Old Sins (31 page)

‘Please,’ she said, ‘please, please, now.’ But he stayed there, kneeling, still dressed, just tonguing her, stroking her buttocks, exploring her with his hands, until she spasmed, suddenly, and was still.

Then he took her, again and still again; he was rough with her, almost brutal, tearing into her as if he wished to break her; and she became in the end exhausted, tearful, she lay back away from him, silent, her face turned into the floor. He came then, finally; allowed himself to let go; and he lay on her, heavy, sweating, panting, in a sweet, savage triumph, feeling that at last he had avenged himself and the injustices of all those long, enraging years.

‘You bitch,’ he said, ‘you rich bitch,’ but he was smiling now, gently, tenderly easing himself away from her, stroking her hair, kissing her tear-wet cheeks.

‘You bastard,’ she said, and smiled in reply. ‘You poor, working-class bastard.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, restored to himself. ‘I was rough. Did I hurt you? Shall I go away?’

She resettled herself beneath him, around him, in a gesture of most joyful pleasure.

‘No,’ she said, her hand moving firmly, questingly around his buttocks, ‘I want some more, please.’

They spent much time in the parlour after that; and it was there that Julian found them together early one morning, after he had flown in a day earlier than anyone had expected.

Los Angeles, 1965

‘
IF EVER A
child looked exactly like his daddy, it’s Miles, Mrs Wilburn. He certainly is a lovely little boy.’ Father Kennedy at the Santa Monica Catholic church on California Avenue was chatting to the faithful after mid-morning mass; he liked to establish friendships with his flock, make them feel he was an
approachable figure they could turn to in trouble. Not that he could imagine Mrs Wilburn would ever need anyone to turn to, she seemed such a nice, steady, competent person, not the sort to fool around or leave her little boy to come home to an empty house because she went to work like some of the mothers in the area. With her looks she might even have been tempted to try for extra work in the studios, but she didn’t. She stayed at home and kept house for Miles and her nice rock-solid husband. Not that he attended church as often as he might, but he was a nice enough person, he came to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and at least one parent was attending regularly and raising the child in the faith.

He suddenly realized that Mrs Wilburn was looking at him slightly oddly, nervously even, and he wondered what he had said, but then she relaxed and smiled at him, her lovely warm, friendly smile. What a pretty woman she was.

‘Thank you, Father. Yes, he certainly is. Of course he’s a handful, very very lively, but you would expect that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, you certainly do, Mrs Wilburn. Boys should be boys. How old is he now? Is he in school yet?’

‘He’s nearly eight, Father. Yes, he’s been in St Clement’s Grade School for two years. I can’t say he seems to be a genius, but there’s plenty of time, I guess. All he thinks about is sports, he just can’t wait to join the Little League. And Dean – my husband – can’t wait for that either.’

‘Well, it’s nice to see a father taking so much interest in his child.’

‘It certainly is. I never see them at weekends, they go off fishing together and watching the football games. Sometimes I feel quite left out.’

She smiled gaily, to let him know she wasn’t serious.

‘You should have another child, Mrs Wilburn. A girl maybe. To keep you company.’

He smiled back, letting her know he wasn’t serious either, that he wasn’t insinuating that she was doing anything wrong, breaking the laws of the church.

Nevertheless he had wondered. She was young, such an ideal mother, now why had there not been another child?

A shadow passed over her face. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’d like that, Father.’

He felt remorseful at opening what was obviously a wound. He patted her hand. ‘Well, God works in a mysterious way, Mrs Wilburn. Who knows what may happen in his own good time?’

‘Yes, Father. Perhaps. Good morning. Miles, come along. Your daddy will be waiting to take you fishing.’

But she knew, thought Lee as she headed for home that bright October morning, she knew what might happen, what would happen in that particular direction: nothing, nothing at all. Dean, encouraged by his first success at fathering a child, had never given up hope, but the years had gone by and Miles had remained the only one. She didn’t think actually that Dean minded that much. He was so absolutely and utterly wrapped up in Miles, he loved him so much, it quite frightened her. Another woman in another situation might have been jealous, as she had joked to Father Kennedy; so absolutely second place did she come to the little boy. As it was she was just thankful, deeply deeply thankful that not so much as a shiver of suspicion or mistrust darkened Dean’s relationship with his son.

