Chapter Six
When Mumma returned from London the following day, without Uncle Bertie in tow, she was glowing. Normally Mumma was slightly chaotic, either dozing or smoking or in a panic, losing things, yelling, making mess wherever she went and, strange to say it, Cord never minded, so this Mary Poppins-like Mumma – joining in when Cord sang, unexpectedly blowing kisses at Mrs Gage, laughing in a trilling birdy way (‘like a stupid woman in a stupid film about love,’ as Ben put it, disgustedly) – was disconcerting. Cord didn’t realise, until Althea jumped violently in the air and dropped a glass when the telephone rang, that her mother was nervous.
She took the phone call in the bedroom and was in there for ages. When she came out on to the porch, her cheeks were pink. She had got the part, she’d told them.
Daddy leaped up, flinging his arms wide, mouth open in a rictus of joy.
‘Darling, this is marvellous!’
The children were allowed to stay up and eat nuts and have their own tonic water while their parents drank champagne. ‘To Mumma,’ Daddy said as they clinked glasses. ‘Every actress in town went up for Isabella and she beat them all to it. She’s going to be wonderful.’ His eyes shone; he pointed at Mumma, who shook her head. ‘Darling. You deserve this. It’s your time, truly it is.’ He leaned against the railings, spreading his arms wide and looking out to sea he roared, ‘“OTHER WOMEN CLOY THE APPETITES THEY FEED UPON, BUT SHE MAKES HUNGRY WHERE MOST SHE SATISFIES!”’
‘How charming, and how flattering to all women,’ said Althea, taking a hefty sip from her glass as the children clapped, rolling around with mirth.
It turned out Althea’s new role was rather a big deal. It was the lead in an adaptation of Hartman Hall, the eponymous bestseller of the previous summer about an aristocratic Cornish family at the turn of the century. Mumma was Lady Isabella, the tempestuous heiress who wanted Hartman to pass to her, and the Australian actor Ray Harrington was the distant cousin who’d come back to claim his inheritance.
‘It’s very Women’s Lib, really, the whole thing about her inheriting. But I still have to toss my hair a lot and weep on a strong manly shoulder,’ Mumma was explaining to Daddy. ‘And wear corsets, darling, that’s the awful bit. I’m so fat.’
Daddy laughed. ‘You! Darling, you’re as thin as you were at nineteen.’
‘Urgh,’ Ben said. He of all of them had greeted the news of Althea’s success with the least enthusiasm. ‘How old were you when you met Mumma?’
‘I was much older. Ten years older. A coup de foudre.’
Ben was silent, then he said, ‘What’s a coo de fooderer? Someone who loves young people?’
Mumma clicked her tongue. ‘Honestly, Ben. What do they teach you all day? No, he was twenty-nine. And a coup de foudre is . . . Oh, when your heart is captured. That’s what Daddy did to me.’
‘And me to her.’
Daddy clinked his glass against Mumma’s. Sitting in front of them at her father’s feet with her own pile of roasted nuts, her back against his shins, her nightdress pulled over her knees, Cord gazed out at the white cliffs of Bill’s Point around the bay, glowing coral pink in the evening light. The sea was perfectly still, a calm azure blue, and in the lane behind she could hear a wood pigeon, cooing lazily in the trees. Cord felt serene, utterly happy, and she wished she could bottle the feeling, of being here, the warmth on her arms, her father’s bony brown legs supporting her, the faintest scent of her mother’s Chanel No. 19, the light fizz of the champagne bubbles.
‘When do you start filming, Mumma?’
‘October. I’ll be away for a while. I have to go to Cornwall for the scenes with the house. So Mrs Berry has kindly agreed to help us out.’ The children groaned, and Ben made a loud disgusted noise. ‘Well, Daddy can’t be expected to look after you.’
‘Why not?’ said Ben.
‘He – well, he has to prepare for Macbeth.’ Althea looked at her husband.
‘So we’re just going to be left on our own,’ Cord said. ‘Like orphans. To fend for ourselves.’
