Summer of '76 (17 page)

For the first half of July, Luke takes every measure he can to avoid his parents, continuing to put himself forward for as many extra shifts as work will give him, and stopping off to take a meal with Nanna every now and then. Daily weather updates continue to report on the interminable drought, and the beaches and resorts around the island swell with worn-out locals and wilting holidaymakers. Dad has found himself a new project, converting the garage into a gym, and every afternoon, on his return from school, he fetches himself a cold beer and strips down to his shorts before setting to work. To Luke’s embarrassment he’s managed to pick up a stripy headband, just like Björn Borg’s, which he now wears whenever he’s doing any fitness-related activity, including planning his gym. Wherever Dad is, Mum is sure to be elsewhere, and Kitty runs from one parent to the other, fretfully chirping at them in a bid to restore normality.

One Saturday morning Luke fills an hour before work playing with Kitty in the garden, helping her to make a log house for the little elephant Martin gave her. They’re decorating the floor with willow leaves and yellow rose petals, which attract a swarm of ladybirds that gradually threatens to take over the garden.

‘Out! Out!’ Kitty tells them, flicking them away one by one.

Luke stretches out on the scrubby grass while Kitty runs across the path to fetch a container from the kitchen. Even this early, it’s too hot. He should be happy, but the novelty’s worn off now, after weeks of this endless heat. Maybe he’d feel differently if he had a girlfriend to share it with, someone like Samantha. But he knows he’s got no chance with Sam; even after all that’s happened, she’s still with Len. Bloody Len Dickhead.

‘There,’ says Kitty, poking his face to make him look inside the wooden cigar box she’s pinched from the kitchen. Already the box is half full of writhing ladybirds. ‘Can’t go in the house now.’

‘Clever girl,’ Luke says lazily, listening to the sounds of her pottering about, humming and chattering to herself as she stoops to work on the log house beside him.

‘Love you,’ she whispers, and Luke opens one eye to see her kissing the little elephant and laying it down inside the new house.

‘Ahh,’ says Luke. ‘Ellie looks comfy, doesn’t he?’

‘
Marty
,’ Kitty replies with a scornful look. ‘He’s called Marty.’

Luke laughs. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right.
Marty
.’

She covers the elephant with a few more leaves before lying down beside Luke, nestling her small head beneath his armpit. ‘Isn’t Marty your friend now?
Big
Marty?’ she asks.

‘Martin? Yes. Of course he is.’

She reaches up to slide her finger inside his nostril. ‘He don’t come no more. Maybe he’s got Dutch elm disease?’

Luke bats her finger away. ‘
No
, he hasn’t got Dutch elm disease, Kitty. I’ve told you, it’s just trees that get that, not people.’

‘Beth at nursery school got Dutch elm disease.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. It was going round.’

He smiles. ‘I think that was German measles, wasn’t it? Anyway, Martin’s fine. It’s only because I’m working a lot at the moment, Kitty.’

‘Did you break friends?’

‘
No
. He’s still my friend.’

‘Then he should come round and play.’

‘I know. Maybe I’ll phone him later on, see what he’s up to?’

‘He can come today!’ She jumps up on to her knees and claps her hands together.

‘Not today. I’m going to work.’

‘But he can come and play with
me
?’

Luke sits up and brushes his hair from his face. ‘No, Kitty, he’s a big boy, isn’t he? He comes to play with me. But he really likes you too.’

‘He gave me Marty-ellie,’ she says a little sadly, stroking the elephant’s soft fur head. ‘I want Marty to come here.’

Luke gives her shoulder a squeeze and leaves her in the garden while he goes to get ready for work. In the kitchen, Mum and Dad are in the middle of a serious-looking conversation, so Luke decides to hang around for a minute to find out what it’s about. He’s not hungry, but he lays out the bread board and starts to make a sandwich, nice and slowly.

Dad huffs irritably. ‘Do you have to do that now, son?’

‘I’ve got to go to work in a minute,’ Luke replies, without looking up. ‘So yes, I do. Pretend I’m not here.’

Mum snatches up the house keys. ‘I told you about this weeks ago, Richard. How often do I get a bit of time to myself? And anyway Diana’s calling for me in a minute, so I can’t let her down.’

‘But it’s the Olympics!’ Dad complains. ‘It’s the first day of the bloody Olympics!’

‘You don’t have to watch all of it, do you?’