And they were a very happy little family. There was no doubt about it. And Miles was a very bright, nice little boy. He was naughty, a bit wild, and a bit devious maybe, and very lazy when it came to school, she could see trouble ahead there; it was annoying because he was obviously clever (a bit too clever, she sometimes thought uneasily). He picked things up in a trice if he wanted to, and he had a real flair for numbers, he positively enjoyed adding them up in his head, which he did terrifically fast. When they went to market sometimes, and he was waiting for her to check out her shopping, he would stand on one of the other aisles, watching the cash register totting up the totals, silently mouthing the figures as they went up and announcing the final sum to the impressed women before the girl at the check-out did. It became a kind of party piece, people would talk about it, and point him out, smiling, and the check-out girls would say, ‘Hey, that’s really neat,’ and tell him what a clever kid he was; Miles liked that, it was one of the things Lee worried about, he loved being the centre of attention, being admired, having a fuss made of him, not in the regular way kids did, of enjoying a bit of spoiling, but actually being in the limelight, being stared at, having an audience. She hoped to
heaven he wasn’t going to grow up wanting to go into the film business; a lot of mothers would encourage that, of course, but the only thing Miles seemed likely to want to star in at the moment was the baseball team, and that was good and healthy.

‘Mom,’ said Miles hopefully, pulling on her hand as they walked down the hill towards their house, ‘do you think we could have lunch on the pier today?’

‘Miles, you know your daddy was planning to take you fishing. Don’t you want to go?’ said Lee in astonishment. Usually there was nothing Miles liked better than a day’s fishing off Malibu with Dean.

‘I’m kind of tired of it, we go so often. And Jamie is going to the pier today with his folks, and he says he has something real neat he wants to show me and I would like that. Please, Mom, could you ask Dad?’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Lee doubtfully. ‘He’ll have everything ready for you to go, he was getting the rods out when we left.’

Miles scowled. ‘I don’t see why I should have to go. That would be two things in one day I didn’t want to do.’

‘Well, Miles, there’s nothing anywhere that says you should only do what you want to do. That would be very bad for you. What was the other thing?’

‘Going to mass of course.’

‘Now Miles, that is just ridiculous. Of course you have to go to mass.’

‘Jamie doesn’t have to go to mass.’

‘I know, but Jamie’s family isn’t Catholic.’

‘Why do we have to be Catholic?’

‘We don’t have to be Catholic, Miles, we just are. It’s something you’re born with, that you grow up to because your parents are.’

‘Dad doesn’t go to mass.’

‘He does sometimes. Now stop this argument, Miles. It’s just silly.’

Lee always grew uncomfortable when anyone started to comment on her religion, especially Miles or Dean. It was one of the bargains she had made with God: if and when Miles had been safely and unquestionably California born, then she would become a regular attender at church again, and she
hadn’t broken her side of it, she had gone not only to mass on Sundays but confession every Friday too – although there were some things of course that she was never going to confess to anybody, not even God, never mind Father Kennedy who was a bit of an old gossip, she always suspected. Dean had remarked on it at first, teased her even, at her apparently unprompted conversion to devout Catholicism, but Lee had reminded him she had always been a Catholic, just lapsed a bit, and said with some truth that she was so pleased and thankful for Miles’ safe delivery that she felt duty bound to let God know it.

When they got home Dean was indeed ready, all the rods packed up in the hall, beaming delightedly as Miles appeared.

‘There you are, son. Ready to go?’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Lee, just slightly challenging. ‘Just let him go and change, Dean, he won’t be five minutes.’

Miles looked back at her defiantly, his blue eyes so like her own, and yet so different: a darker, harder blue, suddenly hostile.

‘Do we have to go, Dad?’

Dean looked amazed and hurt. ‘What do you mean, Miles? Of course we have to go. We want to go. Don’t we?’

‘Not specially, Dad. Not today.’

‘Miles, go and change,’ said Lee quickly. ‘Go on, run along.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes, you do. Whatever you do, you have to change. I’ll talk to your dad.’

‘What on earth is that about?’ said Dean, his plump face bewildered, a little hurt. ‘When did he ever not want to go fishing?’

‘Quite often, possibly,’ said Lee. ‘He’s never mentioned it before, that’s all. He never has to me either. But Dean, I think maybe he’d like a change sometimes. Do something different. All of us together, maybe. Today he asked me if we could go to the pier. Jamie’s going. I can see that would be nice for him once in a while. He loves going fishing with you, of course he does, but maybe every Sunday is a little too much. Don’t be upset. Would you mind not going today?’

