The Last Summer of the Water Strider (26 page)

Pritchard was left looking uncertain of what to do next. Henry’s knowledge of the law, whether real or feigned, along with his air of intimidating self-confidence, seemed to have stymied
him.

Troy was marching towards us, his accustomed concertina grin firmly in place.

‘I told you Troy would get over our disagreement,’ said Henry.

He moved to greet Troy and the others, hugging them each in turn. As usual, he was looking faintly angry. He held up a hand in greeting when he saw me, and I returned the wave. Vanya wandered
over and kissed me on the cheek.

‘How’s the self-abuse, boy?’

‘Good.’

‘Make sure you think good thoughts.’

‘I try to think about women who are scantily clad now. Instead of naked.’

‘That’s what’s known in the women’s movement as consciousness-raising.’

I noticed that Henry greeted Strawberry rather formally, merely touching her shoulder rather than kissing her on the cheek. It was as if she was now too delicate to even embrace.

Now Pattern greeted me with a pat on the arm.

‘Hi, Adam.’

‘All right?’ I said surlily, and moved away so his hand was no longer touching me.

‘You’re angry with me, right?’

His voice softened. ‘Look, Adam. It was a stupid thing to do, what I did at the seance. I thought the whole thing was so dumb, no one would ever take it seriously. It was just a joke. A
laugh. I was a moron. Let me off the hook, will you? I don’t want you to think I’m an even bigger dick than I actually am.’

He looked genuinely sheepish.

‘Forget about it. I was three sheets to the wind.’

He smacked me on the back.

‘Thanks, Adam. Thanks, man. You’re a dude.’

Henry kept checking his watch. It was five-past seven. Then ten-past. Then quarter-past. No one else came. It was just the five of us and Pritchard.

Henry looked at Pritchard and said, as if unconcerned, ‘Well, it seems you won’t have to worry about it being a gathering of more than twenty people anyway.’

Despite his insouciance, Henry’s shoulders had dropped, and he paced listlessly up and down. He looked over the laden table of food, which had hardly been touched. The fire, which had
caught and was roaring, sent grey clouds of smoke across the blackboard where the lecture was meant to take place. Henry stopped pacing and took his place next to the PA, ten feet to the side of
the fire, in front of the cushions. The smoke was blowing in his face, and he coughed. It seemed he wasn’t quite ready to start – if he intended to go ahead at all. Clearly he had a
fading hope that a few more people might turn up. He gazed anxiously at the trees at the edge of the reach. As if on cue, the curtain of willow trembled and two more people walked through.

It was Ash and Wendy. They were both dressed as I had first seen them, in their contrasting overalls. Wendy was smoking. Ash carried a light canvas bag over her shoulder. Henry looked relieved
to see them.

‘Is eight a quorum, Adam? Including Mr Pritchard?’

‘I don’t know. It’s up to you.’

Ash shot me a glance, tipped me a wink. They made their way towards Henry.

‘Hello, Wendy,’ said Henry. ‘This is a bit out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?’

‘What do you know about my comfort zones?’

‘Still smoking those vile peppermint cigarettes?’

Wendy threw her cigarette on the ground. Pritchard looked at her, alert. She stomped it out under her sandal.

Henry turned to Ash. ‘Surprised to see you here.’

‘Nothing much else to do,’ said Ash. She offered £1.

‘Forget about it. This isn’t really a public event any more. And if it becomes one, apparently I would be breaking the law. You should mention to your worried friends in the town
what kind of influence I have in this area. Won’t you get paid by the old man for the undercover work, anyway? I should introduce you to Pritchard, your associate from the council.’

He indicated Pritchard, who, satisfied that Wendy’s cigarette was fully extinguished, was spooning chilli con carne into his mouth.

‘You’re a cynic, Henry.’

‘I’m as far away from a cynic as it is possible to be. Which is why, I think, people like your father take such exception to me.’

‘Where’s the loo?’ said Wendy. ‘I’m busting.’

‘I’ll show you.’

Henry led Wendy towards the boat. Ash and I were left alone. She touched me lightly on the arm.

‘Don’t be upset that I’m here with Wendy.’

‘I’m not.’

‘She’s an unhappy girl. She’s lonely. I’m looking out for her.’

I tried to reach over and kiss her, but she pulled back.