‘No, but I don’t know the order of events yet. I’m an athlete, Jo – it’s in my blood – you know that.’

‘You’re a PE teacher, Richard,’ says Mum.

Luke lets out a small scoff.

‘You might laugh, Luke. But I could’ve taken my pick of sports – they had me tipped as a competition-level swimmer at one point. It might have been me out in Montreal instead of David Wilkie, if my coach hadn’t told me to concentrate on field sports instead.’

Mum sighs heavily. ‘Yes, well, it seems there are lots of things you “nearly did” in the past. Surely you can look after Kitty
and
watch the television at the same time?’

Luke chances a quick look at them. They’re standing either side of the cooker; Mum’s dressed up in one of her favourite frocks, and Dad’s shirtless as usual, still wearing those grubby denim shorts. His skin is now so dark he looks like an extra from
Swiss Family Robinson
. Mum is rubbing her temple, looking worn out.

‘It’s not much to ask, is it?’ Dad says. ‘I’ve already agreed to spend less time with my friends, just to keep
you
happy.’

‘Simon Drake, you mean?’

‘Of course I mean Simon.’

‘You’ve got a family, Richard! Simon’s never out of that damned garage of yours, drinking our beer and carping on about his marital problems. As if we don’t have enough of our own to deal with! He might as well move in, the amount of time he’s been spending here lately. I only asked you to cut it back a bit! It’s not good for us – it’s not good for Kitty. Believe it or not,
we’d
like to spend some time with you too.’

Dad shakes his head. ‘I work hard all week long, and all I ask of you is that I can have a bit of peace and quiet every four years, to watch the Olympics.’

‘All you ask of me? If only!’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ She looks at Luke, glaring at him when she sees him chewing on his sandwich, listening in. She turns back to Dad. ‘Every four years, you say? Aren’t you forgetting the weekly football? The cricket coverage? The snooker?’

‘The wrestling,’ Luke chimes in.

Dad shoots him a petulant glance.

‘Yes, Richard, you go out to work, but don’t you think I’d rather go out to work than stay at home washing your dirty socks, cooking your meals, cleaning your house –’

‘Ha! Cleaning the house? Can’t see that you do a very good job of it.’ He runs his finger along the hood of the cooker and holds it up as if he’s just won the battle.

Mum’s jaw drops and she’s about to launch into her defence when they hear Diana calling in through the open front door.

‘Coo-eee! Anyone home?’

Mum throws Dad one last scornful glance, and picks up her handbag. ‘So, I’ll be home about four or five. Just make sure Kitty has something to eat at lunchtime and she’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.’ She leaves, slamming the front door behind her.

Dad shakes his head as he pushes past Luke and stomps into the living room to turn on the television. ‘Thanks, son.
Thanks very much
.’

‘What?’ Luke mutters, shaking his own head in response. He fetches his uniform from his bedroom and goes straight next door to call on Tom for his lift. He doesn’t need to get going for another half-hour, but he can’t stand to hang around here a minute longer than he has to.

As Tom starts the engine, Luke gazes back at the house, where he sees Kitty standing on the front doorstep clutching her blue elephant, her little hand raised forlornly. He waves from the car window, and Kitty turns and disappears through the open front door.

The day at work passes in a flurry of hot activity, as everyone in the camp gears up in preparation for the school holidays. Luke meets Gordon and Sam at Housekeeping, where they check their schedule and collect their kit, and Tom leaves them for his day’s work in the kitchens.

‘Don’t forget to give Cheffy a big kiss from me,’ Gordon calls after him, as Tom swaggers along the path, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. ‘A
dirty
big one,’ he adds with a laugh.

Tom looks back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow over his dark shades. Just yesterday, Chef kicked Gordon out of the kitchen when he called for Tom at the end of their shift, calling him a dirty little faggot. ‘
Your lot disgust me
,’ Chef said, according to Gordon, and Tom had pushed back his sleeves, ready to take him on. But Gordon wouldn’t hear of it, told him it wasn’t worth losing his job over, and managed to drag Tom away to cool off at the pool. Tom says Chef’s a Nazi, the way he orders them about and makes them all wait on him when it’s time for his break.

Now, Tom reaches the end of the path and turns the corner, disappearing into the shadows of the kitchen block.

