* * *
The fields were still in ruins from the spring storms. It was like that all the way to the coast. Last week the sea had overwhelmed the breakwaters, snapping the marina masts like daffodil stems. Where the city ran into the marshes people had been forced to climb roofs, or become bathtub gondoliers. For two days the wind came howling - 'With the voice of leviathan,' as Aunt Jenkins put it. Some tried to reassure themselves with talk of cyclonic fronts and charts, but when they heard the wind rattle their doors or the explosion of a chimney pot on the slabs outside, they were afraid. Until at last the tide seethed back over black shingle, and the salt wind swept on to season inland soil.
First light found Daniel sheltered in a hollow, watching the grasses on the far bank flatten. A water rat had made him look up, a flock of geese. One fish swam back and forth, slapping against the keep net. Gradually Daniel had achieved a perilous calm: thought about Timon less, and Jane Garfield more, and wished she was sitting beside him. He looked along the line of twisted fencing leading the canal down to the city. What if Jane came walking along the tow path now? What would he say?
If Timon were alive he could advise him, as elder brothers do. Daniel loved Jane Garfield. Love of her drew him to think about the future: that must be good. But perhaps they did not have a future. One awkward kiss sealed nothing. One kiss - and that was in the past, a cut flower fading. The way she looked at Gabriel Spicer sometimes made him doubt. She had promised nothing. And was he worth a promise?
Daniel tossed a handful of bait onto the water, and rubbed his fingers. If Timon were here he would advise him, perhaps. But Timon's advice might not be good to take. Timon's idea of a fast buck had got him killed. Why should he be luckier in love?
Timon had been seventeen when he died. Soon Daniel would overtake him. But still his brother seemed aloof, a source of untappable adult power and knowledge. And somehow Daniel was still that trailing child, the Velcro Kid, Timon's willing gopher. Nothing had changed, though everything was different. He ran the treadmill of the last few years in his mind. How Lisa had given up the band, and Valentine, his father, taken off at last. Then Timon's death, and the frenetic, empty time that followed - until Max, a widower with a daughter, came to settle on their lives. There must have been something Daniel could have done to make it better...
There were a thousand things.
Coming home he looked in at the kitchen window. They were all sitting round the table, his family. Aunt Jenkins first, fanning herself with a copy of the Daily Mail. If she looked up now she would jerk back in surprise with a 'Saints preserve us!' at the sight of his face against the glass, all streaked with dirt. Aunt Jenkins was easy to predict. And so were the rest: Lisa, capable and wise-cracking like a sit-com Mum, getting it all done. Ruby playing Ruby, with her cherry smile and Ryvita waist. And Max, a bit hazy round the edges this time of day, charmingly bath-robed at the table's head. A Dad to poke fun at: but always loving fun, mind, because a heart of gold was said to lurk thereabouts.
Daniel had one trout to show for his efforts. Max would work it out. 'Three hours for one fish, price in the fishmongers, three pounds. You've been working for a pound an hour, Daniel! And unsocial hours too!' Lisa would not help. And Ruby would say: 'But you do it for the fun, don't you Daniel?' Or perhaps: 'I don't approve of bloodsports.' That was the trouble with Ruby. You could never tell which way she'd jump.
It would not be forgotten by anyone that all Daniel's gear - the rod, waders, keep net and the rest - had once been Max's. Still were, strictly speaking (though Max never did speak strictly to his stepson). And this made Daniel want to turn back to the canal, numb his hands in the black water there, and feel nothing.
* * *
Aunt Jenkins left half the cup - and when she opened her eyes the tea was cold. Everyone had gone, and she was alone. She did not think about how Max and Lisa had their work to go to, Ruby the library, Daniel school. She knew all that, but the important thing was: they had left her alone, and the tea was cold, and before that it had been tasteless, like it always was these days. She would talk to Lisa about it. Her Tolly now - there was a man who knew how to make a proper brew.
Daniel was the image of Tolly, had Tolly lived to see it. How proud he would have been! But Timon had had Tolly's eyes, all yellowy gold; and Lisa his chin. So Tolly was shared out, after all. That was fair.
It was past ten, and she still in her dressing gown. It would never do. What would - what would anyone think, seeing her there? But of course no one would see her. There was no one to call her a lazy thing, now. No one expected anything. Oh, this tea! She poured the lot straight down the sink, and blocked it. Another thing. Another thing. That young man nosing round the house, there was a thing. Several times she'd seen him from the corner of her eye. Max should call the police. Staring in people's windows - and she still in her dressing gown. They could all be murdered in their beds, and no one the wiser.
The knocking at the back door roused her. Aware of the state she was in, Aunt Jenkins wondered if she should go up to her room to change; but there was no time, and she could not face the stairs. She unbolted the door.
'Hello,' she said, surprised. 'I didn't expect you home today. I'm not sure you should be here at all. Well come in, come in now you're here, you'll catch your death.'
She turned about, all of a bustle, and put the kettle on again. She told her visitor to sit, to wipe the mud from his boots. Such a surprise! And she still in her dressing gown. It would never do.
But when she looked back, the door was swinging open, the first specks of rain were gusting onto her bare legs, and she was alone. In the highest trees the wind was shaking out a confession. And Tolly Jenkins's wife sat down and nibbled at a biscuit, and wondered how - if she had not imagined it completely - any relative of hers could be so rude.