‘Can we just cool it while we’re here? I told you, Wendy doesn’t know about us.’

I called across to Henry, who had given directions to Wendy and was heading towards the blackboard.

‘Are you starting, Henry?’

‘No,’ said Henry. ‘Not right now.’

I turned back to Ash. ‘Would you like me to show you around?’

She looked over at the boat.

‘Wendy will take about twenty minutes tarting herself up, knowing her. Go on then, give us a quick tour.’

I showed her around the boat – my room, Henry’s, the main area. She clucked her approval, offering an occasional ‘nice’ or ‘characterful’ or a less
complimentary ‘tatty’. Seeing that Wendy was still apparently in the loo, and with no sign of Henry starting, Ash insisted I give her a quick tour of the grounds as well. After checking
with Henry that we had time, we took a brisk walk down the path that led to Strawberry’s shack. In a few minutes we reached the clearing where it was sited.

‘What’s this? The garden shed?’

‘It’s where Strawberry lives.’

Ash frowned. ‘It’s tiny.’

‘It’s rather nice actually. I’m sure Strawberry wouldn’t mind if we took a look inside.’

I stepped across and opened the door. Ash stuck her head in, looked around carefully, sniffed and withdrew. I closed the door again.

‘See? It’s nice.’

‘It smells of cabbage.’

‘Wheatgrass.’

‘It’s a hovel.’

‘“Judge not, lest ye be judged.” Henry’s always quoting that at me.’

Suddenly Ash pulled me towards her and kissed me, her bag dropping to the ground. I nearly overbalanced. After a minute, we broke apart. I could see my saliva on her lips. She stood with her
legs apart. She was breathing heavily. We said nothing.

Then I heard a call, distant but distinct.

‘Adam!’

It was Troy’s voice.

‘We’d better get back.’ I grabbed her hand and pulled her after me.

When we arrived back at the boat, Wendy was there, still doing her make-up in a pocket mirror. She glared at Ash.

‘I’ve got to stay with Wendy now,’ said Ash. ‘See you later.’

I hurried off to where Henry seemed to be arguing with Troy. The approach of night made the fire brighter. Ginsberg had appeared. He foraged for crisp crumbs, then slid back into the river. The
sky was turning deep scarlet, and the air was thickened with the perfume of the pines and the incense.

‘Adam! Where have you been? Henry’s trying to call the whole thing off. I was hoping you could convince him.’

Henry looked at me sadly.

‘I suppose it’s up to Henry really,’ I said feebly.

Troy looked disappointed.

‘Come on, Henry! I’ve paid my money and I want my lecture.’

‘Troy, I will be very happy to return your money of course, but . . .’

‘We want to hear you, Henry,’ said Strawberry, who had come to join them.

‘That’s right!’ chimed in Vanya. ‘You’re the man, Henry.’

Henry looked doubtful.

Pattern was the last to add his voice.

‘Come on, Henry. We all want to hear what you have to say. Even if it is bollocks.’ He started a chant. ‘Come-on Hen-ry! Come-on Hen-ry!’

Everyone joined in apart from Pritchard, who stood a little way away, chewing on some pitta bread and looking bemused.

Henry held up a hand.

‘I’m afraid it would simply be too absurd. But anyone who wants to talk to me about anything – well, come right over and chat. And there is lots of food and drink. Let’s
do what the rest of the world does. Let’s stop thinking, and have a party!’

He punched the button on a cassette player. The music that boomed out – he had run a wire from the boat and erected the Wharfedale speakers – was ‘Monkey Man’ by Toots
& The Maytals.

Henry began to dance – a Jamaican skank, such an absurd yet graceful performance that there were outbreaks of laughter, not mocking, but delighted. He gestured for us to start dancing too.
Strawberry rose and began moving in her own way, a spidery, rather gothic shimmer. Ash and Wendy followed suit, Ash bumping and grinding, Wendy awkwardly swaying. Even I, self-conscious as I was,
could hardly help but shuffle my feet and sway my hips a bit.

Vanya came over to me, sipping at a plastic cup of white wine. I had watched her knock back several of them already, and she had acquired a slightly glazed look.

She gestured over to Strawberry, who was dancing, not quite with, but in the same general vicinity as, Pattern. They were talking animatedly at the same time. Pattern was jabbing his finger at
Strawberry as if accusing her of something. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

‘Pattern seems even more indignant than usual,’ I said.

