To Have and to Hold Read Free Page B

they were visitors.
    â€˜Cold?’ He put her case down.
    â€˜I’m fine.’
    â€˜I put the heating on.’ He felt the radiator.
    She nodded and went into the lounge.
    â€˜You’ve been cleaning,’ she said.
    â€˜I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t you be back at work?’
    â€˜Not yet.’
    When he came back with the tea, she was sitting on the settee. He wished she had a book or a magazine on her lap. Even just for his sake.
    â€˜Thought we could have a dekko at these.’ He sat down next to her and opened the brochures he’d brought. ‘Have a biscuit. Look.’ He turned a page. ‘This place, you have your own villa, balcony, strange Greek plumbing, the works. Levkas, that’s just below Corfu but not so spoiled. A touch of the vine-shaded tavernas, and we could have a bash at windsurfing.’
    The brochure lay on her lap. After a moment she turned the page. It lay there, open.
    â€˜Or we could try Kos.’ It said:
Family villa, sleeps six, reduction for children.
He turned the page, the next, then the next. ‘Or what about a bit of culture, what about Florence?’
    â€˜That would be nice.’
    There was a silence.
    â€˜Look, I’m not going back,’ he said.
    â€˜Course you must.’
    â€˜I’m staying here,’ he said. ‘With you.’
    â€˜Please Ken. I’m all right.’
    Another silence.
    â€˜Please go,’ she said, her voice sharper.
    Ken paused. She sat there, turning the pages. He stood up. She didn’t move. Then he went to the door.
    She raised her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice low.
    â€˜Annie!’
    â€˜I’m so sorry.’
    â€˜Don’t ever say that!’
    He moved towards her, but she turned back to the brochure. He looked at her brown hair, neatly brushed, bent over the photographs. He went out to his car.
    Ann put away the tea-mugs and the uneaten biscuits. The house was silent. She had wanted so much to come home, but now she was here she felt like a guest.
    Opening the cupboard door, she caught sight of a glimmer of plastic behind the saucepans. It was hidden away, wedged at the back. She pulled it out. It was the bag of baby’s knitting.
    Now she was alone she pulled out a chair, quite deliberately, sat down at the table, and started to cry.

_____
Three
_____
    TWO YOUNG GIRLS are at the beach. It’s a perfect summer’s day; nothing must spoil it. Viv wears one of those bobbly nylon bathing suits, its bottom rubbed ochre with sand. She is standing beside her father, who is skimming pebbles over the water. He chooses the flattest he can find and gives it to her. His arm around her, he shows her how to do it.
    â€˜That’s it,’ he says. ‘That’s the way.’
    Viv throws it.
    Ann sees the pebble and comes up to them.
    â€˜It sank,’ she says.
    â€˜No it didn’t,’ says her father. He passes Viv another pebble and Viv throws it. ‘Bravo!’ he says.
    â€˜That one sank too!’ cries Ann. ‘It didn’t jump at all.’
    Her father takes no notice. Viv grimaces at Ann. This time it is Viv who finds him a flat stone, and this time it is he who throws it, with a flick of the wrist so that it skims one, two, three times. This is quite right for a dad. But Viv hadn’t done it right.
    â€˜I saw she didn’t!’ Ann says again. It’s so unjust that her voice squeaks. She looks at Viv’s slender, stork-like legs, her smug buttocks rubbed with sand; she looks at her father’s neck, reddened by the sun.
    â€˜It’s my turn,’ she says. She stands next to them. She too wears a bobbly swimsuit, like blisters on her, but she’s tubbier. It’s only this summer, now she’s ten, that she’s realized this. She picks up a flat pebble and throws it. Her father has lit a cigarette; he has lost interest. And anyway her pebble, of course,