Klara and the Sun(45)

‘Mum,’ Rick said again, but now that Miss Helen had changed topic, his voice had lost urgency. He half turned to me, stepping back so he was no longer obstructing his mother’s view.



‘It was a nice day,’ Miss Helen was saying. ‘Around four in the afternoon. I called Rick and he came and he saw it too, didn’t you, dear? Though he claimed he was too late.’

‘It could have been anything,’ Rick said. ‘Anything at all.’

‘What I saw was Chrissie, Josie’s mother, that is. I saw her come out of the grass, just over there, holding someone by the arm. I’m explaining myself rather poorly. What I mean is, it was as if this other person had been trying to run away, and Chrissie had been after her. And she’d caught hold of her, but hadn’t been able quite to stop her. So they’d both of them tumbled out, so to speak. Just over there, out from the grass onto our land.’

‘Mum wasn’t perhaps in the best condition that day to see things accurately.’

‘I was able to see perfectly well. Rick doesn’t like this story, so he tries to insinuate all kinds of things.’

‘Do you mean,’ I asked, ‘that you saw Josie’s mother come out of the grass with a child? One other than Josie?’

‘Chrissie was trying to hold back this person and then she did manage to impose some control. Just out there. Chrissie had both arms around the girl. Rick got here in time to see that part. Then they both vanished back into the grass.’

‘It could have been anyone.’ Rick, now more relaxed, sat down beside his mother, and he too looked past me out of the window. ‘Okay, one was Josie’s mum. I’ll allow that. But the other one…’

‘The other one looked like Sal,’ Miss Helen said. ‘Josie’s sister. That’s why I called Rick. This being a good two years after Sal is supposed to have died.’

Rick laughed, and putting his arm around her shoulders, squeezed his mother affectionately, tilting her light coat. ‘Mum has some weird theories. Like one about Sal still living in that house, hiding in some cupboard.’



‘I didn’t say that, Rick. I’ve never suggested such a thing seriously. Sal passed away, it was a great tragedy, and we shan’t play foolish games with her memory. What I’m saying is that the person I saw, trying to run away from Chrissie, looked like Sal. That was all I said.’

‘But this is such a strange story,’ I said.

‘I was just thinking, Klara,’ Rick said, ‘Josie might be wondering what’s happened to you.’

‘Ah, but our little friend can’t go yet,’ Miss Helen said. ‘I’ve just remembered what we were discussing. We were discussing Rick’s education.’

‘No, Mum, that’s enough!’

‘But darling, Klara’s here and I mean to talk to her about this. And what do we have here?’ Miss Helen had noticed Josie’s picture, which Rick had left on the sofa, face down on the envelope.

‘That’s enough!’ Before Miss Helen could reach it, Rick had snatched up the picture and risen quickly.

‘There you go again, darling. Trying to rule the roost. You must stop it.’

With his back to Miss Helen to shield what he was doing, he put Josie’s picture back into the envelope with some care. Then he walked out of the room, this time not stopping at the threshold. We heard his firm strides in the hallway, the front door opening, then slamming shut.

‘A little air will do him good,’ Miss Helen said. ‘He gets cooped up. And now he’s even stopped going to visit Josie.’

She was again looking past me out of the wide window, and this time when I turned, I saw Rick’s figure outside on the boards, leaning on the rail where the plank stairs descended from the platform. He was gazing out over the fields, the Sun’s pattern over him. The wind was disturbing his hair, but he remained quite still.



Miss Helen rose from the sofa and came a few steps towards me until we were side by side before the window. She was taller than the Mother by two inches. However, when she was standing, she didn’t do so in the upright way the Mother did, but with a gentle curve forward, as if she, like the tall grass outside, was being pushed by the wind. She wasn’t at that moment partitioned at all, and in the window light, I could see the tiny white hairs around her chin.

‘I didn’t introduce myself properly,’ she said. ‘Please call me Helen. My manners have been awful.’

‘Not at all. You’ve been very kind. But I’m afraid my coming may have caused friction.’

‘Oh, but there’s always friction. Incidentally, before you ask. The answer is yes. I do miss England. In particular I miss the hedges. In England, the part of it I’m from anyway, you can see green all around you, and always divided by hedges. Hedges, hedges everywhere. So ordered. Now look out there. It just goes on and on. I suppose there are fences somewhere in the midst of it all, but who can tell?’

She became quiet, so I said: ‘I believe there are indeed fences. It’s really three separate fields, fences dividing them.’

‘You can tear down a fence in a moment,’ she said. ‘Then put up another somewhere else. Change the entire configuration of the land in a day or two. A land of fences is so temporary. You can change things as easily as a stage set. I used to act, you know. Sometimes in decent theaters. Wretched theaters too. Fences, what are they? Stage design. That’s the nice thing about England. Hedges give a sense of history properly set down in the land. When I was acting, I never forgot my lines. My fellow actors did forget all the time. They weren’t much good on the whole. But I never forgot. Not a single line. I’ve often thought over the years to ask Chrissie about what I saw. She comes to visit from time to time and we always have a good chat. I’ve often thought about asking her, but then I stop myself. I think, no, better not to. What business is it of mine anyway?’