‘He’s knocked Moo up again. Can you believe it? After all that drama. Trying to get her to terminate a second time. I told her to hold out for herself. But she’s weak.
Can’t imagine life without a man. Why do women love men like that?’

‘What’s your husband like?’

‘He’s all right. Bit of a standard model. Doesn’t listen. Misses the point. Likes cars and football. But decent enough.’

‘Not a rapist then?’

‘I doubt he’d be up to it. Troy says I cut his balls off years ago.’

Strawberry looked over and waved.

‘That girl is a proper mess,’ said Vanya.

‘So everyone says. But maybe she’s right. Maybe she really is purifying herself.’

‘Needs more than a few grains and vitamins to unfuck her head. After what she’s been through.’

‘What has she been through?’

‘Let me explain something to you.’

She held my leg for balance as she lowered herself on to a scatter cushion.

I sat down next to her and she put an arm around me. She smelled of oranges and tobacco. Also, inevitably, patchouli oil, although it could have been coming from any of the women around me. All
of them seemed to reek of the stuff.

‘What the hell is that patchouli stuff made of? Some kind of flower? Or do they mix it up in a lab somewhere?’

She ignored me. ‘So I was telling you about Strawberry.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What do you know about her and Henry? About their relationship? To . . . one another. I’m not giving away any secrets, right?’

I hesitated.

‘You mean that they’re . . . sort of . . . related?’

‘You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be. What else do you know?’

‘Not much.’

She leaned in to me conspiratorially.

‘What I heard is this. Henry took off when she was about five to travel America. That whole Kerouac
On the Road
shit. He drank with bums, slept on park benches. In the end he
became a bum himself. A drunk, a street rat. Then he cleaned up. Not before he nearly died of whatever. But he didn’t go back to look after Strawberry. Too busy discovering himself. Went to
India and joined an ashram, which is where he started on all this spiritual shit. He was gone ten years. Ten fucking years, leaving her with her crazy mother, who was a whore, to put it
mildly.’

‘I thought he became a priest.’

‘Never heard that one. Henry told you that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he tell you that her mother had Strawberry out turning tricks at the age of thirteen? Did he tell you that during that time he never once got in touch with her?’

I was aware of my blink rate increasing.

‘Did he tell you that a bunch of guys practically raped her while her mother stood by and did nothing?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true. Unless Strawberry’s making it up. And why should she make it up? She told us at
Shrew
in a consciousness-raising group. Did she tell you that she was
strung out on DMT for half the time?’

‘Something like that, yes. Why are you spilling all this?’

‘Because,’ said Vanya, ‘I want you to understand something about people that you don’t yet understand. That you don’t
want
to understand.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That people are terrible, Adam.’

She took my face in her hands and gazed directly into my eyes.

‘Under the surface, they’re terrible.’

She let go of me, then took a deep swig of wine.

‘Myself included,’ she added. ‘Very much.’

‘Not everybody’s terrible,’ I said.

Vanya shrugged. ‘If you say so. I mean, I guess everyone has different experiences.’

‘So how did Strawberry end up here?’

‘Henry rolled back into town – Sacramento – when Strawberry was fifteen. By then her mother was in a crazy-house, and Strawberry was sleeping on the floors of
“friends”. So-called. Henry had come by some money, somehow. I heard he stole it from the Maharishi Ji himself.’

‘It was drug-dealing.’

‘Whatever it was, he brought her back to England. He’s been looking after her ever since. Or what he calls “looking after”, which seems to involve him leaving her alone
in order to slowly murder herself. Big of him, I guess. Big old Henry.’

‘You’re bitter.’

‘I’m not bitter. Life is bitter. I’m just pointing it out. You’ll understand when you’re older.’

Henry loomed up.

‘What are you two talking about?’

‘Vanya thinks people are all rotten.’

‘Vanya’s wrong. People aren’t bad. But they are, very often, of rather poor quality.’

‘You should know, Henry.’

She got up and staggered off in the direction of Pattern, who was scowling at no one in particular and picking violently at dry, brown tufts of grass.

I looked around for Ash, but she was nowhere in sight.

‘W
hy do you think no one turned up?’ I said to Henry over the blare of the music, which was still reggae, something I didn’t
recognize, very bass-driven and heavy in the air.