Rachel Cusk - The Country Life

‘I’m fine ,’ said Martin crossly, screwing up his face at her. He looked unwell in the strong light, his face as bleached and savage as a piece of rock.

‘Hello, Martin,’ said Caroline deliberately. Her voice startled me, for despite her looming presence her inertia had caused me to forget her, as one could forget a large mountain. ‘How are you? I’m fine, how are you, Caroline? Oh, fine, thank you, kind of you to ask.’

This surprising monologue was rapidly and sarcastically delivered, and rather knocked the stuffing out of any politeness which might have been on the agenda. All eyes turned to Caroline, who remained enigmatic and brutish behind her sunglasses.

‘Say hello to your sister, you scoundrel,’ said Pamela.

‘Hello, sister,’ said Martin.

‘I’m Caroline,’ said Caroline, evidently to me. She precipitated herself forward in her chair and extended her arm. The movement was unexpected, and the unpredictable shifting of her mass caused me instinctively to draw back, as if from the path of a landslide or falling boulder.

‘Stella. Nice to meet you,’ I added gamely, shaking her hand.

‘What will you have to drink, Stella? Martin?’ said Pamela. ‘We thought we’d have lunch out here, as it’s so glorious. If you’ve had enough of the sun just shout and Piers will put up the umbrella.’

Nobody said anything, and Pamela looked about with the bright, nervous movements of a bird.

‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ I said awkwardly, indicating their glasses. It sounded rather demanding, as if I were placing an order with a waitress.

‘Right!’ said Pamela. ‘I’ll go and rustle up Piers and see what’s happening with lunch. You lot just sit here and enjoy the sun.’

She stood up abruptly, as if she were upset, while the rest of us remained guiltily seated. I was surprised by the sight of Pamela’s body in her swimming costume. Her skin was brown and shrunken, like dried meat, and running up the pot of her belly was a seam of raised flesh, like a geographical feature on a relief map.

‘Do you want a hand, Mummy?’ said Caroline.

Martin made a strange noise beside me. When I looked at him, he was mouthing Caroline’s offer with an idiotic look on his face, his lips flapping like wings.

‘No, no, I don’t think so,’ said Pamela wearily. She hesitated for a moment, hand to her forehead, as if contemplating a landscape of strictures and duties by which she suddenly realized herself to be surrounded. Eventually she turned and trod lightly off, the soles of her sandals slapping against her feet.

The three of us were set adrift in uncertain silence. Pamela, the focus of our attention, being gone, it was required of us to re-form in a new constellation, and as it soon became evident that neither Martin nor I was equipped to set this orbit in motion, Caroline gathered herself up in her chair and took charge.

‘Mummy tells me you’re from London,’ she said, to me.

‘That’s right,’ I replied. I could see that I was to be interrogated, and felt that no more was required of me at this stage than to give clear and correct answers.

‘And you worked as a secretary, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘At a law firm.’

‘Yes.’

I should add that while these enquiries were being made, Caroline was indulging in a shameless inspection of my physical appearance, running the beam of her gaze up and down my body like a minesweeper. Despite keeping my own counsel in so far as I possibly could, I sensed that a deeper, unauthorized method of extraction was at work which I was powerless to prevent. Her appraisal was as penetrating and objective as an X-ray; and yet I felt that I was being sized up as a threat, although to what precisely I could not gather.

‘That sounds very respectable. Why did you leave? Did you feel there was no future for you at the firm?’

I deduced from the insinuating, indeed the downright challenging, nature of this question that I was being tested for the weakness of my character, and understood that this was the point at which I must establish my boundary; that if I did not, Caroline would invade and conquer, certain of victory.

‘On the contrary.’ Caroline’s sunglasses were beginning to unnerve me. They appeared to give her an advantage, shielding her from my remarks while at the same time preventing me from monitoring their effect. ‘The certainty of my future there was the very thing which enabled me to reject it. I dislike having too clear a view of what lies ahead. It lacks,’ I finished rather triumphantly, ‘adventure.’

Caroline seemed surprised and, for the moment at least, repelled by my reply. She retracted her interest as an animal would a probing tentacle and appeared to be reconsidering the situation. Martin gave a snort of laughter.

‘If adventure is what you want,’ she said presently, head held high, ‘then you must find things very quiet here. In fact, it is usually for its lack of adventure that people come to the country. We don’t really go in for that sort of thing here.’

‘Oh, I’ve had more than my fair share of excitement,’ I said. Keeping my eyes fixed on Caroline’s sunglasses was proving to be quite a strain. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable from sitting so still in the heat, and longed to get up from my chair and move around. ‘By adventure I mean the unknown, really. I wanted to see a different side of life.’

Caroline snorted, evidently a family trait.

‘I’d hardly call Buckley a different side of life. Or Martin, for that matter.’

‘Thanks,’ said Martin.

‘You make it sound so dull here, and yet I find it interesting.’ The sun was getting at the side of my neck, and I was forced to unlock my gaze from Caroline’s and shift around in my chair. ‘I’ve only been here a day or two, but I feel that I’ve already learned a lot.’

‘Such as?’

Mercifully, at this point I heard the warning rattle of a tray behind me, and turned to see Mr Madden bearing down on us.

‘Hello!’ he said, looking from Martin to me and back again with stunned cheerfulness. ‘How did you two get on?’

‘Oh, fine!’ I said; a trifle too warmly, perhaps. The sight of Mr Madden, after the tension of my exchange with Caroline, had aroused in me a bounteous, doglike affection for him. ‘Martin showed me around. The rose garden is wonderful.’

‘Good, good!’ said Mr Madden vaguely. He seemed lost in thought for a moment or two. ‘Fresh air will have done you the world of good, old chap. Get some colour in your cheeks.’

‘I’m amazed you got him out of his room,’ chimed Caroline unexpectedly. Her next comment was addressed more generally to the group. ‘Mummy says it’s an absolute pit in there. It took Mrs Barker the whole morning to set it straight. It’s a bit selfish of you, Martin, wasting Mrs Barker’s time when there’s so much else to do. Why you can’t tidy up after yourself I don’t know. Mummy’s been at it all morning and she’s absolutely exhausted.’

It is difficult to convey the speed at which all of this was pronounced. Caroline’s diction was high-pitched and rapid, and when she delivered it her mouth moved extraordinarily quickly, as if she were gobbling food. The effect was not very attractive — we were all, I felt, watching it with equal fascination — for her lips were thin and downturned above the piston of her chin, whose motion was so automatic that it seemed possible that it would never stop. I was anticipating, half-gleefully, a vituperative response from Martin, and was surprised to see that he seemed to have fallen asleep in his chair.

‘Don’t be too hard on him, Caro,’ said Mr Madden, laden tray still in hand. ‘It’s difficult for us chaps to remember to tidy up. We’ve got other things on our minds, fighting wars and running things and suchlike, what?’