New Places, New Problems
Chapter 16
Claire did not know what to make of Stephen and she did not know whether she would enjoy a walk with him when he asked her to come, but she said yes anyway. She was curious to see more of the island and there was not much else to do.
They took a path through the woods behind the house. "Do you walk here a lot?" she asked. It looked as if people frequently walked here.
"Nearly every day." Stephen said nothing for a few minutes. "I like to walk this way. There's a nice view a bit further on. I can sit there for hours."
Claire was surprised by this sudden revelation. "Doing what?"
Stephen shrugged. "Thinking," he said vaguely. "Maybe you'd like the view from the other side better," he said when they came to a small cliff. "But I like this one even in this weather." He went down a narrow path leading towards the beach and held out his hand to help Claire.
It offered her a foggy view of the sea, with a few dark shapes in the distance that were probably other islands or the mainland. She was not sure which side they were on. There were no houses or people in sight, only a few lost sheep further down the coast. Halfway down to the beach, Stephen paused and stuck his hands in his pockets. She watched him look out over the sea, wondering if a sunny day made a difference and why they had stopped here at this point. She remembered having that feeling last night as well, in the boat. "You're going to do something strange again, I just know it," she told him.
"If you mean that you sense that this place gives me a certain feeling, then you're right," Stephen said slowly. "But if you think it's the same kind of feeling, then you're wrong." This was a more depressing kind of feeling.
Claire had not expected him to sound appreciative. She sat down on a rock to consider it, because they were obviously not going any further. Everything was grey. It was a bit depressing. Did Stephen like to be depressed or did he see everything differently? "Even the water looks grey."
"And cold. I might not go in," said Stephen, sitting down next to her.
"Might not?" Claire cried. "Are you seriously considering the idea?" Not in this weather, he could not. It was cold and foggy.
"I go in regularly. It's refreshing." On a day like this he could withstand the sight and the smell of the sea, but on bright and sunny days it was impossible. Of course Claire's presence made a difference, as he did not have swimming trunks with him. No, it was an entirely bad idea to let his mind wander in that direction, Stephen thought with a very deep frown, trying to order his mind back on a safe track.
"You don't like it that I think you're nuts," Claire concluded. It was chilly, too chilly to swim. "And what would you be wearing?" It was too much to expect that he had left home with a swimsuit under his jeans. He would be nuts in either case.
Not very pleased with her first remark, Stephen was not pleased with that question either, having just managed to get his mind away from that topic. "Right now? Nothing." That was the truth. He was not going to do it, but in case he had been, he would not have been wearing anything.
Claire looked shocked. He would not. She tried to imagine Stephen stripping in front of her just like that. He would not do that. Not if she was with him. "You're exaggerating again, aren't you?" she asked weakly.
"Er…no. You hadn't thought I'd go in with my clothes on, had you?" It would take far too long for them to dry.
"Please…tell me you're speaking on a different level," she begged, but Stephen's face indicated that he had no idea what she meant. "Like now."
He rested his chin in his hands and stared out over the grey waves, focusing on a stick or piece of wood that appeared between the waves at irregular intervals. It was not unlike Claire, really, he reflected, not unlike the sensible Claire that he sometimes caught glimpses of. Of course right now she had completely drowned or sunk in her different levels or whatever she meant by that. He should not have brought up swimming.
Claire watched Stephen. He was so infuriating, falling silent at the most impossible of times. What was he looking at? The sea? But it was foggy and there was not much to see. At least in the civilised world there would be boats on the water, with tourists, but here there was absolutely nothing. There was not a living thing in sight except for those two sheep. She looked at them. They had multiplied, because there were now four of them. Where had she landed? She felt out of place here and expected a mysterious pirate ship to come sailing out of the fog to capture her any minute. But instead of a ship, a dog appeared very suddenly before them. It was large and quite wet.
Stephen felt as if he was being attacked from two sides. There was a short bark before him and a gasp beside him simultaneously. Then he was being jumped at and being clutched all at once. "Down Hector! You're wet!"
Hector managed to soil Stephen's clothes before he obeyed and then he stood wagging his tail happily, trying to smell who that was with Stephen. It was a new person.
Stephen could only just prevent him from doing that. "I thought you thought I was nuts, Claire," he said. "Why are you all over me all of a sudden?"
