Marlford Read Free

scullery, packed with Formica cupboards in an unappealing shade of olive green, reached by a short corridor leading directly from the hallway; two bedrooms perched above.
    Despite the closures, there remained a luxurious amount of space: high ceilings, wide passages, generous perspectives. What they were left with felt in no way meagre; in fact, Ellie often had the impression thattheir rooms were somehow stretching, expanding, their proportions growing even more voluptuous, she and her father shrinking more and more within them. Sitting at breakfast the next morning, she had the momentary sense of the building pitching away from her, bucking and groaning like an enormous old sailing ship in a storm.
    Ernest Barton did not seem to notice her unease. He was grumpy. ‘I heard the frogs.’ He buttered his toast with precision.
    Ellie did not look up. She poured her tea very carefully, blowing across the top of the chipped cup to cool it.
    Her father tried complaining again. ‘After ten thirty, I should not hear the frogs.’
    She said nothing.
    â€˜And I heard them twice, Ellie, perhaps three times. Like damn banshees wailing in the park. I couldn’t sleep, not a wink, not after that.’
    It was mournful as much as angry, the unconvincing bluster of a cracked bell. She continued to ignore it, as she always did.
    He began on his toast, frowned at the crust and ate around it. Then he looked at her with such solicitousness that the butter dripping from his lips might have been the thick fall of tears.
    â€˜Did you sleep? Ellie? Did you hear them? You look pale.’
    â€˜No, Papa, I didn’t hear them.’
    â€˜Are you sure? I can’t believe that.’ He shook his head, as though it were all incomprehensible. ‘It was a racket, all night.’
    â€˜It seemed perfectly quiet to me. I didn’t hear anything. I presumed Mr Quersley was on duty.’
    â€˜Well, yes, exactly – he should have been. That’s my point. I shouldn’t have heard the frogs at all. Not once.’
    He dropped his hands to the table. He had a way of looking at her, as though he could not see her properly, as though she were far away from him, too far, slipping into the distance; as though this might be the last glance he ever had of her.
    She braced against it. ‘Perhaps you were mistaken, Papa.’
    Disappointment tightened in his face. ‘I was not mistaken. I know the sound of a frog when I hear one. And it cannot be too much to ask, too simple a thing to—’
    â€˜It was a warm night.’
    â€˜Well, really, Ellie – when it comes to stating the obvious… Of course it was a warm night! Hence, I had all the casements open in my bedroom; hence the importance of Mr Quersley attending to his duties with at least a modicum of diligence.’ He stared fiercely at the long breakfast-room window, as though it might have been in some way to blame for the nocturnal disturbance. ‘I cannot conceive how it might be too difficult a task. All I’m asking for is a peaceful night. Ellie, really – it’s the slightest of courtesies.’
    Ellie looked at him steadily. He had been old for as long as she could remember – she supposed he had already been old when she was born – but he seemed gaunt now, haggard even, the bones of his face pushing through where the skin was wearing thin.
    His unconcealed age irritated her.
    â€˜More tea, Papa? There’s more tea, if you would like some.’
    Her words grated, stone on stone.
    â€˜No, I do not want more tea, Ellie.’
    â€˜Very well. Then I’ll clear the things.’
    She collected their plates with perfect equanimity. Only when she picked up Ernest’s knife did she pause in the rhythm of her work. The handle was still warm, her father’s grasp retained in the yellowing bone, and she let it drop quickly, drawing back as though she had been stung. Then, without looking at him, she