Benjamin Wood - The Ecliptic

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Don’t move anything on my account.’

‘No, no, we shouldn’t be acting like we own the place.’ He carried on gathering the soldiers. ‘Jonathan — come here! Excuse all this,’ he said. ‘My wife hates it when I do paperwork on holiday. Have to steal these moments when I can.’ His son just drove his little car along the glass, ignoring him. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, son. Do you want that cream soda we talked about or not?’

The boy came trudging over. Before he could reach his father, though, a cry rose up from the court. Dulcie was stretched out on her side, having lunged to reach a dropping ball, and her opponent was exalting in the glory of a shot well hit. Dulcie kept slapping the floor with her palm. The man rushed back to the railing. ‘What happened? Did you see?’

‘I think she might have lost that one.’

‘Who?’

‘Dulcie.’

‘Well thank God for that!’ he said.

‘Are they finished?’

‘No. It’s two all. They’ll have to play a final set.’

‘Oh. Exciting,’ I said, half-heartedly. ‘And really good news for your paperwork.’

He smiled. ‘Well, it would be if all my pens weren’t broken. I don’t suppose you have one, do you?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘I’ll have to fetch another from downstairs. What’s that you’re reading?’

I showed him the cover of my book.

‘Any good?’ he said.

‘I don’t know — it depends how much you like the Plantagenets. I’m finding it difficult to care about them.’

‘Then why are you still reading it?’

‘Because I didn’t bring anything else.’

‘Ah. I used to make that same mistake. Now I don’t have time for novels at all — makes packing a lot easier.’ He offered me his ink-stained hand. ‘Victor Yail. Pleased to meet you.’

His shake was very gentle.

‘Elspeth Conroy,’ I said.

On court, Dulcie was adjusting her headband, walking back to make a serve. She glanced up and saw me on the balcony, giving a little gesture with her racquet. ‘Are you much of a squash fan?’ said Victor. ‘Don’t really have a choice in my house. Amanda has four brothers and all of them play for their county. I’ve married into the faith.’

‘Well, I’m just here for moral support.’

‘You don’t play yourself?’

‘No. You?’

‘Once upon a time.’ He flexed his arm. ‘Bad elbow.’

The two women were hitting the ball at such a speed that I could barely follow the blur from wall to wall. Each shot gave a whipcrack. Their feet thudded the planks as they hustled back and forth. ‘Christ,’ I said. ‘They’re really smashing it. I never knew Dulcie had that kind of strength.’

‘Yes. Her game’s all power.’

‘Is that good?’

‘Can be, I suppose.’ Victor chuckled. ‘I prefer to see a bit of grace in the lady’s game, that’s all, a nonchalant slice and nimble footwork — you know what I mean. Élan.’

‘They both seem to be whacking it quite hard.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s apples and oranges down there. Apples and oranges.’

‘Well, Dulcie’s not sweating as much as your wife is. I’m no expert, but that has to be an indication of something.’

‘Only that Amanda hasn’t changed her shirt yet.’

I grinned. ‘A pound says she loses.’

‘A pound? Phew, that’s steep.’ He eyed the motions of his wife on court. ‘Frankly, I can’t trust Mandy to maintain this pace. She only plays well after an argument. Tried to pick one with me this morning, but I wasn’t having it.’

‘How selfish of you.’

‘Yes, that’s just what she said.’

Victor was an easy man to talk to. There was a serene quality about his face that appealed to me: his eyes soft-lidded, his mouth all thick and pursy. Perhaps I just found him unthreatening. He seemed like a person who would be incapable of tempting me away from the life I should have had.

‘Daddy, is it OK if I lie on the floor with this?’ The boy came rushing to his father’s kneecaps, holding up a comic.

‘As long as you stay on the carpet, I don’t see why not.’

‘Ye sssss .’ He dropped immediately and crawled into the space between the chairs.

‘And Jonathan?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘Please read it in your head this time.’

‘OK.’

Victor rolled his eyes at me.

‘Sweet boy,’ I said.

‘He’s a gifted actor, that’s what he is. You should see the hell he gives his mother. Are you on B Deck?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’ll have missed all the screaming last night. Lucky you.’ As if it were not clear enough that he was joking, he gave a little wink to underline it. Then he craned his neck to say to the boy, ‘Nearly had to throw you overboard last night, didn’t we, son? See if you could swim all the way to America?’

‘Shshhh,’ said the boy, ‘I’m reading.’

‘Oh, pardon me .’ Victor leaned close to my shoulder. ‘We mustn’t interfere with Superman and his adventures.’

‘Who?’

He waved this away. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

Dulcie was flagging now on court. She seemed to be stuck in a pattern of sending the ball back in the same direction — three times she hit it to the far left corner, and three times it came back, with added spin. I did not understand the point of having an opponent when the purpose of the game was to stand there striking the same shot repeatedly. ‘It’s getting a bit attritional down there,’ Victor said. ‘I might just finish that paperwork, after all. Do you mind if I—?’ He thumbed towards the chairs.

‘Feel free.’

He went to get his briefcase, but stopped partway, clicking his fingers. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Pen.’ For a long moment, he stood there looking from his son to me, his son to me, apparently caught in the same futile rhythm as Dulcie’s squash game. ‘Is there a chance you’d do me a huge favour and watch the pipsqueak here?’

‘Oh, I’m really not qualified for that. .’ The boy was ensconced in the reading of his comic. He was flat on his belly, kicking his heels together. ‘But I suppose he doesn’t look like too much trouble.’

‘You’re very kind.’ Victor patted his son’s head. ‘Be good for Miss Conroy. I’ll be back in ten.’ And so the boy and I were left alone.

I kept him at the edge of my vision, not wanting to seem overbearing, and tried to involve myself in what was taking place on court. The frantic squeal of shoes continued, as Dulcie scampered from one wall to the other like a captive rat, and Amanda Yail dodged around her. It was a claustrophobic sport, lacking in variety — the kind of game I could never imagine myself taking seriously — but it was obvious that Dulcie and the boy’s mother were deeply invested in the task of beating each other. They refused to concede a single ball that had the smallest chance of being redeemed, panting and wheezing between shots. It was quite an inelegant thing to watch. I tried to absorb myself again in Below the Salt , but could not focus on the words. Then I remembered I was supposed to be looking after Jonathan.

He was still on the carpet, flipping through the pages of his comic. I went over and sat down on the chairs near by. ‘Do you understand this game?’ I asked.

The boy twisted round to glance at me. He shook his head and turned away again.

‘Perhaps there’s something I’m missing. I don’t know about you, but if someone told me to go and run around inside a box for a few hours with a stick of wood, I’d say they were mad.’ He was not listening. ‘I suppose grown-ups can be funny, though, can’t they?’ The boy began to wriggle on his stomach then, as though irritated by my voice or the chafe of his trousers. ‘You know, I don’t mind if you want to read out loud. I’ve never heard of this super man before. What’s so super about him anyway?