"Ahh…I…er…" Claire sat up straight. She did not like being mocked with reason and Stephen's eyes were definitely mocking her. "It frightened me. I was just thinking about a pirate ship when it leapt towards us."
"A pirate ship?"
She saw he had the audacity to look delighted. "Who knows what goes on up here? Down south in the civilised world we might think pirates no longer exist, but this is obviously a completely different planet."
"With rude, unmannered jerks and dogs assaulting you at every possible opportunity."
"Well!"
"Hector is a well-mannered dog," Stephen protested calmly.
"You're not mentioning yourself," Claire remarked.
"No, I am not. However, I haven't assaulted you yet, so there's no reason to assume that I will. It's better to have an unmannered person who's not assaulting you, than a well-mannered person who does assault you."
"Is that why you don't use your manners? It's some principle thing?" she asked sharply. In that case it would be the exact opposite of some of the people she knew in the city, which was actually just as bad because it was similar. No, it was better. It was not the same. Had he been to the city?
"No, it just means that my thoughts might be on other things than on you."
"Oh. But I'd think it very strange if you were thinking of me." She would not want that.
"Rest assured. I'm not." What else could he answer?
"Oh. Good."
Stephen got up. "Hector wants sticks." He walked down to the beach to throw sticks for Hector, who did not belong to him, but who made himself belong to everybody that was available to throw sticks.
Claire followed him, because she had more questions. "What are you thinking of if you're not thinking about me? Not that I want you to think about me, but do you know what I mean?"
Stephen located a stick and tested its strength. There was no use in throwing a stick that would dissolve into twenty pieces in mid-air. It would be mean to Hector to make him all confused about which of the twenty pieces to chase. He found a piece of wood that was strong enough. Hector was already jumping around him, barking excitedly. Stephen threw the stick.
Hector ran after it and Claire could not help but notice that he had to run really far. "Well?" she asked when Stephen seemed more interested in how far he had thrown.
"I might be thinking about how far I can throw," Stephen admitted honestly. "Things like that."
"I guessed that," she said triumphantly.
"Let's toast on that at home, shall we?" he suggested. "Oops, better not. You might get drunk."
Claire threw a bit of dry seaweed at him, but she threw it against the wind and it flew right back at her. Stephen laughed. Of course he would. She picked the piece of seaweed off the ground and ran towards him, determined on getting it on him anyway, even if throwing would not succeed. He tried to prevent her from stuffing it in his collar, but still allowing her to pick it up every time it fell, which was harder than it seemed, what with Hector having returned with his piece of wood as well. She nearly succeeded when he threw the piece of wood again, but when she was sufficiently close to him to be able to touch the back of his neck, he dropped something cold, wet and slippery down her own neck. She screamed.
Stephen thought the sight of Claire screaming and jumping around in a panic to get rid of the thing extremely amusing and he had to sit down on the ground to watch it. The slippery thing would not be shaken from her clothes and she was getting more and more jumpy.
"Is it a fish? It'll bite me," Claire screamed, immediately feeling bitten all over, even on her legs, whereas the thing was somewhere on her back.
Stephen indicated the sand surrounding them. "I don't know where you think I'd get a living fish from, Claire."
"It's a dead fish! Stephen, you are gross!" She nearly gagged. "It's absolutely disgusting! And it's stuck!"
He took pity on her. "Come here. Hector, bugger off." He pushed away the dog, but Hector did not think anything more important than his stick, so he had to throw it again. "Sit down." He made her sit down in front of him with her back towards him. "Where is it?"
Claire could not reach that spot on her back. "There. Somewhere."
"Is it under your clothes?"
"As if you have to ask," she said sarcastically.
Stephen made no comment, but pulled up the back of her coat and then pulled her shirt from her trousers. He was nearly there when Hector came back and bothered Claire so much that she started wriggling and fell backwards into his arms to get away from the dog. "Sit still! I mean, sit up!"
"I can't! Make him go away!"
"Hector, down!" It was no use, of course, and he had to throw the stick once more. He slipped his hand under Claire's shirt, only then remembering that it was covered in wet sand. "Damn." She was not going to like that.
Claire shuddered, feeling his wet hand. "And it's dirty too! Argh! No matter. I'm going to have to take a shower anyway by now, I can take dirty hands as well."
"Thank you for the permission," Stephen mocked, but he was surprised at this quick recapitulation. He located the wet piece of seaweed and pulled it down, dropping it in her lap. "Your fish, madam."
