The Winter Children (17 page)

She doesn’t even want to admit what else might be bringing her here.

Alice hurries forward as they get closer. She climbs three small metal steps and taps at the door of the caravan. ‘Roy! It’s us.’

Julia stands below, anxious, her heart thudding, fighting the desire to run back to the school and up the stairs to the safety of the dormitory.
But it’s too late now.

The door swings open and there, huge in the small frame, is Roy. He makes Julia think of a giant from a storybook, as he bends his head to look out at them and grins.

‘Hello there, girlies!’ His voice is deep but with a cheerful sing-song quality that eases Julia’s nervousness just a little. ‘You made it, I see. Glad you could. Now come on in, it’s warm in here and cold enough to freeze your britches out there.’

He retreats back into the light and Alice skips up the steps after him. Julia trails behind, her desire to be in the warm overcoming her trepidation. The next moment, she is in the small space
of the caravan. Immediately in front and to her left are two small doors, closed tight. To her right is a miniature kitchen space – a Formica countertop below a window with a plastic sink
sunk into it, with storage space underneath and a shelf above. A small gas hob with two burners sits on the counter, connected to a tank that stands by the door. Dirty plates and pans are piled in
the sink, and the air is ripe with the smell of something meaty, along with the staleness of well-used bedding and unwashed clothes, and a layer of cigarette smoke on top of it all. Opposite the
kitchen counter is a tabletop slotted between two built-in benches, meagre cushions on top to buffer their hard surfaces. But Julia’s eye is drawn beyond this to the back of the caravan,
where a built-in seat follows the three sides around, and thin curtains with faded zigzag patterns hang over the small windows. The air is full of cigarette smoke that stings her eyes and burns her
nostrils, and she blinks against the acrid haze. One side of the seats is used as a bed, with a pile of pillows and blankets messily stacked at one end. In the furthest corner sits the thin boy she
saw at the building site that day, staring over at her, a cigarette hanging off his lips, his hands clasped together and his foot, encased in a long leather shoe, tapping. He’s listening to music on a transistor radio held close to his ear, but it’s hard to hear much
through the static.

Donnie
, thinks Julia, and she is surprised to find her insides leap and contract with a hot squeeze of excitement. He’s good-looking, with that thin face, the staring blue eyes and
the dark quiff teased upwards. His gaze rests on her and she has the same sensation of not being entirely in her own body, the one she had when they went to the building site that day.

In the middle of the low-ceilinged caravan, Roy stands, stooped to prevent his head banging on the ceiling. He’s wearing old brown trousers and a slightly grubby white shirt that looks
like a vest to Julia, and he’s holding up a whiskey bottle.

‘Will you have a little drink then, ladies?’ he asks with a grin. Without waiting for an answer, he uncorks the bottle and starts to slosh out the amber liquid into tin mugs that sit
on a small table, alongside an ashtray full of pillowy grey ash and bent discarded butts.

‘Thanks, don’t mind if I do,’ Alice says in an odd voice. Julia glances at her friend, who holds herself stiffly, her lips pouted and her eyes wide. ‘But put a bit of
lemonade in mine, won’t you.’

‘Anything you say,’ Roy says, and winks in her direction. Alice giggles, fluttery and silly.

What’s wrong with her?

Roy turns to Julia. ‘And you? The same?’

‘Just lemonade, please,’ Julia says, her voice sounding ridiculously prim. She wants to cower away from Roy’s overwhelming presence: he seems so big, so old and so intensely
male, with his chunky body and dark hair that covers his bare arms and climbs the back of his neck. There is thick black stubble over his jaw and up his cheeks. His hair is cut short, as though
it’s the only bit he bothers to tame.

‘Just lemonade?’ Roy laughs. Even his laugh has a lilt to it. ‘Ah, come on. You want a little fire in you, don’t you? Try it. You’ll like it. I’ll just add a touch so you can get acquainted with it.’ He pours a bit out into
the last mug, then takes the lemonade bottle and tops up the girls’ drinks with the fizzy liquid. The boy in the corner watches, without saying anything. Roy hands the girls their mugs.
‘There you go.’ He looks curiously at Julia. ‘Now what’s your name then? Alice only said she was bringing a friend.’

‘Julia.’ It comes out sounding strangled.

‘Joo-lee-a,’ he repeats, the slightest hint of mockery in his voice, and holds a mug to her. ‘Well, delighted to meet you.’ She takes the mug and he clashes his own
against it. ‘Cheers! Here’s to old friends and new.’

