The rails held what was left of the light. Black against the deepening blue, the last birds dipped by, also in pairs.
If initially it had seemed that there would be nothing to do but relax and read and cook, soon there was too much to do. The days were long but they were not long enough to contain all the happiness we needed to cram into them. How different from now when we have learned to measure out our happiness, distributing it evenly through the week so that there is enough to go round even though happiness is, precisely, an abundance, an overflowing, and even to think about rationing it is to settle for contentment — which anyone who has known real happiness rejects instinctively as the form despair takes in order to render itself bearable.
A few days before Luke’s birthday Nicole came up with another of her Put-Togethers. She retrieved the sunken TV from the river, removed the whole of the back and brought the rest home. For three days she let it dry in the sun and then installed it in the living room which — in order to keep the heat at bay — was kept dark. By placing the screenless walnut surround in front of a window, and blacking out the rest of the window, the TV broadcast a perfect image of the fields and sky outside. It was not just local TV, it was site-specific. The reception was perfect and for Luke’s birthday a customised version of Brief Encounter was being screened.
Luke sat in the darkened living room and watched Nicole and Alex playing Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard; Sahra took all the other roles. Alex was the only one who had seen the film and since he had only a vague recollection of all but a few lines, most of the script was improvised. In some ways Luke thought it an improvement on the originaclass="underline" it was in colour for a start, and the scenery was stunning.
‘It all began quite simply,’ said Nicole in her best English accent, ‘in the refreshment room at Milfordhampton Junction. I was trying to get to Altonhampton but the train had split and I was terribly, terribly lost. I walked out of the refreshment room along the platform when suddenly—’
At that moment Alex kicked a ball at her. ‘Oi,’ he called out. ‘Any chance of a shag, love! You look like you’re dying for it!’
That pretty much set the tone for the whole piece. When Celia said she was upset and confused Trevor passed her a strong joint and suggested she ‘have a toke on that’.
‘Might I?’ said Celia.
‘I’m a bit of an idealist really,’ said Trevor. ‘You see I have this idea that I would like to manufacture enough acid to keep everyone in the world tripped out of their minds for the rest of eternity.’
‘It sounds frightfully complicated,’ said Celia. When they began meeting for their afternoon matinées they consulted Pariscope to decide which film took their fancy.
‘What are you in the mood for darling?’ said Celia.
‘What about Sous Les Jupes Pas Des Culottes? Or Les Suceuses?’ said Trevor.
‘Oh I don’t like those highbrow art films. Isn’t there something lighter?’ said Celia.
‘What about Pénétrez-Moi Par Le Petit Trou?’ said Trevor.
‘That sounds interesting, let’s try that,’ said Celia, her eyes brightening.
It went on in this vein right up until Trevor’s final, heart-broken goodbye: ‘Fuck off then you prick-teasing slag!’
In response to this fond farewell Nicole walked towards the house until her face filled the screen in tight close-up. Luke got up and advanced towards the TV, assuming the role of Fred, the almost-cuckolded hubby.
‘Whatever your dream was, it wasn’t a very happy one was it? You’ve been a long way away. Thank you for coming back to me,’ he said, reaching through the screen and taking her in his arms.
At breakfast the next morning the postman delivered a birthday postcard from Daniel.
‘How sweet of him to remember your birthday,’ said Sahra, going inside to make more coffee.
‘Let’s hope that’s not the only thing he remembered,’ said Luke. ‘Oh, could you bring some scissors when you come back Sahra?’ He handed Alex the postcard: a Bonnard showing his wife Marthe, standing in the bath, blazing with naked light. Alex passed the card to Nicole who gave it back to Luke. When Sahra came back he began cutting into it with the scissors.
‘You’re spoiling it!’
‘Only the top corner,’ said Alex, watching attentively as Luke cut into one of the two stamps. It was not stuck in the middle, only around the edges. Luke eased the scissors under the stamp and slit it down the centre. Underneath were two squares of grey blotting paper.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ said Sahra, reaching out her hand.
‘I rather think it is,’ said Luke.
‘What are they?’ said Nicole.
‘Well, whatever they are,’ said Luke, fiddling with the scissors again, ‘there are two more under the other stamp.’
‘Good old Daniel,’ said Alex.
That afternoon Nicole and Sahra made the most important discovery of alclass="underline" the lake. One side of it was popular with tourists — at the weekend it was jam-packed — but they had found a track to the far side that was inaccessible by car and therefore almost deserted. The edge of the lake was dark, muddy. Your toes sank in as you entered the cold water and spooky-looking reeds waved around your ankles and shins as you got deeper. The women loved spending whole afternoons there, swimming, sun-bathing. Luke and Alex preferred to play tennis and come along later, sneaking up quietly, like schoolboys, hoping to discover their girlfriends naked. If they came for the entire afternoon they brought a football and played head tennis on the shore. Sometimes they stayed at the lake until late in the evening and then cycled home in the twilight, slowly, in a group, until Luke or Alex suddenly staged an impromptu speed trial as far as ‘that gate’, ‘that tree’, even the house itself. In the course of their time in the country Luke and Alex had worked themselves up into a frenzy of competitiveness. As well as killing themselves on the tennis court and, on windless days, monopolising the Ping-Pong table, they took any opportunity to throw down a challenge: running races (sprints and middle distance), stone-throwing (who could throw furthest, who could hit a Coke tin balanced on a stick pushed into the silt at the lake’s edge), skimming pebbles. The world had become an arena in which to test themselves against each other.
‘If we had boxing gloves we’d build a ring and I’d knock his fucking teeth out,’ said Luke as the four of them sat by the lake’s edge.
‘Luke!’ said Nicole.
‘How would you do that when you’d be in a coma with a broken jaw and brain damage?’ said Alex.
‘It must be an English thing,’ said Sahra, shaking her head.
‘Actually, I tell you what I wish was here,’ said Luke. ‘A place where you could jump from cliffs into deep water from incredibly high up.’
‘I love doing that,’ said Sahra.
‘Me too,’ said Alex. ‘Though I’d dive rather than jump.’
Back at the house Luke and Alex leaned a ladder against one of the walls and took it in turns to see who could climb highest using only their arms. This was a potentially dangerous game — for Luke. Alex was able to get to the top and down again but Luke could only get two thirds of the way up. By that stage he was too high to drop safely to the ground but his arms were so numb that it was only by wrapping his legs around the ladder and waiting for the fire in his shoulders to diminish that he found the strength to descend.
‘Luke, you’re so stupid,’ said Nicole when he was back on terra firma. ‘If you fall from there you’ll be back in plaster again.’