Pat Barker: Double Vision

Even in this weather a column of ants was moving purposefully towards the trickle of blood.

‘He’ll keep overnight,’ Robert said, standing up.

‘Can you cut his head off, Dad?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s not that easy, cutting off heads. The neck ligaments are very strong.’

A machete would do it easily enough, Stephen thought, blinking the images away. Suddenly he wanted to be indoors, somewhere safe, away from the memories of long grass and the skulls you trip over in the dark.

‘Can’t we boil it?’

‘I think Mum might have something to say about that.’

Adam was squatting down, stroking the head. Stephen could see him lusting after the strong secret white structure underneath.

‘Let’s go and have tea, Adam,’ Robert said. ‘And I’ll see what I can do in the morning.’

He got Adam firmly by the shoulder and pushed him towards the house. But Stephen lingered for a moment, looking down at the badger, feeding off the raw power. Then, seeing Robert and Adam waiting for him by the patio door, he hurried up the lawn after them.

Beth was in the kitchen, beating oil and vinegar together in a bowl. She hadn’t so much aged since Stephen last saw her, as faded. Her features had blurred as if somebody had rubbed one of those enormous, squishy artist’s erasers across her face.

‘Hello, Stephen,’ she said briskly, offering her cheek to be kissed. ‘Have you seen the badger?’

‘Yes,’ Adam said.

Beth and Robert exchanged a glance above his head, the intimate, conspiratorial look of co-creators.

Robert said, ‘I think you’d better wash your hands, young man.’ He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder and steered him towards the door.

The adults stood around chatting, while Beth put the finishing touches to the meal. Odd, these meetings with relatives, Stephen thought. The long past stretching out behind you and yet, on the surface, a lack of things to talk about, the daily flotsam of life not available for picking over and comment. They talked about the spate of accidents on the railways, train delays, the foot-and-mouth epidemic that had devastated the local economy… And then, closer to home, how Beth was coping with her new job as a full-time hospital administrator. She’d only ever worked part time before, and she was finding the new job a strain. It took over an hour to get home in the evenings, so somebody had to collect Adam from school and stay with him till she got back.

‘It’s been better since Justine arrived. Mrs Todd just pulled out, no warning, and then Adam went down with chicken pox and of course I was going frantic, but then Robert remembered Justine.’ Beth dipped a ladle into the soup, her face open-pored and steamy in the heat. ‘And she’s been great, hasn’t she? Doesn’t do much housework, but frankly as long as Adam’s happy, I couldn’t care less about the housework. I can do that at the weekends.’

‘She’s very good with Adam,’ Robert said, taking the plates from under the grill where they’d been warming. ‘And he’s not easy.’

‘He’s not difficult,’ Beth said. She turned to Stephen. ‘Adam is a very, very rewarding child.’

Say no more, Stephen thought. He’d been a very, very rewarding child himself, in his day.

Beth served the soup. As they sat down at the table, Stephen asked, ‘Do you know Kate Frobisher?’

‘Yes,’ Robert said. ‘She was one of the judges for the Sci-Art competition, so I saw quite a bit of her for a while.’

‘What’s she like?’

Robert shrugged. ‘Cheerful. Down to earth. Loves her house. Of course, this was all before Ben died.’

‘That house is enormous,’ Beth said. ‘And she’s on her own now. I’d be terrified if it were me.’ She handed the bread round. ‘You knew Ben, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, quite well.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t know her, then.’

‘Ben didn’t spend all that much time in London. I have met her once or twice. But I’d like to use some of his photographs for the book, so I’ll need to go and see her.’

‘She lives, what, about five miles away?’ Robert said.

‘About that,’ Beth said. ‘Oh, and I think you might find her in a surgical collar. She had quite a nasty accident a bit back.’

‘But she’s all right?’

‘As far as we know,’ Robert said.

‘She is,’ Beth said. ‘I bumped into her in the hospital. She comes in for physiotherapy twice a week.’

All this time Adam had been sitting quietly, dipping hunks of bread into his soup but not eating much. He kept pulling at his ears like a much younger child, and clawing at his arms where a few chicken-pox scabs still lingered.

‘He’s tired,’ Beth said, following the direction of Stephen’s gaze.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘So you like animals?’ Stephen asked.

Not looking at him, Adam wriggled acknowledgement.

‘What kind do you like best?’

Adam thought. ‘Dead ones.’

‘He collects bones,’ Robert put in quickly. ‘Going to be an orthopaedic surgeon, I expect.’

Or a serial killer. ‘What’s the best one you’ve got?’

‘Human femurs. Dad gave them to me, didn’t you, Dad?’

Robert smiled. ‘Do you remember, Dad had them up in the attic? It’s amazing, isn’t it? You couldn’t be that casual today.’

‘I remember we used to play pirates with them.’

Even this shared memory brought with it a slight constraint. Robert had followed their father into medicine, whereas he’d gone off at a tangent, pursuing a career that nobody in the family had much respected.

‘You could show Stephen your collection,’ Beth said. ‘After tea.’

Adam nodded, scratching inside his T-shirt.

‘Don’t do that, you’ll break the skin,’ Robert said.

Adam kept still, until the adults started talking again, and then, out of the corner of his eye, Stephen saw him slide his hand inside the T-shirt and rub at his skin again. Poor kid.

After coffee, Beth went upstairs with Adam to put some kind of soothing ointment on the scabs. After she’d gone, Robert raised his eyebrows at Stephen. ‘Do you know, I think I might have a drink. Would you like one?’

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said awkwardly, ‘I think I’d rather have a bath and settle in.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Since Stephen had brought two suitcases and a laptop, Robert drove the short distance down the lane to the cottage. Frost glittered on every twig of the hawthorn hedge that enclosed the small front garden. Stephen stamped his feet, breath pluming round his face, while Robert bent to unlock the door. Above their heads, bare branches netted a shoal of stars.

‘You haven’t brought much with you,’ Robert said, looking at the cases.

‘No, well, I didn’t leave home with much. Nerys’s storing most of it.’

‘Oh, so it’s pretty amicable, then?’

‘Huh! I don’t know about that.’

They went into the hall. ‘You’ll find a few basic things in the cupboards. The fire’s been on all day, so it should be warmed through.’

A low door led into the living room, so low that even Robert, who was a couple of inches shorter than Stephen, had to duck to get through. Stephen bent his head and followed.

A stone fireplace, a huge fire blazing in the grate, logs piled high in baskets on either side.

‘You can buy more logs,’ Robert said. ‘There’s a sawmill just up the road, about three miles, but there’s a coal-house round the side’ — he gestured vaguely — ‘and you’ll find enough there for a couple of weeks.’

The log on the fire had burnt almost to ash, its side creased and cracked like elephant skin. Robert bent down and put another log on top of it. Sparks flew up, and for a moment his face became a bronze mask, and then, as the green wood spat and smoked, darkened to grey. He stood up, scuffing wood chips from his palms.