‘What about the view?’ said Bodger.
Rocco shrugged. ‘I have a busy internal life.’
As they walked back to the car, Vance said, ‘Why does Rocco have to come with us? He spoils everything with his moaning.’
‘You’ve got to come to terms with Rocco,’ said Feather. ‘He’s obviously doing something to you. What is it?’
‘It’s making me mad.’
They drove through quiet villages and past farms. Tractors blocked their way. Dogs barked at them. They left the road for a dirt track. Then they had to unpack the cars and walk up the chalky hill to the Rim. Moon carried his music box and bag of tapes, Bodger a pile of blankets and his ice box, and the others brought the provisions. Soon, to one side, the town and the sea were below them, and on the other the hills looked brown, pink, lilac, suffused with light.
Karen threw up her arms and danced. ‘What a brilliant idea! It’s so quiet.’
‘Yes, it is beautiful,’ said Rocco. Sometimes he talked to Karen in the restaurant. He felt sorry for her, married to Vance. ‘But I like it when you dance.’
‘Always the flattterer,’ said Vance.
Rocco knew Vance didn’t like him, and he was afraid of him too. When Vance was around he felt awkward. Ignoring this last remark he walked away and regretted having come.
Bodger called after him, ‘Everyone — get some wood for the fire!’
They wandered off at random, leaving Karen and Moon behind. Moon, with a sleepy look, like he’d been woken against his will, spread out the blankets and set out the spliff, wine and beer. When Vance had gone Karen smoked grass as if she were holding a long cigarette at a cocktail party, and then lay down with her head nearly inside the music.
Lisa wanted to skip, laugh, shout, flirt and tease. In her cotton dress with blue dots and the straw hat, she felt light and ethereal. She had stopped bleeding at last. A few days ago Bodger had told her she was having a miscarriage. She hadn’t understood how it had happened. It had been Moon. Her body had bled for him, her heart for Rocco.
She climbed a hill through prickly bushes, and sat down. They’d been late getting away. Dusk was approaching. Down below a bonfire was already burning. Feather’s shadow moved in a radius around the fire as she piled on wood and stirred the pot with a spoon tied to a long stick.
Bodger fussed around the fire as though at home in his own kitchen.
‘Where’s the salt?’ he called. ‘Don’t say we’ve forgotten it! Don’t laze about, everyone. Have I got to do everything?’
Vance and Karen were having a casually bitter argument, looking away from one another, as if just chatting.
Feather began unpacking the basket, but stopped and walked off, looking at the sea. After a while some strangers came into view. It was impossible to make them all out in the flickering light and bonfire smoke, but she saw a woollen cap and grey beard, then a dark blue shirt, and a swarthy young face. About five of these people were squatting in a circle: travellers. Shortly after the people struck up a slow-moving song, like those sung in church during Lent.
Moon clambered up the path. Lisa was aware of him behind her. Had there actually been a time when this boy had attracted her?
‘It was a mistake,’ she said immediately. How could she explain that she wanted him for some things and not others?
‘I’ll wait until you want me,’ he said.
‘Do that.’
It became an amusing game again. She still owed him, of course. They had made a baby. For a short while, in the weeks of her pregnancy, she had been a woman and had imagined that people were beginning to take her seriously. She had stood in front of the mirror, sticking out her stomach and stroking it, imagining herself big.
‘I must go now.’
She walked quickly, so that Moon knew not to follow her; when she turned she saw him taking another route. But after a few minutes walking she heard a sound and was frightened. She took a few more steps.
‘How are you feeling?’ said Bodger.
She was startled. He seemed to have concealed himself behind a tree and jumped out on her, surely an unusual practice for a doctor.
‘Not physically bad,’ she said, grateful for the enquiry. ‘Strong again, in that way. But I’m lost.’ He was looking at her strangely. ‘I liked the last medicine you gave me, but what prescription can anyone give for lostness?’
‘A kiss.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Let me kiss you.’
He closed his eyes, awaiting her reply, as if it were the most important question he’d ever asked.
She left him standing in that position. Down below the soup was ready. They poured it into the bowls and drank it with that air of ritual solemnity exclusive to picnics, and declared they never tasted anything so appetising at home.
They lay in a jumble of napkins, water bottles and paper plates. It got dark; the bonfire was dying. Everyone felt too sluggish to get up and put on more wood. Lisa drank beer after beer and let Moon watch her.
Rocco felt awkward sitting there. His back was hot from the fire, while Vance’s loathing was directed at his chest and face. The hatred made him feel weak and humiliated.
‘A great picnic and enchanting evening,’ said Rocco.
‘Glad you liked it.’
In a cringing voice he said, ‘You know, Vance, occasionally I envy your certainty about everything.’
Lisa interrupted. ‘I don’t. I’ll never know how anyone can have so much when so many people have almost nothing.’
Vance shook his head at both of them and Lisa got up and ran away. Rocco stared into the distance.
6
It was past one when they got into the cars. Everyone was ready for bed, apart from Moon and Lisa, who were chasing one another in the woods.
‘Hurry up!’ shouted Bodger, who had become irritable.
‘Too stoned,’ said Vance, jangling his keys. ‘I’m off.’
Exhausted by the picnic, by Vance’s hatred of him, and by his own thoughts, Rocco went to find Lisa. She was in high spirits; when she seized him by both hands and laid her head on his chest, breathlessly laughing out loud, he said, ‘Don’t be vulgar.’
She lost heart. She climbed into the car feeling stupid.
‘Typical of the sentimental unemployed,’ Vance said, closing his eyes, the better to concentrate on his opinions. Karen was driving. ‘They think people are suffering because I’ve taken their money. They think I don’t care. That I see an unemployed man and woman who can’t feed their kids or pay the mortgage, and I fall about laughing. Meanwhile he swaggers around at exhibitions, museums and theatres, passing judgement, puffing himself up.’
‘Music and books,’ said Bodger. ‘The best things in life. Reason for living. What men and women make. The best. And what will remain of us, if anything.’
Vance went on, ‘You’ll never find one of these people — whose dole I provide — sticking out their hand and saying, thank you for wanting to be rich, thank you for making this country run and for taking risks! There’s more and more of them about. People don’t contribute. What we’ll do with them is the problem of our time.’
Bodger said, ‘Lisa. She said something simplistic. And you’re jumping on her because you hate Rocco. But she’s a lovely woman!’
‘Bodger, if you met a man who giggled all day and never worked, you’d say, a job will do you good. But you let her off because she’s a beautiful woman.’
‘What would you do with her, then? Hit her?’
Vance said, ‘I might let her peel my potatoes.’
7