‘Don’t be dramatic, Cord. Mrs Berry will take you to school and in the evenings she’ll make you tea.’
Cord knelt up, eyes round. ‘I can walk along the river into Richmond and catch the train by myself. I’ll be ten next year.’
Her mother leaned forward and stroked her chin. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘What about me?’ said Ben. ‘I can take her. I’m ten and I’ve been thinking, I can easily walk her on my way—’
Mumma said gently, ‘No, Ben. Anyway, you’ll be away at school the year after.’
‘I’ve said before,’ Ben whispered. ‘I won’t go to that school. I’m sorry but I just w-won’t.’
Daddy said, ‘Listen here, old chap, let’s not talk about it now. You’ll love it when you’re there. Look at Jennings. You adore the Jennings books.’
‘Yes, but that’s when . . .’ Ben’s small voice trembled. ‘I thought it was like The Magic Faraway Tree or – or The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Not – not real. Made up. I didn’t know you could really send a child away to school in real life. Or that you’d want to . . .’
‘Oh, darling,’ said Mumma, shaking her head sadly.
‘Anyway,’ Daddy turned to Mumma as if Ben hadn’t spoken. ‘This is your night, darling. Wonderful.’
‘I’m not going,’ said Ben again, and he put his hands over his ears. Cord looked at him in disgust. She jabbed his forearm.
‘Shh. I say, shh, Ben! You’re ruining Mumma’s night.’
Ben shrugged defiantly but he lowered his hands. Mumma slid the nuts towards them. ‘Here. I shouldn’t have any more. It’s a strict diet for me from now on. Tony darling, take them away—’
But then Ben screamed and they jumped. ‘What are you doing?’ Cord said furiously, and she turned and saw Madeleine Fletcher again, standing on the stairs up to the porch. In the fading light she blocked out the sun, casting a long shadow.
The Wildes looked up at her and, instinctively, Cord felt them all huddle together a little closer.
‘I came to say thank you for yesterday, Mr Wilde.’ She looked at Cord. ‘I did want to play with you. I was cross because you were nasty to me. I wanted to say sorry for being a sneak and sorry for fostering emnity between our two houses.’
Daddy laughed. ‘No, no emnity to you, darling.’
‘Sweet girl,’ said Mumma, smiling at her. She came forward. ‘Look, won’t you stay for some supper? Oh, please do.’
‘No!’ said Ben.
‘Yes, please,’ said Madeleine, and she came up the steps, and said, shyly to Mumma, ‘Thank you very much.’
‘It’s nothing. Hadn’t you better run back and tell your father?’
‘He’s gone away.’
‘Oh.’ Cord glanced over. Her mother was shaking her head at her father. ‘Tony, didn’t you talk to him . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Daddy, under his breath. ‘I thought I had.’ To Madeleine he said, ‘He’s really left you alone again?’
‘You can check the house if you want,’ Madeleine said, putting her head on one side. ‘I’m not lying. I don’t lie. He had to go to a meeting in Birmingham. Steel rods. He’s an engineer. He left me some sausages, but I don’t know how to cook them.’
Something in Cord’s heart was jabbing into her ribs. She didn’t feel sorry for Madeleine, not even in the odd Victorian white broderie-anglaise pinafore and buckled-up shoes with no socks that she was wearing, with her bitten nails and her tired face and thick hair hanging like a cloak around her. She realised she was in awe of her. How desperately lonely, or afraid, she must have been to swallow her pride and come back over to this house with these children who’d been so mean to her.
I am going to be nice, she thought, remembering her father’s words. Understanding obscurely that Madeleine wouldn’t want her to feel sorry for her, Cord stood up and said offhandedly, ‘I’ll show you where to wash your hands for tea if you want. We were – we were just going to have some supper with our parents.’
‘We’ve had tea,’ said Ben. ‘What are you talking about? She can’t stay, we’ve had tea.’
Cord sighed. Ben never understood when the battle had moved elsewhere, when the armies were pitching their tents on another field.
‘Ben,’ said Mumma, whisking a tea towel off the food that Mrs Gage had laid out ready for Tony and Althea. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Well, I think she should go home.’ Ben glanced at Cord for approval.
