Yes, Connie nodded.
Sara interrupted. We farm boar, actually, she said.
Really? I dont think Ive ever seen a boar before. Do they have husks?
Tusks.
Lily snorted.
The males, yes. Sara nodded.
Are they aggressive?
Do bears shit in the woods? Lily revealed her dimples.
Theyre wild, Sara scowled, but very
Indigenous, Lily interjected, although you wouldnt think it with all the bother we get.
Indigenous, Lily interjected, although you wouldnt think it with all the bother we get.
Sara cleared her throat. People can be wary. Other farmers especially. Weve been keeping boar for a good few years now, but the myth that they escape all the time and wreak havoc
So what! Lily expostulated. Its our land. We can do what the hell we like on it.
Connie was intrigued. Sara and Lily spoke directly across her, as if she were invisible. Yet she sensed that this was not the sort of conversation theyd usually have. It was as though she acted like some kind of filter. Could I see them? she asked.
They both turned to look at her. Sara put down the teapot. Pardon?
The boar. Could I see them?
When youve finished your tea, Lily said, I could take you on a tour of the area. Theres a nature reserve and a beach
Connie picked up her mug, took a sip, put it down again. She felt inexplicably genial. Yes, she said quietly, I think I might really enjoy that.
When Nathan arrived, the gallery was closing. He had at best only fifteen minutes, a guard warned him. Nathan ran up the stairs and into the new Sainsbury Wing. It seemed huge, the ceiling so high. Everything hushed and hollow and reverential. He began walking, quickly, from painting to painting. Ravenous. The gold leaf, the flat faces, the beautiful colour. He gorged on the angels, the devils, the other stuff. He appraised each picture. He paused, he passed on. Is it Christ? He was muttering. But he saw nothing that moved him. Nothing that connected. There was Christ on the cross. The tears, the torment, the suffering. There was Christ down from the cross, surrounded by mourners. A dumb time, a numb time. There was Christ preaching. Open face, open palms. The goldest halo. But nothing.
Is it the artist? He found several other paintings by Antonello. Each so serene and beautiful. One, a self-portrait of the artist himself with black hair, heavy stubble, blue eyes and a red felt cap. That was all. And another Antonello Christ, but actually on the cross this time, and tiny, and damaged, and nothing spectacular. A picture of Saint Jerome in his study. An exercise in perspective, and wonderful
He checked his watch. Time up. His heart was pumping.
Sara had disappeared on a mission to borrow some netting from a nearby farm. The pens needed securing. Or so shed declared. Once she was gone, Lily ransacked the house in search of Lukes keys but she could not find them. She turned everything upside down, she tipped, she ripped, she swore, she expostulated, but she refused, refused to believe that Sara had hidden them to foil her. She wouldnt believe it.
Connie went for a wander around the boar pens, supremely oblivious to Lilys frustrations. There were five different fenced-off sections, each holding eight or ten boar. A single male and his mates. One of the sections contained some smaller boar of varying sizes which she presumed to be adolescents. They were brown and muddy and rather endearing. The big ones, however, were very large, awesome, in a barky, hoary way, and quite intimidating.
Eventually Lily joined her. She seemed disgruntled.
Did you find what you were looking for? Connie asked.
No. Lily shook her head.
Shall we go for our walk now?
I suppose.
Lily started off. Connie followed.
So how are boar different from pigs?
The meats less fatty.
They seem fairly excitable.
Lily made a little gun out of her right hand. Click, click, bang! Theyre shot at the trough.
Really? Connie felt vaguely stricken at the notion.
But theyre so fucking powerful that even if you shoot them right in the chest, they run and run, like an engine, like a machine. Theyre tough asuh she searched for an appropriate metaphor, shit, she said finally.
They certainly look happy.
Connie found herself smiling. The boars ferocity made her feel buoyant. And Lilys.
They are happy. Totally independent. Totally self-sufficient. I mean, we feed them every so often, but not each day because that would make them complacent. Theyre wild. Complacencys like a disease to wild things.
You think so?
I know so.
Lily strode on. Connie struggled to keep her pace.
I was told you kept pigs.
We did, years ago, but then we found out about the boar and Dad began interbreeding.
With sows you mean?
Yep. Same chromosomes. Thirty-six. Strange, huh? It means that you can breed pig and boar without too much difficulty. You get a kind of weird, hairy hybrid she shuddered and then continued, but after a spell he decided that it wasnt quite right. Boars have a greatness, a purity. And that shouldnt be tampered with. It should be treasured.
They had walked well beyond the pens now.