At the far end of the beach they had to climb up again and found themselves surrounded by sheep. Stephen wondered if Claire was afraid, but the sheep did not show any interest in them and they walked on alongside a low wall. Claire wondered about the purpose of the wall, since there were huge gaps in it and there were sheep on both sides of it. The vegetation grew richer as they progressed, with more and more trees and bushes and soon they came upon an old man trimming a hedge in the middle of nowhere. She thought it was perhaps Hector's owner, since this was the first human being they had encountered after leaving the beach.
Stephen stopped to talk, because that was expected of him on a small island. "Good day, Sam."
"That must be your new teacher," said the old man, touching his hat. "Good day, Miss Elson."
The rest of what he said was heavily accented and whether it was addressed to her or not was not clear to Claire. Would it be impolite to tell the man she did not understand a word? She looked around, but did not see his house. Sam had a lot to say to Stephen and only now and then was it comprehensible to her. She was amused when he seemed to be admonishing Stephen -- whom he appeared to call Stevie -- for not having a proper job for a man.
Stephen took it calmly. He was used to it. "We can't all have proper jobs." He listened to what came next. "Yes, Sam," he said politely. "I'm already doing that."
Claire wondered what it was that he was already doing. She did not suppose she would be told.
"Nah," said Sam. He then mentioned something about a beach and Stephen laughed, walking on.
"Why are you laughing?" Claire asked. She was curious if they were going to pass Sam's house now, but there was still no sign of it.
"Old-fashioned prejudices," Stephen said mysteriously. Rich boys were lazy and never did any work.
"Do explain."
"Sam thinks I spend my days cavorting with girls on the beach."
"Do you?" Claire wanted to know.
Stephen looked at her. She could not be missing the fact that they were both covered in wet sand. On the other hand, if she asked, she must be missing something. "In the days that you've been here, how often have you seen me do that?"
"I wasn't with you all the time. I didn't see anything, but that doesn't mean you didn't do it. I'm sure you're really good about hiding it. And maybe my presence is stopping you from doing it. Maybe you had a habit of doing so before I came here."
"Do you think so?" he asked eventually.
"Well, I don't know. I wasn't here," said Claire. "Obviously."
"And I don't know what you were up to before you got here. Obviously," he shrugged. "I'm sure you did all that was correct before you came here, but you've just been caught coming from the beach with a man, both covered in sand."
"Oh."
"Yeah…." Stephen grinned.
Claire thought quickly. People would be talking about this, she assumed. "And what did you tell Sam when he asked you? I didn't hear you say anything."
"What would have been the point?"
"My good name. What a way to behave for a newcomer. I don't care about your reputation."
"Yours depends on it, it seems to me," Stephen said calmly. "If I do this regularly, nobody will blame you. If I don't, it's your fault." He smiled.
"Do you do this regularly?" Claire asked. She was not sure what kind of answer she liked. If he did this regularly she would like him less, but if he did not, she would be seen as some temptress.
"I think you should just try to remember what happened exactly and then wonder if it's really worth all the worrying," said Stephen patiently. "All I did was drop some seaweed down your collar. That's not one of my habits, nor will it become one, unless you persist in being so damn easy to rile."
Claire looked reflective. "You're right. Nothing happened," she said in relief. And she supposed it was true that she was a little too responsive sometimes. Maybe she should just let Stephen talk without taking the bait next time.
"You'd forgotten that? You thought something had happened?" Stephen raised his eyebrows mockingly.
"Well…" Claire hesitated. Something had happened, but he did not seem to think it significant. Perhaps here it was normal to wrestle with men. She did not know that and it all confused her a little. "No." It was best to end the subject and start talking about something else, before he would start riling her again. "Where does Sam live? I don't see any houses anywhere."
"Around the next corner you'll see some houses. He lives in one of them."
"Why is he trimming the hedge so far from home? Wouldn't that be public property?"
"No, it isn't public property," Stephen replied, not revealing whose property it was. "None of this is."
"Not even this path? Will someone come and throw us off?"
"Doubt that," he said with a little smile.
"Oh. I suppose they know you and know you're not up to any mischief," Claire said in relief. She would not like to be caught trespassing. "Except on the beach."