Julia stares into the tin mug. It’s only half full, the bubbling lemonade tinted pale brown. Alice takes a swig from her mug and starts chattering to Roy as Julia lifts hers slowly to
her mouth. She’s never tasted alcohol before. Just before the rim of the mug blocks out her view of anything but off-white enamel, she looks straight at the boy on the seat, and he is staring
at her, watching her every move. He lifts a hand to his mouth, takes the cigarette from his lips and blows out a cloud of smoke. Julia tips the mug and she can no longer see him. The liquid touches her tongue: it’s fizzy and
sweet with a peaty undertone, a taste like old brown honey with a hint of lemon. It is quite pleasant, she thinks, as she swallows. A feeling of relief comes over her. She’d feared that one
taste and she’d be on the floor, drunk, or violently ill with the disgusting flavour. Instead, she feels quite normal. It’s fine. She looks over at Alice, who has taken a big gulp of
hers.

‘Hey, Donnie,’ Roy says as he passes him a tin mug. Donnie puts down his radio and takes it. ‘You haven’t said hello to our guests yet!’

‘Hello there,’ Donnie says. His voice is lighter than Roy’s bass, without the rich lilt but with an accent of some kind.

‘Joo-lee-a and Alice.’ Roy gestures at them with his mug.

‘We’ve already had the pleasure,’ Alice says in the strange, grown-up voice she’s used since they came in.

‘Aye,’ Donnie says.

‘H . . . how do you do?’ Julia says, unable to think of anything else.

Roy laughs. ‘How do ye do? How do ye do, eh, Donnie?’

Donnie doesn’t laugh, but looks back at Julia, solemn. ‘I’m well, thanks. And you?’

She can’t make out what he said and echoes him with a question in her voice. ‘Andrew?’

Roy bursts into louder guffaws. ‘She can’t understand you!’ He turns to Alice. ‘You never said you were bringing a duchess here, darlin’.’

Alice sashays over to the seat and takes her place along from Donnie. ‘Oh, she’s no duchess, are you, Julia? Just an ordinary girl. I’m afraid she’s not very
experienced.’ She flutters her eyelashes at Roy. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

Roy grins. ‘Anythin’ for you.’ He hands her a packet and she lifts one out by its white tip.

Julia stares, really shocked now. Alice hasn’t said anything about smoking and here she is, her lips pursed around the thick stem of the cigarette as she leans forward for a light from
Roy’s match. She pulls in a breath and instantly releases it in a puff as she sits back, holding the cigarette stiffly in the air.

‘Do you want one?’ Roy asks, offering Julia the packet.

She shakes her head. ‘No . . . no thank you.’

‘Sit down. Go on.’

Alice pats the cushion. ‘Next to me.’

Julia goes around the table to sit between Alice and Donnie, and Roy says, ‘Now we’ll get things going! Turn your music up, Donnie. I don’t mind it, even if it is your American
rock nonsense.’

Donnie leans forward to turn the dial upwards and the beat of the music fills the room, a wailing voice over the top. ‘Elvis,’ he murmurs.

‘Now,’ Roy says, winking again, ‘we can get the party started.’

The party is the least fun one Julia has ever attended. It consists of sipping at her lemonade while she watches Alice continue to behave in a fashion she has never seen before, winsome and girlish, and then with the strange pseudo-sophistication that involves that odd voice, and her head cocked on one side, the eyelashes fluttering. It looks, Julia thinks, ridiculous
but Roy doesn’t seem to mind it. He squeezes his great form in beside Alice, one hairy foot crossed up over his knee, one arm stretched out behind her on the seat cushion, the other lifting
the mug of whiskey to his mouth, and looks down on Alice with his broad smile, the one that somehow softens the overpowering masculinity of his presence.

The tinny music beating out from the radio fills the small space, along with the hiss of static. Julia is painfully aware of Donnie at her side, and his still tapping foot on the floor, but she
doesn’t turn to look at him. They sit, two silent observers of Roy and Alice’s flirting, Julia wishing with all her heart that this could be over and she could leave, drag Alice back to
the dormitory and tell her, sternly, that never ever again should she go to the caravan. There’s something here in the caravan that she doesn’t understand; she only knows it’s a
powerful force that she and Alice should not be tampering with. They are out of their depth.

