Jen found herself liking Lee despite herself. He went out of his way to show her he knew he was the intruder, to apologise for taking her room. When her mum wasn’t around, he made little jokes about Terence and Stella and the Church. He may have opened the door of his heart, but it hadn’t shut off his sense of humour the way it had for some of them.
He talked to her about music, which he knew a lot about, and books, of which he knew very little, but was full of questions. He listened to her answers.
“What’s your favourite book?” he asked.
“It’s by Salinger,” she said. “He wrote The Catcher in the Rye.” She waited, but he said nothing. “It’s called Franny and Zooey.”
“Is it a romance?”
She laughed. “No. It’s about a brother and sister, and about death and God and existential angst.”
“What happens? Do they go on an adventure?”
“No. Nothing really. She – Franny, the sister – has a breakdown, and Zooey talks to her. She’s much better at the end.”
“You’re not selling it to me.” Lee laughed and looked at the books on the hallway shelf. “Choose a book for me to read. Something exciting.”
He had been doing gardening work for some of the parishioners and his skin had caught the spring sunshine, tanned a shade darker than his hair. Jen wondered if tattoos darkened or faded in the sun.
In the mornings, Lee cooked breakfast – scrambled eggs or porridge or bacon butties, for himself and anyone else who was around. For years, the most Jen had eaten first thing was a bowl of cereal. Nobody had cooked breakfast for her since Dorothy had died.
She remembered the camping trip with Danny, the breakfast of fried eggs and bread eaten in a field wet with dew. How the next field had been quiet when the two of them packed up and left. On the way to the toilet block, she’d looked at the squatting, bright-coloured tents, imagined she could see the breath of the sleepers sucking in the canvas walls, pushing them out with the exhalation.
When the weekend arrived, Lee asked her if she wanted to go to the pub and she agreed. She wore white jeans and a white shirt with silver pumps. She put some lipstick on. When they left, Donna winked at her and Jen scowled back.
They sat in the beer garden so Lee could smoke. There were picnic tables and views across the river, and on a summer evening it would be packed, but it was April and there was still a chill in the air. There were a few smokers, but most of the noise came funnelled through the doors of the pub where people were eating.
Lee brought vodka chasers with their second pints.
Jen shook her head. “Not for me thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He knocked them both back, followed by a long swig from his pint. “Do you reckon Tez and Stella are a bit kinky?” he asked. He took a rizla from the packet and made a line of tobacco along the centre.
“I’ve not thought about it.”
“I reckon they dress up, like, as Jesus and stuff.”
“Eugh! Don’t!”
“And like, he blesses her while she sucks his dick.”
“Stop it!”
He laughed out loud, then lifted the cigarette to his lips and licked the gum along its edge. “Maybe she ties him up with his arms out in a cross.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
He flicked his lighter and the end of the cigarette flared, sending an orange glow across his face. As it died back again, he inhaled and the ends of the tobacco crackled and burned.
“Sorry.”
By the time he’d finished his pint, she was less than halfway through hers.
“It’s my round,” she said.
“You bought the first one,” he said.
“And you bought the second, so now it’s my turn.”
Lee frowned and stood up. “I’ll get them.” He disappeared into the pub before she could argue.
This time he only brought one vodka, but it looked like a double. He knocked it back in one. “What about Donna?” he said. “Do you think Terence is doin’ her as well?”
“Donna’s my mum,” said Jen.
“Maybe they have threesomes.”
“Lee…”
“Maybe they’ll let me join in. She has a nice arse, your mum. I wouldn’t say no.”
Jen stood up. “I’m going home.”
“You haven’t finished your beer.”
“You have it.”
She walked across the beer garden. She knew he was watching her, but she didn’t look round. She was near to tears and felt furious for letting him get to her. She walked quickly across the town, breathing in gulps of the fresh night air.
At home she let herself in quietly, so as not to be heard over the television, and went straight up to her room.
Despite the whiskey, Wolf was awake first in the morning. When Jen woke, he was crouching next to the fire, warming baked beans in a pan. Ethie was still asleep.
Jen sat up and circled her shoulders to get the blood moving.
“Good morning,” Wolf said.
“I’m starving.”
“Butter that bread, then we can eat.”
Ethie lifted her head, groaned, and lay it down again.
“We should get going in half an hour,” said Wolf.
“What time is it?” Ethie spoke into her elbow which she’d wrapped around her head.
“It’s light.”
“Water!” She extended her arm and stretched out her hand.
Wolf and Jen exchanged a glance. Jen picked up the water bottle and put it in Ethie’s hand. Her cousin shuffled up onto her elbows and took a long swig.
“Are those the beans with little sausages in?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Wolf nodded.
“Good. And is there any fruit?”
Wolf reached into his backpack and pulled out a plastic pot of fruit salad. It was an individual-sized pot, the size of a yoghurt pot, with a cellophane lid.
Ethie grinned and held it up to look at the fruit inside.
“Melon,” she said. “Strawberries, grapes, cherries.”
“Have you been to a shop?” asked Jen.
“It’s too early for shops,” Wolf said.
“Then how…?”
“Scavenging.”
Wolf spooned beans and sausages out onto three plates. Jen added a thick slice of bread to each one and handed them out. Ethie was stuffing fruit into her mouth.
