The Northern Clemency Read Free Page A

said. But it didn’t look it.
    “When is your baby due?” Jane said abruptly.
    “In November,” the woman said, not smiling. She took her husband by the arm, and they went.
    “Where’s your dad?” Katherine said, but then Daniel was in the hall, up from the sofa for the first time all evening.
    “Just going out for a second,” he muttered.
    “One second—” Katherine said, but he was gone. “Oh, well.”
    And then Daniel, who had answered all polite inquiries with a brief grunt and a shrug, who had not moved from his perch on the arm of the sofa, like a vast and lurid ornament, proved himself to have been all along the ringmaster of the festivities. Because with his departure the party was decisively over, and the few remaining guests moved towards the front door where Mrs. Glover, her daughter at her side, was standing. In kindness, they bent and said a word to Malcolm, who said something in return, and then, with a chorus of thanks, they were out.
    “I do love your unit,” Mrs. Warner said over her shoulder, a final kindly thought disappearing into the lush August night. “As I was saying, I do love your …”
    Goodbye, goodbye … and Katherine opened the envelope in her hand. It was an unfamiliar hand, elegant and swooping, in real ink, and the general gist of apology was clear before the signature was deciphered. She read it again, and smiled, her first genuine smile all evening.
    “Have they all gone?” she heard Timothy saying, as he got up from behind the sofa, book in hand.
    “I think so,” his father said, his voice muffled, regretful in the other room. “Where’s your brother?”
    Daniel was in the street. It was half past nine. The road and the estate, in this summer twilight, had a lush warm glow; in the houses, up and down the avenue, single lights were coming on automatically, guiding the couples home from the party; husbands and wives, arm in arm and in the summer gloaming turned into lovers. The thin trees, planted ten years before, had lost their daylit lack of conviction and formed a delicate orchard, marking the edges of the quiet street. The night was perfumed, and Daniel, perfumed too, sniffed it all up.
    Barbara was there, waiting for him. He had told her to wait on the wall outside number eighty-four. It was less suspicious to be casual like that rather than, as she was doing, cowering under the porch at the side of the house. Everyone knew it was empty; anyone could see her from the street. It was asking for trouble. Worse, it showed Barbara didn’t trust him, didn’t automatically think he was right. He decided to dump her after tonight, or maybe after the weekend.
    “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said, in a burst.
    “Well, I’ve come now,” he said, and dived for her mouth. She gave a small squeal, the beginning of a protest; but he knew to let his mouth just stay at the edge of a kiss, not forcing it, and in a second her hard teeth seemed to make way. They stayed like that for a minute; once or twice she made a pretty little noise, almost animal, and each time, not quite knowing whether he was mocking or encouraging her, he made something of the same noise back, but deeper, the sound vibrating through their twinned lips, making them buzz and ache, fulfilling the desire and stirring up more. Finally he pulled away. He looked at her critically; the little squeal, the blonde hair frizzing up in one, the pink roundness of her pinked-up face, lips and tits. Perhaps the boys had it right when they called her Crystal Tipps and laughed at him. Or maybe they were jealous. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “They were having a party.”
    “You said they were,” Barbara said. “I don’t know why I couldn’t be allowed to come. I’d have behaved.”
    “It was boring,” he said. “There was nothing but neighbours. Theydidn’t know each other, my mum didn’t know them. I don’t know why she asked them.”
    “We know all our neighbours,” Barbara said