. The retort of a deeper voice, urgent, almost manic, brought her back to reality:

“Why on earth she doesn’t . . ..”

“Not Julian’s problem, surely, and he certainly doesn’t want . . .”

“And supposing that we . . .”

“Is she eligible for the National Health?”

“Now, Helena, even if . . . it would hardly be seemly for us to . . .”

For you to what? Lily fought to hear better, so hard that she shook. She took a small step closer. Suddenly, they went silent. After a moment (during which the grandfather clock tick-tocked enough to drive her mad), Helena and Archibald resumed their conversation.

“The point I’m making, Archibald, is that my son is simply not mature enough to handle this sort of responsibility, and if we cannot persuade the girl to . . .”

“I will persuade her,” said Archibald, his voice rising.

“But on the other, hand, if we took the child and raised it as though . . .”

“I will persuade her, Helena, because I will not have disgrace brought upon my house. There would be a blot on Timothy’s name, and such a blot I will not stand for!”

“Sweetheart, we could adopt the child, legally.”

There was silence.

“You know I can’t have any more children. Wouldn’t it be nice for Timothy to have a playmate? Peter was so happy, dear, so happy when his little brother Julian was born. Just think, it might be a little dark haired boy like him. Think how darling they’d look together: Timothy growing taller by the day, with his fair hair, and a plump, dark toddler adoring him.” She paused for a moment. “I could go away for a while, you know, and we could even say that it was mine. Perhaps someplace warm, the Riviera or something, and you could meet me on weekends, or maybe take some time off from work.”

“How very foolish you sound!”

“Archibald,” she said, sadly, “will you never be foolish for me?”

Lily shook so much that she made a small noise, like the squeak of a mouse, but luckily, they didn’t seem to hear it. She began to back away, slowly, from the kitchen. When she had reached a safe distance, she flew up the stairs to her room and sat, panting on the bed until her tears finally came. She sobbed aloud, half-hoping to be heard by Peter, but he did not return to her room.

“Why crying?”

Timothy had heard, and he had softly padded in.

“Because I’m sad.”

“Why sad?”

“Because I’m terrified.”

“Why terrified?”

If this game got nowhere, perhaps it was because she was not being frank enough. So she told him something true which he might somehow understand:

“I’m terrified, Timmy, because nobody cares about me, nobody can help me, and I’m, I’m very sick, you see,” she held her stomach. “I have a tummy ache that’s grows bigger and bigger by the day.”

Timothy understood. “Because you greedy?” He remembered! She nodded vigorously.

“Yes, Timmy. I am greedy, and now I’m very, very hurt, right here.”

He put out his hand, and she let him touch her belly. He stood there with his small hand on her stomach, thinking.

“I go get Mum-Daddy,” he said, “Mum-Daddy always help me.”

“No, don’t. This is a very funny tummy-ache. Only Julian can help me, you see, and he isn’t here yet.”

She started crying again.

He stared at her in wonder.

“Why crying again?”

“Because it hurts again and again.”

“Ohhh.” Timothy, though pensive and fairly sympathetic, yawned widely.

“Should I put you to bed now?”

“I not tired.” He paused. “O.K.”

He gave her his hand and they walked to his cot. He crawled into bed and she covered him.

“Ju-ian come soon?”

As she foraged for an answer, she noticed that the little boy was dreaming.

J
ULIAN DID, IN FACT, COME SOON, but when he arrived and learned that Lily was not beyond the seas but in his house, he felt a sudden panic. Awkwardness gripped him. The first few words he spoke to her were impolite.

“Whose idea is this?”

That didn’t seem to call for an answer, so Lily turned angrily away. He let her go. A few minutes later, wrapped warm in a jacket, she burst out the door to take a long walk by herself. He let her go. He saw her when she came back, flushed, pretty, and touchable. A little warm roundness under her zippered red anorak, a touch of frost in her hair, and eyes that would not settle.

And later, descending the stairs with Peter’s arm around her, she followed the family into the dining room.

Julian walked out of the house, coatless, and tramped down the road.

“Where are you going?” Peter called out.

He kept walking, fast, feeling thrown out of his own house. He couldn’t stand his mother’s insinuating face, acting as though she had a little secret. Peter was even worse. Who did they think they were, bossing him around and shoving her at him like that?

The Abbey had been fantastic; had they even asked him about it? No. They had all had to stare at him, smiling a little, seeing how
he’d “react” to the sight of the girl he’d got pregnant. Well, good luck to them all.

They had loved him in Dublin, as a matter of fact. Some had remembered his father; he’d had kid-glove treatment. And acting had given him a sense of freedom: a sense of scope and sway that everything in that nosey little regime denied.

“Could do with a pint of bitter,” he thought, heading for the local.

He felt manly as he entered, taking in the rumble of voices and tinkle of glass, the smell of good beer and the smoke. He stood at the bar and asked for his pint, eying the pies as well. He was suddenly ravenous.

“I’ll have chicken and mushroom,” he said, “and a Scotch egg.”

Over in the corner, he noticed his neighbor, Nicola, sitting with a few of her friends.

“Home for Easter?” he called out, jovially.

“Julian.”

Nicola was shy and lovely. She stood up and walked over to the bar.

“Come and join us?”

He hadn’t seen her since New Year’s Eve, when they’d danced. Now he remembered her blond hair, flying, losing the scented violet ribbon that had held it together.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, remembering too. “How’ve you been?”

Nicola cared about him. Look at that. Right away she wondered how he’d been.

“I’m great,” said Julian. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Your mother keeps telling me to come round,” said Nicola, blushing, “but I never have the nerve.”

“Does she?”

His mood sank minutely.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I haven’t been ‘round much myself.” He paused dramatically. “Been ‘round Oxford, of course, and I’ve just come back from Dublin, in fact.”

Nicola’s eyes widened gratifyingly. He felt like a man of the world, a traveler. When the pupils enlarge, a girl’s wanting it, he thought.

“Have you? Oh, Julian, how exciting!”

“Yeah,” he said casually. “Been looking into acting, you know; if I feel like doing it, I probably can.”

“Oh, Julian, what was it like?”

“It’s really exciting, actually. All these really, really intense people, you know, in bursts, and then they stop, and they seem normal, even dull, in a way, and yet—”

Nicola was fetching, but as he spoke he began to feel an age-old loneliness. His story, in sharing it with to her, was beginning to lose its flavor.

“And yet they’re not,” he concluded.

“Not what?” asked Nicola earnestly.

Her pupils were so wide, her eyes looked black.

“Normal. Or dull.”

“Oh. Uh huh.” His order of food came hot to the counter. “Sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

He peered over to the corner where three other girls were giggling. She waved happily to them.

“There’s Caroline, Sue and Jackie. You know Jackie, don’t you, from school?”

Yes, in fact he did. She was the one with the malicious giggle, whose lifetime goal it was to work in a “very flash office.”

“Carrie and Sue are in nursing school with me. Oh, wait, Jackie’s coming over to the bar.”

Jackie stood there with Nicola and Julian as he ate his pie and Scotch egg. She seemed to be working up her courage to say something.