“Single-leg Boston in the last round,” his mother said. “After two Public Warnings.”
“So long as the damage is done, warnings don’t count,” said his father.
The lobster lay dismembered in a bed of lettuce. “Seems a pity to spoil it,” said Jan.
“Ask the lobster,” said Tom, and filled his plate.
Tom’s mother cut off the bacon rind and ate it. “The nights are drawing in.”
“As Thomas à Becket said to the actress.”
Jan spluttered.
“You what?” said his mother.
“How’s the dressing?” said Tom’s father.
“Delicious,” said Jan.
“Let’s see how you do with the wine, then. I’ve a poser for you this week.”
“You wily warrant-officer,” said Tom. “You’ve decanted it.”
“All’s fair in love and war. Couldn’t have you seeing the bottle, could we?”
He poured the green-white wine for Tom and Jan. Tom’s mother put the kettle on the stove to make herself some tea. “Never stake money on a bet with this man,” said Tom. “He waited till we’d had the dressing.”
“That’s your manky palate, lad. The dressing and the wine have to balance. There’s the art.”
“It’s a Moselle,” said Jan. “Very fresh. Last year’s, I think.”
Tom’s father stared. “How did you know? Come off it: that wasn’t a guess.”
“I was au pair for a grower at Easter,” said Jan. “Moselle.”
“Ay, you can’t win ’em all. Lovely wine, though, isn’t it? The only good thing to come out of Germany.”
“What about the iron crosses hanging with the medals?” said Tom.
“They weren’t from walking-wounded, I can tell you.”
“Swapped for a packet of fags?”
“Hand to hand. Them or us. That’s our mob.”
Tom turned to Jan. “We don’t count that. You’d been there—What’s the matter?”
Jan stumbled from the chair, her handkerchief at her mouth.
“Not the bog!” Tom shouted after her. “I’ve not emptied it this week!”
Jan threw the door open and was sick into the bracken.
“So much for your fancy teas,” said Tom’s mother. “Well, it had to show sooner or later.”
Jan came back into the caravan. “Sorry,” she said. “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”
“Sit down,” said Tom’s father. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks.”
“Here you are.”
“Do you mind if I take it outside? I want to rinse my mouth.”
“Not before time,” said Tom’s mother.
Tom followed Jan out to the steps and put his anorak round her. She was shivering. He went down the steps and turned the leaf mould over with a spade.
“One of the benefits of the rural life,” he said. He came back to her. “What’s up, apart from the lobster?”
“Sea food gets me sometimes.”
“Indeed.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine now.”
“At least you’re human. I thought you weren’t bothered by next week.”
“I’m bothered, all right.”
Tom’s father was finishing the meal, but his mother had taken her tea through to the lounge.
“Better?”
“Thanks. It sometimes gets me.”
“You should’ve said. Can I make you anything?”
“A piece of bread will do fine.”
“Moselle?”
“I’d rather not. Sorry. It was a lovely meal.”
“Moselle’s good for an upset stomach.”
“No, thanks.”
“Your colour’s back.”
“I’ll finish your wine,” said Tom.
“Show it a little respect,” said his father. “It’s not lemonade.”
“To the glorious dead German grape.” Tom raised his glass.
“Cider’s the worst,” said his father.
Tom and Jan cleared the table.
“You feel it in your bones next day. Soon as you drink anything – tea, milk, water – you’re as stoned as when you began. Wicked.”
“Courting time,” said Jan. “All ancients into the lounge.”
“Ay, well,” said Tom’s father. “Think on.” He closed the kitchen door after him.
Tom poured the last of the wine. He hid his face in Jan’s hair. She stepped away.
“What’s wrong now?”
“I don’t like the smell of drink,” she said.
“Have some, then you won’t notice.” She shook her head. “Your loss.” He emptied the glass.
“Let’s wash up.” Jan pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and ran hot water into the sink. Tom picked up a towel.
“There’s something bothering your father. He wasn’t himself.”
“Wasn’t he? Look, I’ve worked it all out. On your pay, and what I can scrounge, we should just about be able to meet, say, every month. Crewe.”
“Why not come here? It’s not that much further.”
“Crewe’s quicker, and we shan’t waste time we could spend together. No privacy here. We couldn’t talk. If you make it Saturdays, the shops’ll be open, and it’ll be warm.”
“I’ve never felt romantic in Crewe.”
“You will. It’ll be the most fabulous town on earth.”
Jan gave him a plate to dry. “Fantastic,” she said.
The kitchen door opened, and Tom’s father appeared.
“Er.”
“Yes?” said Tom
“My glasses.”
“By the telly?” said Jan.
“Oh. Feeling better?”
“Right as rain.”
“Good.” He went out.
“There’s definitely something wrong,” said Jan. “He’s embarrassed. And listen: they’re arguing.”
“When aren’t they? I’m sorry I panicked at the motorway. We’ll be OK. – I wonder why rain is always right.”
“Didn’t you see him?”
“No. We’ll be OK in Crewe. You can get a cheap day return.”
“Listen!” She held his shoulders. Warmth seeped