‘Madeleine is a guest in our house,’ said Daddy, finally losing his temper.
Ben shouted, ‘I DON’T CARE! I live in this house and you don’t take any notice of me.’
Daddy stood up, his face white. ‘Get out.’ He pointed towards the French windows. ‘Get out. I’m sick of the sight of you, you ungrateful little coward. Complaining about every little damned thing when I try my best for you. Go to your room. We’ll see you at breakfast.’
Ben gaped at his father, and Cord and Madeleine, in the doorway, stood quite still. Then he said, ‘Cord—’
There was a tone in her father’s voice Cord had never heard before. ‘I said, go to your room. Now, otherwise I’ll beat you.’
Cord felt hot, sweaty. He’d never do that, would he? Daddy, so soppy he wept loudly when Ben found the dead blackbird chicks in the nest, or when Cord sang Ave Verum in her school concert?
‘I – sorry, sir,’ said Ben softly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Yes, you did. You’re the eldest child and you still behave like a baby. You let Cord lead you around like a whipped dog. Get out of my sight.’
Mumma was in the doorway, watching them both, and she beckoned Ben through, kissing his hair. ‘Off you go, sweet boy,’ she whispered, hugging him tight. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘He has to grow up, Althea.’ Cord heard her father hurl the words viciously at her mother as Ben went slowly downstairs. ‘You spoil him.’
‘I don’t spoil him,’ Mumma said, under her breath. ‘Tony – you have to go easy on him. You know you do. It’s not his fault.’
There was silence for a few moments, and they heard Ben’s bedroom door bang shut.
‘I’m going to make a phone call,’ said Daddy, and he stamped down the stairs towards the bedroom.
‘Is it really all right?’ Madeleine said behind her and Cord jumped. ‘If – if I stay?’
‘Oh – oh, yes, of course. Come in with me.’
Madeleine seemed to hesitate. ‘I wanted to go back and get something.’
‘What? I can lend you some clothes. If you want. I think you look nice. And we can look at my cassettes while Mumma finishes getting supper ready.’
Madeleine shrugged. ‘OK. Thank you.’
Cord shrugged too. ‘S’fine. Do you want to look at my ABBA photos? They’re downstairs, in our room.’
But Madeleine said no, it was best to leave Ben to himself for a while and so they should stay upstairs. Cord, wishing she’d thought of that, had to agree.
‘Did you see them on the Seaside Special on TV last week?’ Cord continued, leaning against the door frame and pushing herself away with her hands behind her back. ‘They did “Waterloo”, and “SOS”. We’re doing a show out here on the porch next week, different songs and music. You should—’
Madeleine interrupted. ‘Well, I don’t really know ABBA’s songs. I’ve got a transistor radio. With an earpiece. I listen to John Peel in my dorm at school.’
‘Oh.’ Cord considered this for a moment. ‘You should talk to Ben about boarding school, he thinks it sounds awful.’
‘It is awful,’ said Madeleine. ‘But it’s better than being with Daddy. I’m with Aunt Jules at the weekends and that’s fun. We go to the zoo and walking across the downs. She makes cinnamon toast. And she’s got a huge cat called Studland . . .’ She rolled her hair around her finger, then shook it in front of her face, as though she’d said too much. ‘Anyway. Aren’t you all pleased about your mother’s news?’
‘What news?’
‘Well, the big part, in that TV series,’ Madeleine said.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I – I overheard you. As I was coming over here. The wind’s in the right direction.’
‘Oh. Yes, it’s great, I suppose.’
‘None of you seems that excited!’ said Mads. ‘I’d be excited if my mum was going to be a huge TV star.’
‘She won’t be,’ said Cord, dismissively. She could hear the low rumble of her father’s voice from downstairs. ‘I mean, she’s always acted, but Daddy’s the star.’ She pointed down. ‘He’s the best actor of his generation. Guy told me.’
‘Who’s Guy?’
