Swimming Lessons(66)

Ingrid


[Placed in Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare, 1968 edition.]





Chapter 37



Flora was sitting on the top step of the writing-room stairs when Richard came out of the house.

“I told him.”

“What did you say?”

“That it wasn’t in me to burn his books. That it was a bit too much like Fahrenheit 451.” He sat beside her, nudging her along. “But he was OK about it. He didn’t seem surprised.”

“Didn’t he say anything at all?”

“He quoted some German at me, and when I asked what it meant, he said it was from a Heinrich Heine play.”

“Who?”

“A German Romantic poet. ‘Where they burn the books, so too, in the end, will they burn the people.’ He asked me to do something else, though. He wants me to help him down to the sea. This afternoon.”

“That’s impossible—he wouldn’t be able to get there. How would he make it to the beach?”

“I said I would carry him.” Richard stretched his legs out into the sunshine.

“What’s going on with you and Daddy? How is it you suddenly know what’s best for him?”

“It’s not that I know what’s best,” Richard said, without rising to the anger in her voice. “Perhaps it’s just that I’m not family—you know, not so close.”

Flora turned her head away, dared herself to look straight at the sun.

Richard put his arm around her. “Hey, I’m only talking to him about facing reality.”

“Did you know he asked me to get him a baby’s boot? One of those knitted ones.”

“A what?” Richard said.

“And he only wanted one. He was very specific.” She turned and stared at Richard’s face. He seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought maybe you’d put him up to it.”

“Why would I suggest something like that?”

She shrugged.

“It’ll be all right. It’s one last trip to the water. What harm can it do?”


Without talking about it, neither Flora nor Richard told Nan what they were planning. After lunch, Nan said she was going into Hadleigh again, that there were some things she had forgotten. She came out to the veranda wearing a pencil skirt and a black top with a sequinned butterfly sewn across the chest.

“He’s resting, but I’ve got my phone.” Nan reached inside the top and adjusted her bra strap. “I’ll keep it switched on, so call me if you need to.”

“Look at you!” Flora said. “You’re not just going to the supermarket.”

Nan stared down at herself and smoothed her hands over the top, the sequins moving and catching the sunlight—tiny flashes dancing across the front of the house. “If anything changes, anything at all, promise you’ll call me.”

“I promise. Turn around,” Flora said, motioning with her hand.

“I can come home straightaway.” Nan peered over a shoulder, trying to see her bottom packed into the skirt. “Is it OK, do you think? Not too much?”

Richard gave a long low whistle and Nan smiled coyly. “I thought I’d better go and ask Viv about Dad’s book.”

“You look great,” Flora said. “Amazing.”

“I have my phone,” Nan repeated. “You know the number.”

“Don’t worry,” Flora said. “Everything will be fine. Have a lovely time.”


Flora walked in front, down the chine, carrying a blanket, a pillow and a folding chair which Gil said he didn’t need but she had insisted on. Richard carried Gil.

He wore a large straw hat, one of those that lived on the pegs in the hallway and were no longer owned by anyone, and a pair of women’s sunglasses Flora had found in the kitchen-table drawer. He was thinner than a few days ago, but he could open his left eye now, and the purple on the lid had changed to a lurid yellowy-green. He reclined in Richard’s arms without embarrassment, examining and commenting on the sky and trees as he passed beneath them, as if it would be his last opportunity.

When Flora stepped onto the sand, she saw Martin standing by the edge of the water. The wind was light and the sea lolled, only bothering to break into lazy wavelets when it touched the beach.

“Daddy,” Flora said, “what’s going on? Why is Martin here?”

“You can put me down now. Thank you, Richard,” Gil said, and he made his way towards the sea. “Martin,” he called.

“How are you doing?” Martin didn’t come forwards, and Flora saw that he held a rope in one hand and behind him a boat was lodged in the sand.

“Who’s Martin?” Richard said to Flora.

“Shit,” Flora said, under her breath. “I knew it wouldn’t be a simple trip to the beach.” She went forwards to help her father. Gil and Martin shook hands.

“Your shiner’s coming along well,” Martin said. “Nice to see you on the beach. Not too choppy, good day to go out on the water.”

“You got the boat, then, and the bird?” Gil peered behind his friend.

“Couldn’t get a rubber dinghy or a motor, but I thought a nice little rowing boat would be fine. This young man looks like he’s got some muscle on him.” Martin raised and bent his own arm, clenched his fist, and laughed. His bicep didn’t get any bigger. “We could have managed it ourselves once upon a time, eh?” Martin said, slapping Gil on the shoulder.