And theyre much easier to keep than pigs. They even give birth without any fuss. Pigs werent as uncomplicated Lily scowled at the memory. Connie nodded. So are we going to the beach?
Lily ignored her. And they got terrible sunburn, she said, the pigs. Traditional British breeds were very hairy originally but people dont like pork with hair in the crackling so now theyve been specially adapted. They have much longer backs, which provides more convenient cuts of meat, but its unnatural and causes problems. And their hairlessness means they burn in the sun.
I didnt know that.
Lily shrugged. Boar are less work, but youve got to be careful to keep them securely.
So they do escape sometimes?
Once in a blue moon. Its no big deal.
Lily stopped walking. That way is the nature reserve, but if we head straight on we reach the beach.
What kind of beach?
Shell. Its OK. Theres a nudist section which is good for a laugh.
Connie nodded. Thatll be handy. I havent brought a costume.
Lily stared at her. Youre planning to go swimming?
Sure. Why not?
Lily merely snorted and strode on.
Sara found the camera in the hide, on the floor, just as Luke had described it to her. It wasnt a particularly expensive one, but it was his favourite. His best. She picked it up by the strap and then hung it around her neck. He was lucky that it hadnt been stolen.
She went and sat outside, at the top of the stairs. With the hides dark jaw to the back of her she felt like a mollusc, a beach creature, with its shell tucked neatly behind it. A refuge.
She held the camera up to her eye and found herself staring into the gut of yet another crustacean. She had a particular way of seeing things. She did not notice the view, the exterior, instead she saw the black box, the glass, the interior. And inside this clean little belly she suddenly saw all of life. But everything much smaller and neater.
Twenty-Eight
Jim saw her way off at first from the far end of the beach. But even at that distance he could see her savage mouth working, tearing, jabbering, as she strode out, swinging her long arms, kicking up sand with her skinny legs. She repelled him. She was unpredictable, stunted, somehow, and raging. He wanted her to leave them alone. Ronny especially. She would drain him dry if she could. He hated this idea. Lily suckling and guzzling.
He watched her. She was expostulating with her hands. She was with a friend. The friend was disrobing.
But you dont have a towel, Lily was saying.
Its windy. Ill dry off soon enough.
What if someone comes along?
Should that be a problem?
Connie wore pale linen trousers and a turquoise shirt. She pulled off her trousers. Her knees were both bruised, but she didnt care.
Will you come in with me?
Fuck off!
Goon!
Lily pointed. I know those two over there. Im not stripping in front of them.
Fine.
Connie unbuttoned her shirt. Underneath she wore no bra and a g-string. You could swim in your underwear, she wheedled. Lily scowled at Connies non-existent bikini line without replying.
Whats wrong?
Nothing, she said, and if you dont mind Ive actually got some other things to do.
She stalked off, stiff-backed and bristling. Connie smiled after her.
Jim nodded slightly at Lilys greeting but he didnt speak. Lily pointed. Would you believe that?
What?
He stared over at Connie without much attention. She was paler than the shells. Very pale. But distant.
Shes a relative. If my dad saw her hed shit himself.
Your dad?
Hes anti-nudity.
Jim remained silent.
What are you doing? she asked eventually.
Nothing. He scratched his neck. Perhaps you should go and move her clothes.
Pardon?
The tides coming in.
Jim indicated. Connies trousers and shirt were too close to the water. Lily smiled, Fuck her, and bounded off down the beach towards Ronny.
Ronny had surrounded himself with shells. Hed created a circular tableau, and he was at the centre of it. It was several feet in diameter. Lily paused on the edge of it. She stared at him for a while. What did you do to yourself?
He looked up, Uh?
Your hair.
Oh. I caught fire.
When?
Since I last saw you.
What were you doing?
Burning.
Burning? Lily was mystified. And what are you doing now?
He grinned. Isolating myself.
What?
With shells.
Isolating yourself?
Ronny put his finger up to his lips. Lily squinted.
He returned to his work. Lily threw herself down on to the sand and chewed her nails while studying Ronny intently. She had no notion whatsoever of a companionable silence. Not even an inkling.
The sea was cold. It reached just above Connies knees. She debated whether she would swim. The undertow was quite powerful. An unexpectedly large wave hit her. She gasped. Some seaweed caught around her ankle. As she bent over to remove it, she turned and glanced back across the beach. In the distance she saw Lily sitting next to a person in a hat. Someone else stood just beyond them. A man. His hand was raised. But before she could focus in on him properly, another wave hit her. She fell back into it with a small yelp and started swimming.
Come away from there.