‘Quite funny in retrospect, most of it. You think this is bad…’
‘What could be worse?’
‘Oh, there’s worse. If I tell you a funny story would it cheer you up?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, well. This is true, remember. This was one time not long after they got the house. You were just a baby. She ate the housekeeping.’
‘What? She what?’ Lila clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘She
what
?’
Uncle George nodded solemnly, and they both burst out laughing.
‘A week’s housekeeping. Your dad had just given it to her. They were having a row about money, I gather she was going through it a bit fast. She tore it up, stuffed it in her mouth and swallowed it. To show him how fast she
could
go through it. By the time he rang me she’d been retching for three hours.’
‘So what happened? Was she really ill?’
‘You mean how fast did it go through her? Oh, nature ran its course. Eventually. She got herself in a real state.’ Uncle George grinned. ‘Mind you, it was only the notes. Not even your mother went as far as eating the coins.’
When their laughter died away, Lila said, ‘I still hate it. I want to go back with you and live in London.’
‘Look, these things pass. They always do.’
‘This won’t. I hate it. It’s their fault. I
do
want to scream.’
‘Well, scream, then. Go on, there’s nobody about. Scream for all you’re worth,’ Uncle George said jovially, waving an arm towards the beach and the faraway sea. ‘Scream at them. Scream at Enid. Shatter their eardrums.’
He was laughing again. To show him she minded, she filled her lungs and tried to scream, but managed only a couple of stifled, breathy yelps. She sounded like a tired kitten. Her mouth was full of gluey, salt liquid; she swallowed a couple of times and tried again.
‘Call that screaming? Oh, you are so funny!’ He slapped his leg, snorting with laughter. ‘Go on! Scream!’
Lila stood up, walked away a few steps and turned from him, took a breath, and screamed. It came out flickering at first, like a guttering light, and then strengthened to a bright blast that cut the air. She stopped, suddenly light-headed, took a deeper breath and screamed again; after a few seconds the sound changed, grew long, high-pitched, sailing. On it went, one steady note with a slight, fluting vibrato, heartless and clear. She knew what she was doing. She was singing, and she intended it as a warning. When she came to the end of her breath she stopped abruptly. She walked back and sat down again, folded her arms and looked calmly out to sea.
‘Congratulations,’ Uncle George said. ‘That was a B flat. I see I’m right. I thought you might have the voice to go with the temperament. How long have you been able to do that?’
‘Since forever,’ she said carelessly. ‘There’s not much to it, you know.’
She didn’t quite believe this but saying it made her feel superior. Uncle George stifled another laugh.
‘Shut up! You’re as bad as her. She goes on,’ she said in an angry whisper, ‘like it’s something special, like you should get sympathy for being able to sing or something!’
Uncle George nodded, not needing to be told that Lila was now talking about Fleur rather than Enid.
‘Just because she was a singer once. It’s
stupid
.’
‘Does she know you can sing?’
Lila had no clear idea of what her mother knew, about her or anything else. Fleur displaced simple knowing—about everyday, ordinary things—with irritation or loathing.
‘She doesn’t care, anyway. She’s not really interested in it, except for singing along to her records.’
‘What about at school? Don’t they make you sing at school?’
Lila scowled. ‘They try. I can’t be bothered. I’d only get teased anyway, it’s bad enough they all know
she
sings.’
‘Senga again?’
Lila nodded. ‘And Linda McCall. And Enid, some of the time.’
‘But isn’t it difficult
not
to sing? Don’t you ever just want to, don’t you want
‘What could be worse?’
‘Oh, there’s worse. If I tell you a funny story would it cheer you up?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, well. This is true, remember. This was one time not long after they got the house. You were just a baby. She ate the housekeeping.’
‘What? She what?’ Lila clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘She
what
?’
Uncle George nodded solemnly, and they both burst out laughing.
‘A week’s housekeeping. Your dad had just given it to her. They were having a row about money, I gather she was going through it a bit fast. She tore it up, stuffed it in her mouth and swallowed it. To show him how fast she
could
go through it. By the time he rang me she’d been retching for three hours.’
‘So what happened? Was she really ill?’
‘You mean how fast did it go through her? Oh, nature ran its course. Eventually. She got herself in a real state.’ Uncle George grinned. ‘Mind you, it was only the notes. Not even your mother went as far as eating the coins.’
When their laughter died away, Lila said, ‘I still hate it. I want to go back with you and live in London.’
‘Look, these things pass. They always do.’
‘This won’t. I hate it. It’s their fault. I
do
want to scream.’
‘Well, scream, then. Go on, there’s nobody about. Scream for all you’re worth,’ Uncle George said jovially, waving an arm towards the beach and the faraway sea. ‘Scream at them. Scream at Enid. Shatter their eardrums.’
He was laughing again. To show him she minded, she filled her lungs and tried to scream, but managed only a couple of stifled, breathy yelps. She sounded like a tired kitten. Her mouth was full of gluey, salt liquid; she swallowed a couple of times and tried again.
‘Call that screaming? Oh, you are so funny!’ He slapped his leg, snorting with laughter. ‘Go on! Scream!’
Lila stood up, walked away a few steps and turned from him, took a breath, and screamed. It came out flickering at first, like a guttering light, and then strengthened to a bright blast that cut the air. She stopped, suddenly light-headed, took a deeper breath and screamed again; after a few seconds the sound changed, grew long, high-pitched, sailing. On it went, one steady note with a slight, fluting vibrato, heartless and clear. She knew what she was doing. She was singing, and she intended it as a warning. When she came to the end of her breath she stopped abruptly. She walked back and sat down again, folded her arms and looked calmly out to sea.
‘Congratulations,’ Uncle George said. ‘That was a B flat. I see I’m right. I thought you might have the voice to go with the temperament. How long have you been able to do that?’
‘Since forever,’ she said carelessly. ‘There’s not much to it, you know.’
She didn’t quite believe this but saying it made her feel superior. Uncle George stifled another laugh.
‘Shut up! You’re as bad as her. She goes on,’ she said in an angry whisper, ‘like it’s something special, like you should get sympathy for being able to sing or something!’
Uncle George nodded, not needing to be told that Lila was now talking about Fleur rather than Enid.
‘Just because she was a singer once. It’s
stupid
.’
‘Does she know you can sing?’
Lila had no clear idea of what her mother knew, about her or anything else. Fleur displaced simple knowing—about everyday, ordinary things—with irritation or loathing.
‘She doesn’t care, anyway. She’s not really interested in it, except for singing along to her records.’
‘What about at school? Don’t they make you sing at school?’
Lila scowled. ‘They try. I can’t be bothered. I’d only get teased anyway, it’s bad enough they all know
she
sings.’
‘Senga again?’
Lila nodded. ‘And Linda McCall. And Enid, some of the time.’
‘But isn’t it difficult
not
to sing? Don’t you ever just want to, don’t you want
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