wryly.
Let’s just get on with it, can we? Adam is a scout leader. His son is watching him.
My sentiments entirely, says Amelia. For a second she keeps a straight face. She has pretty freckles round a prim nose, long straight black hair. Then all the adolescents burst out laughing. Even the fat Caroline. Even the older Tom.
Oh, I’m going to pee myself, Louise gasps. Vince now notices that his daughter has the top of her wrist pressed into her mouth.
Kids! Keith steps in. Kids, concentrate! If someone wants their four—star paddler this week they’ll have to do more than crack jokes.
Wally! Phil shouts. Where’s Wally!
Keith is aghast. Oh no! Eternal damnation! Then the older man reaches into his open shirt and conjures the little effigy from his armpit. Fooled you!
Clive invites Michela to sit in a boat on the grass at his feet. They have lifted one of the Pyranhas down from the trailer beside the chalet. She’s wearing jeans. She unlaces her trainers, puts a hand each side of the cockpit and slips in. The boat is a bright new blue. They have bought them with a loan. Clive squats down beside her. His beard, just greying from red, is close to her cheek. His blonde hair flows out of his cap in the manner of the American pioneer.
How are the feet?
Loose.
The footrests— gather round, kids— have to be so tight that the upper part of the thigh is jammed, I repeat, jammed under the cockpit here.
Clive puts a strong hand on her knee and pushes it laterally, then waggles it hard back and forth.
Too much give. See?
Michela shoots a glance at him.
They are a couple, Vince tells himself. He can’t concentrate.
Michela gets out and Clive shows the others how to adjust the footrests. The trick is, set it so it’s as snug as can be, right, then tighten up one more notch. Okay? Tight as possible. And then
again
one more. That’s the secret. If it’s not uncomfortable, it’s not right. It has to hurt. At least at first.
Michela gets in the boat again. They are in the small clearing in front of the kitchen tent. Now she has trouble forcing her knees under the cockpit edges. She wriggles, smiles, grimaces, eyes closed, eyebrows lifted. Youch! It is another expression she learned from Clive.
If condoms hurt that much, a voice mutters, I’ll do without.
Adam twists his head. He seems to be appealing to Keith to put a lid on this.
Brian’s freckled face assumes a saintly glow.
I believe that’s why the Pope is so against them, Max remarks boldly. The boy is wearing a broad—brimmed straw hat, as if at some public—school picnic.
Rock the boat, Micky, Clive is saying. Please, watch carefully everybody. Rock it from side to side.
Sitting upright, Michela leans to the right. She wears a white T—shirt that leaves a hand’s—breadth of stomach visible. Vince looks away. Above the tents and the coloured clutter of the campsite, he lifts his eyes to climb solid slopes rising steeply through gleaming meadow and dark pine to shreds of bright cloud that drift among barren walls of rock. The instructor’s voice fades. Then, further above, even in this month of August, Vince sees patches of snow shining distantly to cap dizzying cliffs of dark stone, gritty corrugated peaks. He breathes deeply. You’re on holiday, he tells himself. To the north a tiny cable car crawls up the gigantic back of the mountain.
See how the body moved first, Clive explains,
before
the boat? Did you see that? All at once the voice is louder and insistent. Did you? Vince turns and finds Clive’s eye on him.
It is absolutely essential that you take this on board.
Michela shifts her hips, raises a knee, so that the rounded hull of the kayak gradually tips while her torso remains upright. Clive thrusts a hand between the girl’s thigh and the edge of the boat. That’s the space we’ve got to pad out and eliminate. Okay? Any give between you and the cockpit, and the sheer fact is, as soon as you’re in serious water you’re going to
Let’s just get on with it, can we? Adam is a scout leader. His son is watching him.
My sentiments entirely, says Amelia. For a second she keeps a straight face. She has pretty freckles round a prim nose, long straight black hair. Then all the adolescents burst out laughing. Even the fat Caroline. Even the older Tom.
Oh, I’m going to pee myself, Louise gasps. Vince now notices that his daughter has the top of her wrist pressed into her mouth.
Kids! Keith steps in. Kids, concentrate! If someone wants their four—star paddler this week they’ll have to do more than crack jokes.
Wally! Phil shouts. Where’s Wally!
Keith is aghast. Oh no! Eternal damnation! Then the older man reaches into his open shirt and conjures the little effigy from his armpit. Fooled you!
Clive invites Michela to sit in a boat on the grass at his feet. They have lifted one of the Pyranhas down from the trailer beside the chalet. She’s wearing jeans. She unlaces her trainers, puts a hand each side of the cockpit and slips in. The boat is a bright new blue. They have bought them with a loan. Clive squats down beside her. His beard, just greying from red, is close to her cheek. His blonde hair flows out of his cap in the manner of the American pioneer.
How are the feet?
Loose.
The footrests— gather round, kids— have to be so tight that the upper part of the thigh is jammed, I repeat, jammed under the cockpit here.
Clive puts a strong hand on her knee and pushes it laterally, then waggles it hard back and forth.
Too much give. See?
Michela shoots a glance at him.
They are a couple, Vince tells himself. He can’t concentrate.
Michela gets out and Clive shows the others how to adjust the footrests. The trick is, set it so it’s as snug as can be, right, then tighten up one more notch. Okay? Tight as possible. And then
again
one more. That’s the secret. If it’s not uncomfortable, it’s not right. It has to hurt. At least at first.
Michela gets in the boat again. They are in the small clearing in front of the kitchen tent. Now she has trouble forcing her knees under the cockpit edges. She wriggles, smiles, grimaces, eyes closed, eyebrows lifted. Youch! It is another expression she learned from Clive.
If condoms hurt that much, a voice mutters, I’ll do without.
Adam twists his head. He seems to be appealing to Keith to put a lid on this.
Brian’s freckled face assumes a saintly glow.
I believe that’s why the Pope is so against them, Max remarks boldly. The boy is wearing a broad—brimmed straw hat, as if at some public—school picnic.
Rock the boat, Micky, Clive is saying. Please, watch carefully everybody. Rock it from side to side.
Sitting upright, Michela leans to the right. She wears a white T—shirt that leaves a hand’s—breadth of stomach visible. Vince looks away. Above the tents and the coloured clutter of the campsite, he lifts his eyes to climb solid slopes rising steeply through gleaming meadow and dark pine to shreds of bright cloud that drift among barren walls of rock. The instructor’s voice fades. Then, further above, even in this month of August, Vince sees patches of snow shining distantly to cap dizzying cliffs of dark stone, gritty corrugated peaks. He breathes deeply. You’re on holiday, he tells himself. To the north a tiny cable car crawls up the gigantic back of the mountain.
See how the body moved first, Clive explains,
before
the boat? Did you see that? All at once the voice is louder and insistent. Did you? Vince turns and finds Clive’s eye on him.
It is absolutely essential that you take this on board.
Michela shifts her hips, raises a knee, so that the rounded hull of the kayak gradually tips while her torso remains upright. Clive thrusts a hand between the girl’s thigh and the edge of the boat. That’s the space we’ve got to pad out and eliminate. Okay? Any give between you and the cockpit, and the sheer fact is, as soon as you’re in serious water you’re going to
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