Donnie mutters something occasionally, and she realises that he is saying the name of the musicians that they are listening to. ‘Little Richard,’ she hears. ‘Johnny
Mathis.’ She’s never heard of them or listened to their music before.

There are refills of everyone’s cups, but Julia stops drinking hers, just letting bubbles pop on her tongue when she lifts the mug. Her mouth is numb and her head a little fuzzy, and she knows that she must have had more of the whiskey than she guessed.

It must be only half an hour after they arrived, but it feels like much longer when she notices that Roy is bent into Alice, his face in her neck as she giggles and drinks, two cigarettes now
smoked and stubbed out. Then she sees, with a swift sideways glance, that Roy is kissing Alice, his big, stubbly man’s mouth on hers. Julia is horrified, and looks away, mortified that she
has seen this and shocked that Roy would think it all right to kiss a girl who is still in the fourth form.

Why, he’s old enough to be her father! What’s he thinking of?

She stares at the floor, appalled and frozen, not knowing what to do. She wants to pull Alice to her feet and drag her away, but she knows how much Alice would hate that, and besides, what if
Roy gets angry?
They must know when to stop – Alice always comes back. But how long? How long can I stand to wait here like this while they do . . . that?

A hand on her arm makes her jump. It’s Donnie, no longer lost in the music, his blue eyes fixed on her. He says nothing, but indicates the door with a turn of his head, and gets up, skinny
legs stepping round the table and heading out. She stands and follows, the two on the seat behind apparently oblivious as they nuzzle, murmur and giggle.

Donnie has opened the caravan door and is sitting on the metal steps that lead down from it. He’s lit another cigarette and is blowing out the first stream of long smoke, white in the night air. Julia stands above him, looking down on his dark head.

‘Close the bloody door!’ roars Roy behind her.

‘It’s freezing,’ calls Alice, a slur in her voice, and then she laughs wildly, as though she is being tickled.

Julia steps out into the cold night and pulls the door to behind her. There is still light from the windows and she can see Donnie half lit by it. Clambering down the steps, she crouches down
until she is sitting gingerly on the icy metal.

‘Want one?’ Donnie asks, looking at the burning end of his cigarette.

‘No thanks.’ Julia shakes her head. ‘They make me feel sick.’ Inside, her stomach has churned in rebellion at the bitter smoke. Out here, in the cool air, it’s
almost fragrant. She looks down and realises she’s brought her tin mug out with her. Automatically she lifts it to let the bubbles play on her lips, then gasps as the mug is violently knocked
from her grasp. It curves through the air, a ribbon of liquid erupting from it, and hits the grass with a thud as the lemonade splatters down.

‘Don’t drink that stuff!’ barks Donnie.

‘Why’d you do that?’ she asks, shocked.

‘Don’t drink it, that’s all.’

‘I wasn’t.’ She’s filled with indignation. ‘I was just pretending. I don’t like it, it makes me feel sleepy.’

‘You look like you’ve been drinking it happily enough,’ Donnie says accusingly, turning to look at her. His eyes are dark, just the whites glimmering in the half-light.
‘Just like your friend.’ He shakes his head and takes a terse puff of his cigarette. ‘I don’t know what you girls are playing at. What would your mothers say?’

‘I don’t know,’ Julia says miserably. ‘Nothing very good. She’d be furious.’ Then her outrage returns. ‘But this wasn’t my idea, you know!
I’m only here to look after Alice. I didn’t want to come. I think it’s awful, and we’ll be expelled if we’re caught, both of us—’

‘You want to stop her. You’d better,’ Donnie says roughly. He picks a strand of tobacco from his tongue and rubs it away.

Julia stares at him. He’s turned away and now she can see his profile: the long, slightly beaked nose, the high cheekbones and the fine shape of his eyes. Something in her quivers.
‘Why?’ she whispers.

He shakes his head and is silent for a while, then turns to look at her. ‘I don’t know how your sort lives. Maybe it isn’t true what they say about ladies and how gentle and
precious you all are. Maybe you’re all at it, all the time. But it’s not what my mother hopes for for my sisters, I know that, and she’d tan their hides if she thought for a
second they’d done what that girl does, at her age. Drinking, smoking and . . . all the rest of it.’

‘The rest of it?’ Her voice is high, almost plaintive. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’ve seen it. What they’re doing in there.’

‘Kissing?’ Julia stumbles over the word in her embarrassment at saying such a thing to a man.

He laughs, a short, joyless sound. ‘Yeah. Kissin’. And . . .’