“I shouldn’t drink whiskey,” she said around a large strawberry.
Soon they were on their way, having covered the fire with sand and scuffed over the marks of their feet.
“Are you OK to walk?” Wolf asked Jen.
“I think so,” she replied.
“I’m not,” Ethie grumbled. “Can you carry me today?”
“You need to get your blood moving,” replied Wolf.
Jen enjoyed walking in the cool of the early morning.
They circled the town of Alnmouth, and then walked through the dunes at the edge of the beach. The sun was rising behind a bank of thin clouds which every now and then broke apart, letting the sunlight pool onto the sea. There were hundreds of birds on the beach, pecking at the sand, staring seawards, sometimes running at each other and squawking, flapping their wings.
“Godwits,” Wolf told her. “Lapwings, redshanks, sandpipers, black-headed gulls.”
The rest and food had done Jen good and her legs felt strong. She walked beside Wolf with her head up, breathing in the smell of seaweed and salt, warm sand, cool air. Ethie walked a few steps behind, saying nothing.
They walked through the town of Warkworth, past the castle and along the river to Amble, with its quiet boats and preening cormorants. They walked through the morning and into the noonday sun as they headed south down Druridge Bay. They saw an island with a lighthouse, which retreated into the distance as they walked across dunes and salt marsh, over wide expanses of sand. They walked at the edge of the sea, hopping away from the waves. They forded a river, and walked a broad path through a nature reserve and back out onto a stretch of white sand which stretched as far as the eyes could see in both directions. Ethie gradually perked up, but by late afternoon they were all tired.
“There’s a cottage just near here where we can stay,” said Wolf. “It’s quite hidden.”
It was in a hollow in the dunes with a path down to the seashore. It belonged to a friend of Wolf’s and was practically empty – just an old wooden chair, a camp bed, a microscope. Wolf brought in armfuls of dried grass and a sweet-smelling plant that Ethie said was meadowsweet and covered them with blankets from the camp bed.
“I’ll go and find food,” he said, and left.
Ethie adjusted her head dress, removing the outer part and tying the underlayer around her head like a scarf. “I’m going to swim,” she said. “Are you coming?”
Jen shook her head. Ethie untied the fastening of her habit and let it drop to the floor. Her underwear was white and reminded Jen of things she’d worn as a child. The knickers had a small oval flower design at the front and her matching bra was really a crop top. Her breasts were small.
Across her back, shoulders and thighs, were scars. Not like the scars Jen had on her legs and stomach, thin pink lines that shone silver if they caught the sun; these scars were much more recent, raw and red. In some places the skin was still broken, patched with dark scabs. Yellow bruises bloomed across the tops of her legs.
“Ethie!”
Ethie gave a quick grin, then ran out of the cottage and down the path to the sands. It was a huge beach, miles long, but they’d hardly seen a soul all day, only a couple of dog walkers. Jen looked out of the window and watched her cousin run into the waves until she was submerged, and just her head bobbed above the water, like a seal in a headscarf.
It was after midnight when she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
“Who is it?”
The door was pushed open, making a sharp right angle of light and Lee stepped into her room.
“I’m asleep,” she said.
He pressed the light switch and she covered her eyes, blinded by the yellow glare.
“You’re the only one worth talking to in this town.” She could smell the alcohol, overlaid with the sweet smell of skunk.
“Please will you leave my room.”
He walked over and sat on the bed.
“I’ve seen you looking at me tats.”
“Lee, I was sleeping. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’ve got more you know.”
“I’m sure…”
“You wanna know where?” He flipped open the button at the top of his fly and shuffled on the bed.
“No, I don’t.”
He tugged his jeans down from his hips. “I didn’t mean it you know. I don’t really want to do your mum.”
“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to scream really loudly.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna do that.” He lurched towards her, trying to find her face with his. She pushed and he fell off the bed, his trousers hanging off his arse, a green dragon sliding out of his black pants and down his inner thigh.
Jen leapt out of bed and opened the bedroom door wide. “Get out.”
He got to his feet and shuffled out of the room holding his his fly closed with one hand. “You sure?” he said, turning back. She slammed the door in his face.
The next day, she found Steve in the kitchen eating a bowl of cornflakes before going to football.
“Dad, can you put a lock on my bedroom door?”
Donna appeared from behind the cupboard door. Jen hadn’t realised she was in the room.
“Why on earth would you want that?” she said.
Steve wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “What, like a bolt?”
“Yes, a bolt would be fine.”
“Why do you want to lock yourself in?” Donna stared at her.
“I’ll see if I can pick one up in town later.”
“No, you won’t. Why would she want to lock herself in? What does she want to do in there?”
“I’d just feel more comfortable, Mum.”
“Well, I don’t want it. You’re not even here most of the time, and I don’t want any locked doors in this house. That’s final.”
Steve tipped the bowl towards himself and spooned the last of the milk into his mouth. He stood up and took his bowl to the sink. “I’m off then. See you later.”
“Don’t bother going to the hardware shop,” said Donna. “You’ll be wasting your money. I’m not having any locks in this house.”
Steve ruffled Jen’s hair and left the room. She knew what would happen. He’d buy a bolt, Donna wouldn’t let him fit it, and it would end up out in the garage.
I could just go back to York, she thought. But it was Easter, and the university would be deserted. Or I could push something across the door.