Claire wondered where everyone was, since they never saw anyone near the houses they passed, except for a woman hanging up laundry. Stephen had pointed out to her where children and other people of consequence lived. This gave them something to talk about, since Claire was not sure what else they could have discussed. It would not do to ask whether people here were very poor because their houses seemed to be in a poor state and yet their gardens looked tidy for the most part.
Stephen took her to the local pub. It was no wonder there had not been anyone around -- everyone was here, apparently. The interior struck Claire as dark, brown and old-fashioned, the sort of look pubs in the city tried to imitate but never quite achieved. So this was the real thing. The islanders would laugh at it, but some people would spend a lot of money just to have a drink in surroundings like these. But Claire was fed up with this sort of attitude and she was determined not to like the pub.
Most of the locals were fishermen, she guessed, rough and badly dressed, but there were even a few women. Nobody seemed to have anything better to do on a Saturday than to hang around here all afternoon playing monopoly or darts. Claire wondered when they had last seen a stranger, because they were staring at her quite frankly and they did not even try to hide their curiosity. She did not know whether it was a good thing that Stephen took her past every single customer to shake hands. Perhaps it was the way things were done here, or perhaps he was just trying to be as annoying as possible.
Stephen ordered two pints for them before Claire could protest that it was too much, that no sane person would start drinking so early in the day and that he knew what would happen if she had a little too much.
"You don't want to be thought a weenie," he said, reading her facial expression correctly and sitting down at the bar where they would be easily approachable. It was reputational suicide to take a female stranger to a pub and then sit in a secluded corner with her. Sitting here would mean she was not taken. There were some unwritten codes of conduct here. He took a sip from Claire's glass. She would not have to drink all that all by herself if it was too much, but another local rule was that they start with beer and he had to obey that. "Don't worry."
Claire felt a smile coming up for some reason she could not fathom, probably because it was nice of him to offer his help, although he needed not have drunk from her glass. He could easily have said so. But this was Stephen, she mused. Although she knew next to nothing about him, she was beginning to guess that he did not always say things other people would say and that were expected of him. She turned the enormous pint around between her hands thoughtfully. Maybe she should just trust that his intention was good, however strangely he carried that out. If he was going to drink a pint and a half for every pint he ordered, he might become drunk and then what? She leant over slightly. "I'm not going to carry you."
Stephen laughed, but he did not say anything as an old man who had been introduced as Jock came to get Claire's attention. He wanted to know if she knew his son, Derek, who worked down south as a lorry driver. Claire wondered if he had any idea of the size of the world outside of the island. "I don't know any lorry drivers," she apologised. They were not people she associated with.
"You don't? Why not? They go around. Derek says he goes everywhere and everyone knows him."
"But they're always in their lorries!" Claire said helplessly. It was better than saying that Derek would probably know everyone in the sphere he moved in, which was a completely different one from hers.
Stephen felt the urge to say something, but he was not Claire's keeper, so he probably should stay out of this. He probably should not even be listening. He asked Maggie behind the bar what had happened in last night's episode of the island's favourite soap series. It was always a good topic to start a conversation and soon he found himself straining his mind to follow who had dumped whom for whom and, more importantly, who they were in the first place.
Claire found that the mainland for most of these people was a big blur beyond Lirra and that only a few had been further. They probably did not need to. She got to know a few more people, because she had to play monopoly with them, but she had to be really slow about drinking when people started to offer her new drinks. And Stephen, whom she had understood to be promising her that he would drink her beer if it proved to be too much, was on the other side of the pub playing darts. There would not be any help from him.
These old people were much more communicative than Stephen, even on the subject of Stephen himself. She learned that he had returned only three years ago and that before that time he had spent more than ten years in the city. It might be a different city, for all she knew, even if her new acquaintances were convinced that it was the same place as where she had come from. Politely she had to explain that she had not known Stephen there. "And what did he do there?" she asked, but this proved too difficult a question, unfamiliar with city life as they were, apart from their daily dose of soap. It was interesting information, however.
"He worked there," someone said finally after thinking very hard. "Haven't you finished your drink yet? You really have to try our local brew."
Claire thought that the local brew was probably a whiskey of sorts that would make her drunk in a jiffy. "It's too early, I'm sure."
"A whiskey a day keeps the doctor away," said an old fellow with a very red face philosophically. He obviously did not mind what time it was.
"He means a bottle of whiskey a day," someone else clarified. "Not a glass."
