To Myra he was an intelligent young man who, being so young, was a complete mystery until he explained himself. It was one of her faults that she rarely understood or sympathised with, those whose ages differed from her own. She drew Mark up to show him the road. Passing cars were clocked on his senses by a wave of his arms. He was in a peaceful and interested mood as the car funnelled through green landscape. Now and again the colic struck, and but came the rose-hip syrup, but travelling usually soothed his blood, as if he were already setting his gypsy eyes at the open road and thinking to search the world for his father. It calmed her also to be on the move, disencumbered from the house and all petty thoughts.
They were well on into the flat fen zones, the holland drains of the country. The air was different from any other part of England, with its smell of sun and water. Seabirds hovered over green and yellow fields, slipped across loam and worried at the tractors. A red Mini stood by a gate, barely parked off the road, and a girl leaned on it looking blankly at any traffic that passed. The bonnet of her car was up, but she did not wave.
‘I know that attitude of troublesome despair that bodes ill for all and sundry,’ Richard said. The car stopped smoothly, shot into reverse and drew up by the Mini’s side. He wound down the window, shouting: ‘Are you back from running in the M1?’
‘Drop dead,’ Mandy called, tear-marks on her face. ‘It took you long enough to find me.’
‘I wasn’t looking for you, love,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to say. Had a breakdown?’
She smiled, as if to give him canker. ‘No, I’m smelling petrol. It sends me.’
‘Maybe the good wold wind’ll blow your bad mood away. This is Myra Bassingfield.’ Myra recognised her, the terror of the motorway for the last three weeks, the angel at the wheel who had buzzed her and whom she had passed at seventy miles an hour. They didn’t shake hands. ‘She’s coming home,’ Richard said, ‘to stay a while. A friend of father’s.’
‘Another one to feed,’ Mandy said. ‘That makes twelve of us.’
‘Thirteen,’ Richard laughed. ‘There’s a baby inside.’
‘Is it father’s?’ she asked. ‘I’ll never know how many brothers and sisters I’ve really got. It’s a horrible life.’
‘He’s not your brother,’ Myra said. ‘And don’t be afraid for your food.’
‘You’ll walk back if you’re not careful,’ Richard said. Myra offered a cigarette, and wrung a thanks from her. ‘I’m broke, flat broke. No fags and not even the price of a cup of tea, nor the money to phone a garage. There’s enough petrol in my tank to get home, but that’s about all, except that the bloody thing won’t start. Nearly six hundred pounds of brand-new British rubbish.’
‘You’ve knocked it to death,’ he said. She went sulkily into the Rambler, found some sandwiches in the glove-box and pulled them apart in a few seconds. Richard tried the Mini for ignition faults, fuel failure and mechanical defects, but could not start it. ‘We’ll lift it on to my luggage-rack, and carry it home like that.’
‘You only want to humiliate me,’ Mandy cried. Black rings of exhaustion made her eyes look bigger, big enough, Myra thought, to send any man mad. She had in fact hoped for a romantic rescue by some stranger, but much to her disgust no one had stopped. ‘We’d never get up the lane with it on your luggage rack because the tree branches are too low.’
‘Well,’ said Richard, smiling at her show of dignity, ‘we’ll just have to tow you. It’s only forty miles, and we can leave it at Stopes’s Garage.’ He uncoiled a rope and attached it to both cars. ‘I’m frightened,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to drive on tow.’
‘Just watch the brakes,’ he said. ‘I won’t go over thirty.’
‘Lend me some money and tell the next garage to send a breakdown truck. Then I’ll see you as soon as it’s fixed.’ He caught the glint in her eyes. If he lent her ten pounds and the car was mended there was no telling where she would head for next. He was afraid to let her go without a week’s rest, for there was a desperate look in her eyes as if, because of the breakdown, she couldn’t wait to get back on the road and plough into it. If she came home the house would stop worrying.
Myra offered to drive. ‘You can stay in with Richard, and look after Mark.’
Mandy looked fiercely at her, then at Richard. ‘All right. But if anybody scratches it, I’ll do my nut.’
‘I’ll take care,’ Myra smiled.
‘You didn’t buy the bloody car,’ Richard said, tired of her irrational stubbornness, ‘so shut up.’ At a wave from Myra he cruised along the road.
The Rambler, having discarded the Mini, made its way up the muddy lane, lush branches and nettles as high as a man clawing its sides as if to welcome their black panther back. Handley came out in shirt-sleeves to greet them, glad of an excuse not to work for a few days. He hoped to go for walks with Myra, or take her by car to the coast, or to the various high-spots of the county so that they could talk about many things. Enid would come too, of course, and a gay party would be made up.
Myra admired the caravans, the compound, the house. ‘Did he look after you well?’ Handley asked.
‘Perfectly,’ she said, feeling tired. ‘We drove Mandy the last forty miles, which made it merrier. Her car had broken down.’
‘Where is she?’ he snapped, then remembered that it wouldn’t be polite to break the month’s peace while Myra was here. ‘I’ve something to say to her.’
‘In the car,’ Richard said. ‘The Mini’s being fixed. Nothing serious.’
‘I hope not. That’s our second car.’ Handley looked thinner, browner, as if he were much of the day out of doors. But she also found him more open and nervous than during his time in London, as if gripped by continual worry and irritation. ‘Mandy! Come out of there.’
She sat up on the back seat, winding down the window. ‘I’m not. Tell Mam to throw me some sheets in. I want to sleep here.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Handley said. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all have breakdowns some time or other.’
But they could not persuade her, and went into the house, Handley carrying Myra’s case, while Richard followed with the baby. Enid had set out a cold lunch in the kitchen, of ham and cheese, cold fried fish and chicken, wine, beer and tea, and many kinds of bread. She met them at the door, wearing a beige woollen jersey-dress in which to shake hands. She was fair and tall, and Myra was impressed by her broad eyes and narrow smooth-skinned face, and an expression of passion and intelligence marking the curve of her lips. Here, she thought, is a woman who says yes to everything because there is nothing left to say no to. ‘I had a very good trip,’ she answered, ‘in such a superb car.’
Albert smiled with pleasure. ‘Yes, it’s not a bad old bus,’ and took her coat.
‘It’s his favourite toy,’ Enid said. ‘He’d be lost without it.’ Myra imagined so. They were immediately like two sisters trying to put the only man present in his place. He should have expected it, rather than bank on a society of equals, all pally and sexless until he made his grab, then appallingly and deliriously willing. He poured four tots of brandy: ‘Here’s to a peaceful and pleasant stay. We’ll have a bite now, and leave the banquet till tonight.’