‘Yes, I would,’ said Dean truculently. ‘All morning I’ve been waiting, getting the rods ready. I’ve been looking forward to it.’

‘Yes, well Miles hasn’t,’ said Lee firmly. ‘It’s his Sunday too. I think you should listen to him once in a while.’

‘Since when did little boys get listened to?’

‘Since there were little boys, maybe. I bet you got listened to.’

‘I did not.’

‘Well, you should have been.’ She gave him a kiss. ‘Go on, Dean. Stay home with me. Just this once.’

He softened, grinning at her. ‘OK. You’ll have to make it up to me later, mind.’

‘I will,’ said Lee.

Santa Monica pier was a good place to go on a Sunday. ‘It’s always like Thanksgiving here,’ Miles had once said when he was a little tiny boy, and it was true, people seemed permanently happy, relaxed, in a good mood. Dean, warmed out of his sulks, took Miles on the dodgems and challenged him to a turn on the shooting gallery, and they all leant over the rail and watched people going out with Mike Tomich’s water ski school.

‘I’d really like to do that,’ said Miles. ‘Dad, can I have a turn at that?’

‘You certainly can not,’ said Dean, instinctively putting out a protective hand and drawing the little boy closer to him. ‘That’s real dangerous, Miles, not for little boys.’

‘I like things that are real dangerous,’ said Miles cheerfully. ‘When I grow up I’m going to be a stunt pilot for the movies.’

‘You most certainly are not,’ said Lee. ‘I never ever would allow such a thing.’

Miles gave her one of his slow thoughtful looks. ‘You won’t be allowing me or not allowing me anything, Mom. I’ll be doing what I like. I might even be living thousands and thousands of miles away.’

Lee shivered suddenly; the day seemed to darken. ‘If you live thousands of miles away,’ she said sharply, ‘you won’t be able to be a stunt pilot for the movies.’

‘I will too,’ said Miles, and scowled at her.

‘Hey,’ said Dean, ‘come on, I thought we here to please the two of you. Let’s go down to Muscle Beach and watch the acrobats.’

They went down the steps under the pier and fought their
way through the crowds near the Muscle Inn; massive men, their muscles like skeins of throbbing rope, were posing on the sand, lifting up girls who asked them to as if they were rag dolls, practising their strange craft with unsmiling fanaticism. Dean bought beers for himself and Lee and gave Miles an ice cream. The beach was packed; it was hot for October, even by Californian standards. ‘I should have brought my suit,’ said Lee, ‘I might go home and get it. Dean, can we have lunch at Sinbad’s? I know that’s what Miles is hoping for.’

‘Sure,’ said Dean, mellowed into total good humour by the holiday atmosphere and the beer. ‘When is he going to meet his friend?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lee. ‘Miles, when did you plan on finding Jamie?’

‘He said he’d be down after lunch. With his mom and dad. Can we go to Sinbad’s, Dad?’

‘Sure. If we go now we’ll get a table.’

They sat in Sinbad’s on the pier, eating swordfish steaks; Miles had his favourite, the speciality of the house, au gratin potatoes mixed with dry slices of bananas. Dean had french fries with his, and coleslaw and pickles and sweetcorn; then he ordered chocolate brownies with strawberry sauce and whipped cream for himself; Lee and Miles had sorbets.

‘You eat too much, Dean,’ said Lee, patting his stomach affectionately. ‘You should cut down a little. It isn’t good for you.’

‘Ah honey, don’t spoil a nice day nagging.’

‘I’m not nagging, Dean. Just saying you eat too much.’ She kissed him quickly on the cheek, anxious he shouldn’t think she was seriously criticizing him. ‘It’s only because I care about you. Sorry, Dean. Look, Miles, there’s Jamie. There, walking down the pier now.’

‘Hey,’ said Miles, ‘hey look, he has a skateboard. Oh, wow, oh, wow, would I like one of those! Can I go get him, Mom?’

‘Sure. Tell him to come here and say hello. Fetch his mom and dad.’

‘And when,’ she said, laughing to Sue and Gerry Forrest, ‘did you thoughtless folks get Jamie that? Now every kid on the block will have to have one. Did he get top grades in school or something?’