"Oh, I'm not going to drink whiskey at all," Claire said quickly. "Not even half a glass." They had been here for a while now. She remembered something Abby had said about a deadline. Stephen might want to return home to do some work, whatever it was. He could not have done very much yet today, if he had spent most of the day with her and he had also been shopping for his mother. Where was he? She could not see him. "Where is Stephen?"
"On the bench," said a plump middle-aged woman, pointing.
Claire looked in that direction and saw a pair of feet. When she investigated, she found Stephen lying with his eyes closed and she felt dismayed. What was he doing? "Stephen!" she hissed.
"Yes?" he answered without opening his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
It took a short while before he opened his eyes. "Nothing." It was true. He was doing absolutely nothing.
"Are you drunk? No normal person would do this."
"Then I'm not normal, I suppose," he said calmly.
"Am I going to have to lead a drunk man away from here?" Claire asked.
"Do you need me to point one out to you?" he asked helpfully. "I know which ones are amenable. Did I catch your name wrong? Is it Glare?"
Claire clenched her fists and tried not to hit him. He was really infuriating at times.
Stephen sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor. "Please try to suppress those urges until we're home," he whispered with a wink and then was shocked at what he had just said. He vowed never to drink any pints any more. His tolerance obviously declined with age, because he had no control over what he was saying anymore and he had only one beer.
"You obviously didn't suppress your alcoholic urges," Claire told him a little cattily.
This remark could lead him to think in many directions, but he chose not to. He did not really want to think about any urges whatsoever and so he hastily paid his bill. Cold air on his face was what he needed.
"You are strange," Claire complained when she had to hurry to keep up with him. "One moment you're half dead and the next you're running."
"Yeah," Stephen said cheerfully. That was all he was prepared to say. He could sense there was more, but he did not want to admit it to himself.
Chapter 19
Tenrae village was very small and there were even a few houses that were uninhabited. Nobody seemed to move in if someone moved out or died, but they just let the house fall apart. They passed Mrs. Guthrie's cottage. "Do you want me to tell someone to have a look at it?" Stephen asked.
By that Claire supposed he meant workmen. "Can I afford that? I don't know how much that would cost, being on an island." She did not even know how much rent she was paying for the cottage, assuming she paid anything at all. Lodgings to be provided by the school, it had said in the contract. She did not like those administrative details very much and so she had not looked into the matter any further, reserving it for when she would actually be on the island.
"You don't have to worry about that." He could arrange something, but actually he was more interested in whether she wanted to live in the cottage or with his parents.
"Who's going to pay if I can't?"
"There are people on the island who can."
"If there are, why didn't they help out all those other people living in ruins?" The houses were not exactly ruins, but they looked poor all the same.
Stephen was quiet for a while. "You're right. Forget I mentioned it."
Claire studied him. He looked as if her words had attacked him personally. "Do you mean you have money?"
"I have more than the average fisherman," he said evasively, not wanting to say whether he was rich or not. "The islanders are worried."
"What's the problem?" Claire asked.
"They want to reduce the fleet by 40% because the seas are getting empty. Even in the unlikely case that only 40% of the fishermen here will have to quit, that is a lot of people," he said grimly. "And nobody is so optimistic as to believe that 60% of the islanders are efficient enough to survive. Everyone knows the small boats will go first and there just aren't any big ones here. Really big trawlers can be over thirty feet long."
Claire had indeed not seen any that big. They would not fit in the harbour either.
"There's nothing else people can do here."
"What about getting a ship for all of them?"
"Well, that would be an idea if they had the money, but they don't. Nor does Lirra have enough facilities for big ships. They might just be able to afford a trawler, but they wouldn't be able to dock anywhere nearby."
"So they're stuck."
"Yes."
"Maybe they can go into tourism," Claire suggested. Other places had successfully managed that switch.
"We have 0.1 attraction here," Stephen replied sarcastically.
"You have the scenery and that ruin -- you could do something with that."
"Such as?"
Claire's energy faded. This reminded her too much of the life she had left behind, where people would do anything to make money. "It's too commercial. I don't like commercial." It would ruin everything and bring in the wrong kind of people, turning it into a colony of city people.
Stephen doubted that Tenrae could ever be turned into a commercial project. It was too far away from anything and too small. However, she was right. Something could be done to attract tourists. It was not a strange idea at all, because his father was working on it. It remained to be seen what would come of that project.
