In his fantasy, it was Daphne who opened the door to an empty house and invited him in for tea, and he felt a mild spasm of annoyance when a lanky teenage boy responded to his knocking.
‘Oh, hello,’ Ralph said, taking in a family resemblance to the girl whom he’d hoped for, though the youth’s features had none of the delicacy of Daphne’s.
‘Hello.’ The boy looked out from under a curtain of long hair and didn’t sound curious. Another youth (this one spotty and spectacled) was waiting behind him.
‘I’m Ralph Boyd. Are your parents in?’
‘Um, I don’t think so. Hang on.’ Then he shouted back into the house, ‘Daffers! Is Ed here?’
A disembodied voice replied, ‘No, he’ll be back later,’ and Daphne appeared.
She recognised Ralph and he smiled. ‘Hello, Daphne.’
‘Hello, Ralph.’ She replied in exactly the same tones he had used, as if mocking him rather than meaning it. Dressed in cut-off jeans and a green top, she was carrying the monkey in her arms like a baby and it displayed its teeth to Ralph, emitting little menacing sounds that seemed to mean, ‘Don’t come closer!’
‘I brought some cakes for tea. May I come in?’
‘Um, we’re just heading upstairs.’ The teenage boys scurried off, triumphant at leaving Daphne in the lurch with a visitor.
‘Your brother?’ Ralph asked as they walked down to the kitchen and he placed the cake box on the table.
‘Yes, Theo.’ She grimaced as though the name explained the problem.
‘He’s fourteen,’ she continued. ‘And that was his friend Liam. They’re weird. They don’t have any other friends. They’re obsessed with electrical things. They spend hours making radios and walkie-talkies and stuff. They’ve got goggles to see in the dark. Everything goes green.’
Ralph opened the box, revealing eight eclairs that now looked undeniably phallic. ‘Have you had tea? Would you like one?’
‘We could have a picnic. I’ll take you to the tree house, if you like.’ This sounded too good to believe. If she had said she’d take him to the inner sanctum of the cult of Daphne, it could not have tempted him more.
She went upstairs to put the malevolent monkey in its cage and he heard it squealing madly as the door was locked. Then Daphne gathered up a few things in a basket – a bottle of Ribena, some tin mugs – and handed Ralph a tray with a plateful of eclairs and a jug of water. Tangles of dusty leaves brushed against them as they walked out of the kitchen door.
‘This way.’ She led him along the garden path. Or up the garden path, or any path she cares to choose, he thought. Certainly, it was the path of no return. On one side of the overgrown garden stood a large plane tree and as they drew closer he saw that high up in its foliage was a wooden structure lodged in the branches – one or two were actually growing through its walls and out through the roof. Daphne put down her basket and deftly picked up an aluminium ladder that lay in the grass and fixed it up against the entrance platform. ‘I’ll go up first and then you can pass me the picnic.’ She scampered barefoot up the ladder, as agile as a monkey, but with the graceful confidence of a feline. After handing her the provisions, he followed her up into the tree.
I’d move in right away and make it home, he thought. I’d escape the world and keep sentinel below Daphne’s bedroom window as the tide came pushing its way up the river and then pulling out again towards the sea. The river ran past the end of the garden and he could smell its sweet, rotted-vegetable odour of mud, with a hint of the grass-edged, rural tributaries that had meandered into the powerful waterway.
Daphne opened the door on its rusty hinges and as he followed her inside he took in the small space. Two glazed windows with red gingham curtains gave a Wendy-house atmosphere and the floor was covered with a rag rug and scattered with cushions. A couple of blankets and a sleeping bag hinted at overnight stays. One wall was hung with an embroidered Indian tablecloth and, on another, a small, tin-framed mirror decorated with flowers and a Greek word. He spelled out the letters KAΛHMEPA. ‘It means good morning,’ the child explained. The faint smell of damp wood was offset by a day-after-the-party aroma of incense – a packet of sandalwood joss sticks lay in the corner, along with candles, matches, an empty wine bottle, a packet of tarot cards and a few children’s books and comics.
‘Oh Beano! I love Dennis the Menace and Gnasher, don’t you?’ He hoped he didn’t sound ingratiating, remembering grown-ups who tried to be pally when he was young.
‘Yeah.’ She didn’t pay much attention to his questions, busying herself instead with the drinks. She poured measures of Ribena, purple as poison, into the enamel mugs and filled them with water. ‘Here.’ They both drank deeply and Daphne wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of mauve across one cheek. He felt a welling tenderness at the sight of her lips, stained as though she’d been blackberrying. There was a short silence, not quite awkwardness, but as if the girl suddenly wondered what she was doing up a tree with a man she barely knew.
They ate two eclairs each. Daphne systematically made her way through them without hurry but with concentration, delicately gripping the edges so her fingers didn’t touch the chocolate. He ate faster, more carelessly, and then lay back on some cushions, watching through the open door as cumulonimbus creatures migrated across the pinking sky. He had the rare sensation of being the still point at the centre of the world, of everything making sense. It reminded him of moments in his childhood when there was a simplicity to his happiness. As now, these times had often been when he was removed from the fray, hidden in the woods near his home or quietly absent from his parents in the dusty attic.
A rattling sound made him sit up slowly and then lean out of the door in time to see Daphne step on to the ground below. ‘Are we leaving already?’ The girl pulled the ladder away from the tree house, and laughed at seeing him stranded ten or twelve feet up. He smiled. ‘What are you doing?’ She let the ladder fall to the grass, wiped her hands on her shorts and looked up to assess his response. ‘Making you a prisoner.’
He chuckled at the amalgam of mischief and innocence. There were several games in play. ‘Well, I’m perfectly happy to be here, so maybe that doesn’t count.’ It was slightly too far to jump down safely. He didn’t fancy a sprained ankle.
‘It might not be so nice when it gets dark and cold,’ she challenged.
‘Oh I’m fine. I love sleeping outside. And it’s cosy in here. So long as you bring me some supper, and of course breakfast in the morning. We could have a basket on a rope and I’ll move in quite happily.’ The girl walked back towards the house and, a few minutes later, two faces – the teenage boys – looked out of a second-floor window and laughed before disappearing again.
Ralph slumped back on to the cushions and waited. She was enchanting. And he was certainly her prisoner. The sun sank lower, leaving the garden in shade and bringing a chill to the air, but he didn’t mind. He was planning music for Ed’s project and this was not a bad place to think about it. He even managed to jerk off, something he associated with tree houses since childhood. The smell of damp planks and mouldy curtains was perversely aphrodisiac. He leaned back against the wall, a blanket over his knees in case anyone appeared, and closed his mouth to muffle the cry that came as he finished. Twice, pleasure boats went by and the jingling of pop songs grew louder before passing off upstream towards Richmond.
It wasn’t until about an hour later that Daphne returned, moving slowly with the taunting gait of a jailer. He suspected she was bored of the game and he asked, ‘So, where’s my dinner?’