‘One of their friends. He’s a stage actor too, like Daddy.’ Cord tried to explain. ‘Mumma doesn’t like the attention. She acts to hide away. Daddy acts to see everyone, to be loved, to feel the crowd adoring him. He’s like a dog, he just wants affection. Poor Spam,’ she said, inconsequentially. ‘Poor girl.’
‘Spam?’
‘A dog Ben found.’
‘I saw him with it.’
‘Her. She was called Spam.’ Cord was only half concentrating; through the wooden boards she could hear that Daddy’s voice was raised and he was shouting.
‘I’m trying to be as reasonable as I can! How dare you. No – that’s too far.’ There was an awkward silence.
Cord, who always talked too much when she was nervous, said, ‘Well, that’s great. We can play ABBA, the actual album called ABBA, on the record player. My favourite song ever is “I’ve Been Waiting for You”. Then, I like “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do”. Five times!’ she said, breathlessly. ‘Ben hates them. I want to be a singer when I’m older. Or a judge. I’m actually going to change my name to Agnetha.’
‘I don’t understand why you called yourself Agnetha when you like Anni-Frid’s voice better.’
‘How did you know that too?’
Madeleine seemed to freeze. ‘Oh – I was on my way to the beach. With some friends. They heard you say it.’
Cord had made up her mind now to be nice to this strange girl, so she sat down on the sitting-room floor, and pulled over her basket of cassettes. ‘Look, here’s the TV Times, look at Anni-Frid there, she’s got her yellow cat tunic on, that’s the advert for the Seaside Special. Uncle Bertie’s promised me if they do Top of the Pops he’ll try and pull some strings so I can go and watch them. I can’t remember what you said your favourite ABBA song was?’
‘Don’t have one,’ said Madeleine. She shook her long hair so it fell around her shoulders and over her knees. ‘I like Bolan, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie. Don’t really know ABBA apart from “Waterloo”.’
‘Gosh. OK then, let me play them to you,’ said Cord, pretending not to show how very shocked she was by this. ‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, go on then,’ said Madeleine, smiling behind her sheet of hair, and Cord began hunting through her stack of albums.
How could they have known what would happen?
Fifteen minutes later Daddy returned from his telephone call and was on his most sparkling form and they sat down to supper. He apologised, held Mumma’s hand and called her a genius and told them she was destined for superstardom, he drew Madeleine out of herself, got her to tell them about her school in Bristol and how she’d been Mytyl in The Blue Bird, looking for the blue bird of happiness. Madeleine was almost animated, propping her elbows on the table as she talked. The quiche was delicious and Daddy said, at the end of it, ‘I’ll take Ben down a plate. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.’
‘You weren’t too harsh, you were sticking up for me, he was being quite rude,’ Madeleine said unexpectedly, and Mumma and Cord smiled at each other, at the obviousness of Madeleine’s adoration of Daddy. Over the years it would become a joke, how Madeleine worshipped Daddy, all because he’d run her over.
Now, as Daddy pushed back his chair with a plate for Ben, Mumma poured herself some more wine. ‘Children do the plates at supper,’ Cord told Madeleine, collecting up the dishes.
‘Cord, she’s a guest,’ said Mumma.
‘No,’ said Madeleine. ‘I’d love to. Please. Then I’ll go. Thank you awfully.’
‘You’re staying the night,’ said Mumma, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in her chair. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own, Mads.’
Madeleine said, ‘I’m always on my own, I’m used to it,’ and then they heard Tony, crying out into the night.
‘He’s gone,’ he was shouting, and he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ben’s gone, he’s run away.’
‘No, Daddy, it’s a joke, we’re not going to do it any more,’ said Cord, smiling at him and then her expression froze, her father pushing her aside, thrusting the note at his wife.
‘No. This is real.’ Flecks of his spittle flew into the dark air. ‘He’s packed his things – he left this –’ He was holding a note, which fluttered in his shaking hands. ‘Ben – Ben’s gone.’
Cord, looking from Daddy’s agonised expression to her mother’s face frozen in horror, mouth wide open, felt a terror that never really left her. That her parents were not in control, that, in fact, they knew as little as she did.