"You need money," said Claire. The most important thing that was needed was money to set things in motion. "Not many people would invest here." And that was an understatement. Not many? Probably none at all.
"Firstly, you don't want investors from outside and especially not from down south. Secondly, money is not the most important thing, because there's a huge hotel and golf course just outside Lirra and it's a failure. They pumped enough money into that project, but it still didn't work."
"I know. I used to do this sort of thing all day," Claire answered, sounding tired.
"Why did you give it up?"
"Because I saw far too many pretty locations ruined by ugly buildings, all for the sake of making more money. And companies move after a few years because some other place is more profitable, leaving their old ugly buildings behind and erecting new ones somewhere else. It's just --" she shook her head. "There's no end to it. Everything is going to be ruined if this goes on."
Stephen watched her in silence. A character in a book would take her somewhere and give her a cup of tea while he listened to her story, but it would take a while before he got to a kitchen and that would be too late. He sat down on a low wall. "Tell me what bothers you."
"Thank you," Claire said awkwardly, pushing her hair back behind her ears. He had proved to be an intelligent listener and although he had said very little, she felt better. "I am so going to regret telling you all that," she then said in despair. She had told him why she had given up her old job, as difficult as it was to explain that even to herself and she was not used to confiding in anyone. They would think it a nuisance.
"Funny. I don't regret hearing all that," Stephen answered.
"I shouldn't have bothered you with it. As if you care."
"It happens to all of us."
"What? Being bothered?"
"No, discovering what we like to do and doing it." Stephen got up from the wall. He had been keeping an eye on that cloud and now that it was filling the entire sky, they had better go home.
"Are you doing what you like?" Claire thought she knew the answer.
"Yes, I'm doing what I like and I live where I like."
"How long did it take you?"
"I moved back around three years ago," he smiled.
"Because you knew you wanted to live here?"
"No, because I had broken up with a woman and she was trying to get me back. City girl, you know. Wouldn't come here. Wouldn't make the effort. She didn't love me as much as she claimed to love me," he said indifferently. "Let's go home before it starts raining." She was better at this than he was.
Chapter 20
When they got home, Stephen wanted to go straight up to his study. Wordless sentences were flowing through his head already and he knew it was only a matter of time before the words came and he could start writing. He gave Claire a vague look as he put his foot on the stairs and she was hanging up her coat.
"Do you still know who I am?" she asked. He had been silent ever he had said they would go home, which did not bother her, but now he was looking at her so vacantly that it seemed as if he had never seen her before.
"Yes, of course," he answered after a split second. "I just forgot about you."
"You are strange to admit that."
"I had something on my mind," he apologised.
"Such as?"
It was no use asking him, since the details were gone now. "How to phrase my ideas." It would all come back to him once he had some peace and quiet.
Claire looked at him with interest. "Which ideas?"
Stephen twisted his mouth. "Now don't make it sound as if you think I don't have any ideas at all." He would rather say that than begin talking about what he was thinking.
Claire protested indignantly. "I'm not thinking that! I was just curious."
"Thank you." Stephen turned to ascend the stairs. There was a lot more he could say, but he did not know which words to use, so he used none.
"Why are you saying that?" Claire asked curiously. He should not go upstairs yet. She wanted him to stay for another while, if only to argue with him.
"Because you credit me with having ideas."
"Yes, but I don't know what they are."
"You do. A few."
"By all means, don't tell me which ones," she commented.
That was in fact one of his ideas -- to act accordingly, but not to voice them -- and he smiled. "If you think about it you know some."
"Yes, that you like being secretive and that you hate women," she said promptly.
"Those are tastes, not ideas," Stephen said patiently.
"But you're not denying that you have them."
Stephen looked amused. "Claire, would you believe me if I denied anything?" She would find out sooner or later whether he had spoken the truth or not.
"Yes, I would."
"Lying is very bad for you," he said. He really ought to start working now, but it was tempting to stay here.
"For you too."
"I never lie. Claire, Claire."
"What does Claire, Claire mean?" Claire asked immediately. It had sounded rather condescending.
"It means…" Stephen hesitated. It meant that he liked her, but that she was awfully wrong.
"A fatherly reprimand?" she guessed.
He looked horrified. "Claire!" He jumped down the stairs and shook her by the shoulders. "Fatherly?"