Today they’ve got more rooms than usual to get through and so they work at double speed, with minimum chat, Luke and Sam on the cleaning, Gordon on the beds. It’s hard going in the blistering heat, even in the shade of the chalets, and by the end of their shift Luke’s exhausted, sweaty, and ready to go home. After they’ve dropped off their kit, the trio creep alongside the kitchen windows, trying to spy Tom inside without getting caught by Chef Cockgobbler, as Gordon has rechristened him.

‘
Tom
,’ Luke hisses through the open window, when they spot him serving up at the hob.

Tom checks his watch and jogs over, talking in a whisper. ‘I’ll only be a sec,’ he says, nodding at the plate in his hand. ‘Just getting
Mein Führer
’s supper.’ He reaches over for a bread roll.

‘Is that for him?’ Gordon asks. Tom nods, and Gordon lunges through the window to grab the roll, sticking it up his T-shirt and rubbing it liberally beneath his armpit.

‘That’s disgusting, man,’ says Luke, grabbing it off him and doing the same. He passes it to Sam to repeat the process, who then returns the bread roll to Tom.

He shakes his head, looking unimpressed. ‘Man, that’s just
wrong
.’ He looks over his shoulder before shoving it down his trouser front for a good jiggle, finally placing it ceremoniously on the edge of Chef’s plate. ‘
Bon appétit
.’ He spins on his heel and pushes through the double doors to the dining hall, to hand over Chef’s supper.

Shrill with laughter, Gordon and Sam sprint off to the pool together, waving back at Luke as they go. The afternoon sun is still scorching, and, instead of hanging around at the car while Tom finishes up, Luke decides to call in at the managers’ office to collect his wages. He knocks once and eases the half-open door into the office, where Philip is sitting behind the desk in his swivel chair, rosy-cheeked with the heat, drumming his fingers to a track on the radio. He sways his upper body in time, while Suzy sits slumped on the bench beside the window, glugging back a can of Coke.

‘Luke Wolff!’ Philip says, making it sound like they’re long-lost friends. Suzy looks Luke up and down and jerks her chin briefly as Philip riffles through the pay packets, his head never missing a beat. Luke stands awkwardly beside the desk, his fingers resting on the edge, while Philip continues to search. ‘How’s your friend Tom getting on in the kitchens?’ he asks, smirking at Suzy.

‘Fine,’ Luke replies. ‘I think he gets on quite well with Chef.’

‘Good, good. I hear he got on quite well with you too,
Suzy
. Isn’t that right?’ He snorts to himself, as Suzy throws a ball of paper across the room.

Luke is about to tell Philip he’ll come back for his wages tomorrow when finally he locates the envelope, holds it aloft and waves it in the air like a drumstick, to mark the final notes of the song. He hands it to Luke.

‘Suppose I should get going in a moment,’ Suzy says, sounding bored, not making any effort to move. The sunlight streams in behind her, accenting her shiny, uneven complexion, and Luke wonders if this is what they do all day in the duty
office: just push bits of paper around and air-drum to the latest top twenty hits. Suzy gives him a puzzled look, a kind of what-are-you-waiting-for expression, and he backs out of the hut and leaves them to it.

The afternoon’s rays are beating down hard now, and beads of sweat quickly rise to his brow as he pauses to lean against the wooden handrail and check his wages. Beneath his plimsolls he can feel the bottom tread of the wooden step, smoothly curved, worn down at the midpoint through years of use. He absently runs his hand across it as he stoops to pick up a dropped coin.

‘His lot were part of it,’ Suzy says, the words carrying clearly through the crack in the door.

Luke reaches for the stair rail, his eyes focusing on the heat haze that shimmers over the distant lawns.

‘You know. That orgy over at Bembridge. I heard his lot were there. His mum and dad.’

As his pulse quickens and his heart thuds against his
breast-bone
, Luke holds on to his breath, too stunned to exhale.

‘No way!’ Philip replies. ‘Aren’t they teachers?’

‘His dad is – taught me PE in the fourth year. He was alright, as they go. Wouldn’t have put him down as a swinger, though. Apparently these parties have been going on for
years
.’

‘How’d you hear about it?’

‘I know John, one of the taxi drivers at Sandown Cabs. He picked them up after that last party – apparently their car wouldn’t start when they went to go home. Anyway, he recognised Mr Wolff from the school. John said the wife was in a bit of a state, couldn’t get out of there quick enough. Maybe he was more into it than she was.’