seemed to have disappeared too and silence enveloped me. I breathed slowly, feeling the tightness in my chest slowly easing.
Every summer of my childhood had been spent in this house. It had belonged to Uncle Clifford, our father’s brother, and his wife Elsa. By the time he was six, Jack was allowed to come with me. Our parents put us on the train at Liverpool Street and Uncle Clifford met us at the other end. There followed a month of blissful neglect when we roamed the fields and helped on the farm. I was meant to look after Jack. I remember how once we had got lost in some field before finally finding our way back to Eric’s farm. I had been scared, but as the eldest it had been my responsibility to get us home. Peggy, Eric’s wife, had given us two fresh eggs each when we reached her kitchen. We had carried them triumphantly back to Eel House. It was the beginning of a ritual that marked all our summers after that. Towards the end of August, before the weather broke and we returned home, our parents would join us. I was delighted, knowing that at last I could have my father all to myself. Even in those days Jack was a bit of a mother’s boy, less interested in the outdoor life. As soon as Mum arrived he stopped trailing around with me and the pair of them would go to the cinema and afterwards to tea in Aldeburgh, or on a long drive to visit friends. Mum was always buying him toys, which he broke almost instantly, whereupon she would promise him more treats. Dad disapproved hugely of such spoiling, but Jack was a precocious, rather bright child, so I suppose he got away with it. Meanwhile, Dad and I would go rambling in the matchstick woods, looking for fossils. We would pack a picnic and leave in the morning, returning at dusk when the light fell differently and the woods took on an air of enchantment. On other days we two would go out in the boat with Eric. Eric was Dad’s great friend. Dad and Uncle Clifford and Eric had all grown up together. They used to call themselves the Three Musketeers. ‘One for all and all for one,’ they used to laugh. After our fishing trips we would return with eels for supper. Later, Jack and I would play board games with my parents and Clifford and Elsa, laughing and cheating, ganging up against each other; Dad, Jack and Uncle Clifford against Mum and me and Aunt Elsa.
Where had all that easy affection gone? I sipped my wine. Once, I had believed that the farm and the fields, and Eric’s eels, would last for ever. Sighing, I closed my eyes and the poem that had been fermenting in me all day turned restlessly. It was getting late. High above the land a harvest moon moved silently while all the stars appeared like germinating seeds in the wide East Anglian sky. As I went back to the house I could hear the television. Clearly no one was tired.
‘Oh, there you are,’ Jack observed. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’
He sounded subdued. He and Miranda had pulled two chairs out on to the old flagstones and had opened a new bottle of wine.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Ria,’ Miranda said, ‘but we opened one of your whites.’
‘Where are the children?’ I asked.
‘Playing some computer game. They can’t stand being out because of the bugs.’
You’ve brought them up to be townie wimps, I thought, but I didn’t say it. I was more alarmed by the fact they were using my computer.
‘It’s okay,’ Miranda said quickly, seeing my face. ‘They’re using my laptop.’
Thank God, I thought. The poem inside me had begun calling, insistently.
‘What happened about your boat idea?’
‘Oh yes, I forgot. We’ve got one! Tuesday, for a week. Come, if you like. We’re going to sail across the Broads from Wroxham.’
He was looking at me intently.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. ‘But I have a poem in my head that I’ll have to attend to.’
I laughed nervously. Jack seemed to accept my excuse.
‘At least you’re working again!’
A momentary benign feeling descended on us.
‘We’ll leave about midday,’ Miranda said. She sounded a little upset. ‘If that’s okay? We’ll leave some of our stuff here, travel light, be back in a couple of days.’
It was a quarter to ten.
‘I’m knackered,’ Jack said at last. He yawned. ‘One thing I must say, the beds are wonderful here, even though the plumbing is antiquated.’
‘Who’s going to prise those two away from the laptop?’ Miranda asked.
‘Moan, moan.’
‘Oh, shut up, Jack. You’re the one who’s been complaining.’
Again the tension was back. We were doing what we always did. Taking small bites out of each other, never addressing anything with honesty. I wanted to scream.
‘I’d like my study back so I’ll tell them, if you like.’
I put on a fake smile.
‘You’re not going to work, are you?’ Miranda asked, amazed.
‘Of course she is. Can’t you see she’s dying to get rid of us? Go on, Ria, go back to your masterpiece!’
‘Well, I haven’t actually done anything today.’
If I wasn’t careful there would be a fight. Jack must have thought the same thing because he rose and took his chair in.
‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘What time’s breakfast?’
My study was a tip. Somehow they had managed to knock over a glass and scatter the cushions. There were books on the floor and paper from the printer was everywhere. My good intentions evaporated completely. Furious, I closed the door. Then I cleared the mess and turned the television off. I no longer felt like working, but I didn’t feel like going to bed either. Upstairs, on the third floor, in the room above my study, the children made thumping sounds as though they were fighting. Taking up the book I had been reading I settled down on the sofa. The poem that had peeped out had taken fright and vanished. I could hear Miranda’s voice followed by Sophie screaming. Then Jack joined in and there was a stampede towards the guest bathroom. Miranda began calling me. Oh God! I thought guiltily. I sat pretending not to hear, feeling trapped. To think I had ever wanted children! Towards midnight things quietened down. The floorboards stopped creaking, the house was settling at last. I sighed and switched off the light. Was it safe to go to my bedroom?
People have said to me that at least I have a brother, at least I have a nephew and niece. Long ago, soon after Sophie had been born, I had volunteered to look after her while Jack took an exhausted Miranda out. It had been a sort of peace-offering on my part. Sophie had been only a few weeks old and I had not long heard I would never have a child of my own. That evening, after they had left, I picked Sophie out of her cot and held her against my cotton T-shirt. Then I put her mouth against me. I had wanted someone to suck my breast. I went into the bathroom with her and locked the door, naked to the waist. I wanted to feel what it was like to nurse her. I wanted to feel the tug and demand of another life. But after a moment I heard a noise and Sophie began to cry. Scared, in case Jack and Miranda had returned, I rushed out. I blushed, recalling the long-forgotten incident. Loneliness expands wherever crowds gather, Eric used to say. Thinking of him, I wished I could have gone over there tonight, but it was too late now.
Closing my book, I went across to the open window. Immediately the scent of late honeysuckle and jasmine came wafting towards