She was a little taken aback by this action, but she was glad she had elicited some reaction at least. "Well, I do think you act like --"
"Look at me," he ordered.
"Don't order me, you patronising jerk," Claire said, but with a smile.
"Are you always this rude to people you accuse of being fatherly? Do you hate fathers?" Stephen asked. "Look at me and guess my age." He did not want to be fatherly. He wanted to be around her age, but she was awfully juvenile in some ways.
He would get it now, she decided and pretended to study him extensively and to ignore the fact that he was perhaps thirty-five. "Fifty-six." It was better to make a ridiculous guess than to be too wrong. She did not know whether he wanted to look younger or older than he was.
He had expected something like that and was not surprised. "But I look younger, don't I?" He would be looking something like thirty-three, or at least he ought to look that.
"If you're sixty-six, you do."
"Everyone over thirty is old to you, right?" he asked, a little wearily. There seemed to be an enormous age gap between them.
"It's people's behaviour that counts," Claire said solemnly, meaning that he acted too patronising.
"Oh, now I see how someone my age could have a daughter your age," Stephen remarked, with just a little more sharpness in his voice than he had intended, meaning that she acted too much like a child.
It took Claire a few seconds to realise that he was actually saying she was behaving like a child and he ran upstairs when he saw that she did. "Stephen!" she cried, running after him.
"See? That proves it," he said with a rather smug expression. She was a bit predictable. He knew she would run after him to hit him or something like that.
Claire punched him, but the calm way he started up his computer frustrated her. "You don't even care that I hit you."
"No, I like that," he replied. "Do it again if you want, but I suppose you're all for suppressing those urges."
"At least I have urges," she retaliated.
"Claire, Claire," he said, again in an infuriatingly condescending tone. "I thought you said something about my alcoholic urges earlier on?"
Claire sat down on his sofa looking extremely frustrated. No matter what they talked about, Stephen always won.
Stephen saw her punch a pillow and took pity on her. He walked over and patted her head. "This makes me feel really old, but you seem to think I am, so I shouldn't worry, probably."
"No, Stephen. You look like a young god," Claire said immediately in a sarcastic voice. She knew that sort of comment. People were always fishing for compliments when they said something like that. "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"
"Not really, but I like it anyway." He sat down behind his computer again. "Young god, eh?"
"Can you not mock me?" Claire begged.
He wanted to ask whether she could not bite, but he decided against it. It would only cause her to bite again. "Sure."
Claire did not find his tone convincing. She looked at how he became more interested in his computer than in her, but this did not mean anything for future occasions on which she might be mocked. The school's curriculum was on the table and she picked it up. "I'll do something useful," she remarked.
"Yes, me too," he replied. "No work, no money."
Claire leafed through the folder and read what would be done at school next week. "Are you up to date?"
"No, we're two weeks behind," came the reply only a few seconds late. "I have no replacement for when I'm ill or away." Sometimes he had to go away on business.
"Are you ill a lot?" she wondered.
"I'm sixty-six, aren't I? Old age, you know."
"Grr!" she exclaimed.
He had said he could speak without mocking her. "Check the black folder to see which lessons we're at next week," he suggested. "I've numbered them to make it easier. Then there's a blue folder, a green folder, a yellow folder and a red folder for the different groups and --"
"You're joking," Claire said incredulously.
"Not at all. In fact there are five blue folders, five green ones, five --" Different subjects also had different folders.
"You're joking."
"No, I'm very systematic."
"Stephen you said you wouldn't mock me!" she cried out, nearly ready to kill him. Nobody would seriously have four times five plus two -- twenty-two -- folders for a school this size.
"It's systematic," he maintained, grabbing hold of her hands when she came storming at him.
"Is that what you call it? And you wonder why you drive people crazy?" Claire struggled, a little.
"Oh, do I wonder about that?" he asked innocently. "Look on the shelves. You'll see."
Claire looked back and saw exactly what he had said: five folders of every colour. She let out an agonised scream.
Stephen shook his head defensively. "I didn't touch you. Don't blame me."
"Maybe you should have released me before you said that," Claire said dryly. She looked at the computer screen for the first time because she did not want to look at Stephen -- that would be too awkward, since he was still gripping her wrists. Her eyes opened wide. "What exactly are you doing?"
© 2000, 2001 Copyright held by the author.