Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘I think you must be quite a ruthless person,’ she says.

‘Don’t tell him that,’ says Larry. ‘You’re just feeding his fantasy. He’ll go on about impulse and glory again. Ed’s always been rotten with romanticism. I expect that’s why he joined the commandos. The lone warrior who kills without a sound and cares nothing for his own life.’

Ed laughs, not offended.

‘More like a bunch of oddballs who can’t fit in with the rest of the army,’ he says.

‘But don’t you have to be tremendously tough?’ says Louisa.

‘Not really,’ says Ed. ‘Just a little crazy.’

Kitty looks at Ed most of the time because most of the time he seems not to be looking at her. She sees the small impatient movements he makes, the jerk of his head with which he flicks back the dark hair out of his eyes, the opening and closing of his hands as if he’s grasping the air, or perhaps letting it go. He has long, delicate, almost feminine fingers. His complexion too is pale and girlish. And yet there’s nothing soft about him, he feels as if he’s made of taut wire; and every time those blue eyes turn on her his gaze hits her like a splash of cold water.

He says odd things in a straight way, his voice giving no clues. She can’t tell when he’s joking or serious. She feels out of her depth with him. She wants to touch the cool pale skin of his cheek. She wants to feel his arms pulling her towards him. She wants him to want her.

‘That egg story,’ Larry says. ‘Columbus didn’t make it up at all. Years before Columbus, Brunelleschi pulled the same trick, when asked to present a model for his design for the duomo in Florence. According to Vasari, at least.’

This is met by silence.

‘Larry, as you can tell,’ says Ed, ‘was actually listening during class.’

Larry pulls a face to show he’s a good sport, but in truth he’s not having a good time. He’s doing his best not to look at Kitty because every time he does so he’s swept by a wave of longing. He watches Ed, so lean and debonair and at ease with himself, and he knows he has none of his effortless style. He can only look on in awe at the careless charm with which he is all too visibly fascinating Kitty. His own freckled face gives him away at every turn, wrinkling with earnest eagerness when he talks, smoothing out when understood into a grateful smile.

‘I’ve always wanted to see Florence,’ says Kitty.

‘Rather you than me,’ says Louisa. ‘Art gives me a headache.’

‘Don’t say that to Larry,’ says Ed. ‘He wants to be an artist when he grows up.’

‘And what do you want to be?’ says Louisa.

‘Oh, I shan’t ever grow up.’

‘Ed will succeed at whatever he turns his hand to,’ says Larry. ‘He can’t help it. He’s loved by the gods.’

Ed grins and tosses a fragment of bread at him.

‘Those whom the gods love,’ he says, ‘die young.’

After they’ve eaten and drunk, Louisa takes out her box Brownie and makes them pose for a photograph.

‘Kitty, you in the middle.’

‘I hate being photographed,’ says Kitty.

‘That’s because you’re vain,’ says Louisa. ‘Be like Ed. He doesn’t care.’

Ed is sitting by Kitty’s side, his arms round his knees, his blue eyes gazing unseeingly into the distance. His shoulder touches Kitty’s arm, but he seems not to be aware of it. Larry places himself on Kitty’s other side, cross-legged, his hands on the rug behind him.

‘Smile, Larry,’ says Louisa.

Larry smiles. The shutter clicks. Louisa winds the film on.

‘Oh, bother. That’s the last one.’

‘But we have to get you too,’ says Kitty.

‘There’s no film left.’

‘We’ll make a memory instead,’ says Ed.

They all look at him in surprise.

‘What do you mean?’ says Kitty.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Ed. ‘Stand on our heads. Howl at the moon.’

‘Kitty could sing for us,’ says Louisa. ‘She’s got an amazing voice. She used to sing solos in her church choir.’

Ed fixes Kitty with a sudden intent gaze.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Kitty can sing for us.’

Kitty blushes.

‘You don’t want to hear me sing.’

Ed raises one hand, as if it’s a vote. He’s still got his eyes fixed on Kitty. Larry raises his hand. So does Louisa.

‘It’s unanimous,’ says Ed. ‘Now you have to.’

‘There’s no accompaniment,’ protests Kitty. ‘I can’t sing unaccompanied.’

‘Yes, you can,’ says Louisa. ‘I’ve heard you.’

‘Well, I can’t sing with you all staring at me.’

‘We’ll close our eyes,’ says Larry.

‘I won’t,’ says Ed.

‘It’s all right,’ says Kitty. ‘I’ll close mine.’

So she gets to her feet and stands there for a moment, collecting herself. The others watch her in silence, suddenly aware that for Kitty this is a serious matter.

Her voice is high and pure and true. Larry looks from her to Ed and sees on his friend’s face a look he’s never seen before. So that’s it, he tells himself. Ed’s in love.

Then like one waking from a dream Kitty opens her eyes and takes in Ed’s watching gaze. He holds her eyes and says nothing. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug of apology.

‘That’s all I can remember.’

‘I think perhaps you’re an angel,’ says Ed.

‘I’d just as soon not be,’ says Kitty.

Later they lie on their backs on the rug, partly in sun and partly in shade, and gaze up at the summer sky. Isolated clouds go by, like sailing ships scudding slowly in the breeze. A single aircraft, high above, whines towards London.

‘I’m sick of this war,’ says Louisa. ‘The world was so beautiful before. Now everything’s so ugly.’

‘What were you doing before the war, Louisa?’

‘Oh, nothing. I came out in ’39, the way you do. It was all very silly, I suppose. At the time I didn’t like it really, being dressed up like a parcel and made to smile at dull little men. But now it seems to me it was heaven.’

‘I’m grateful for the war,’ says Larry. ‘It’s saved me from a life in bananas.’

That makes them laugh.

‘It’s not over yet,’ says Ed. ‘The bananas may get you yet.’

Kitty wants to know about the bananas. Larry tells her how his grandfather, the Lawrence Cornford after whom he’s named, built up Elders & Fyffes, and invented the blue label stuck on bananas, and was the first to advertise fruit, and was known as the ‘banana king’.

‘When the Great War came along we had sixteen ships, and my grandfather was called in by the First Sea Lord to help with the war effort. He said, “My fleet is at the disposal of my country.” The First Sea Lord was Prince Louis of Battenberg, Mountbatten’s father. Which is why I’m in Combined Ops now.’

‘The long arm of the banana,’ says Ed.

‘I think it sounds like a wonderful business,’ says Kitty.

‘Well, everyone laughs when you say it’s bananas,’ says Larry, ‘but actually places like Jamaica depend on the banana trade. And this blue label thing really was quite revolutionary in its day. No one believed you could brand fruit until my grandfather did it. It was a tremendous struggle finding the right sort of gum, and persuading the packers to stick the labels on. But my grandfather said, “Our bananas are the best, and when people realise that, they’ll look for the blue label.” And they did.’