Family Album

233 Pages·2009·1.19 MB·English

by  Lively Penelope

001
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication

ALLERSMEAD
GINA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY
SCISSORS
THE SILVER WEDDING
THE CELLAR GAME
CRACKINGTON HAVEN
INGRID
THE GERMAN EXCHANGE
NIGHT WAVES
THE FARMER WANTS A WIFE
CLARE
INGRID
BLACK MARBLE
MOTHERCRAFT
VOICES
ALLERSMEAD
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
FICTION
Consequences
Making It Up
The Photograph
Going Back
The Road to Lichfield
Treasures of Time
Judgment Day
Next to Nature, Art
Perfect Happiness
According to Mark
Pack of Cards and Other Stories
Moon Tiger
Passing On
City of the Mind
Cleopatra’s Sister
Heat Wave
Beyond the Blue Mountains
Spiderweb
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Oleander, Jacaranda: A Childhood Perceived
A House Unlocked

VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published in 2009 by Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © Penelope Lively, 2009
All rights reserved
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Lively, Penelope, 1933-
Family album / Penelope Lively. p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-14077-2
1. Children—England—Fiction. 2. Family secrets—Fiction. 3. Domestic fiction. I. Title. PR6062.I89F’.914
—dc22 2009004081
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To Kay and Stephen
ALLERSMEAD

Gina turned the car off the road and into the driveway of Allersmead. At this
point she seemed to see her entire life flash by. As the drowning are said to do.
She thought of this, and that the genuinely drowning can never have been
recorded on the matter.
Philip, in the passenger seat, saw a substantial Edwardian house, a wide flight
of steps up to a front door with stained-glass panels, a weedy sweep of gravel in
front. Emphatic trees all around. Sprawling shrubs. Stone urns that spilled lanky
geraniums at the bottom of the steps. He had known Gina for six months and had
been her lover for five of these.
Gina saw Alison standing on the top step, arms raised in rather theatrical
greeting. She saw Charles emerge from the hall, staring down at them in what
seemed mild surprise.
Philip saw a plump smiling elderly woman with hair tumbling untidily from a
bun, who was joined by a tall stooped man wearing the kind of tweed jacket that
you had thought laid to rest by the 1970s. A large dog shambled at his heels, and
slumped down on the top step.
Gina saw various specters and dismissed them. Many people spoke, saying
things they had been saying for years, and were also wiped. She brought the car
to a stop and got out, as did Philip. She said, “Hi, there. This is Philip.”
Alison came down the steps, embraced Gina, and beamed upon Philip. “I’m
Alison. Lovely to meet you.”
Charles simply stood. The dog thumped its tail.
Philip took the bags from the boot. He and Gina climbed the steps. Gina said,
“Philip, this is Charles—my father.”
Charles seemed to consider Philip, as though wondering if he might have seen
him before. “And Ingrid,” Gina continued.
Philip now saw another woman waiting in the large hall (black-and-white-
tiled floor, grandfather clock, umbrella stand, row of pegs loaded with raincoats,
oak table strewn with junk mail); a statuesque and somewhat younger woman
with fair straight hair and a pink face, holding a garden basket full of greenery.
“Ingrid has such a splendid vegetable crop this year,” said Alison. “We have
broad beans coming out of our ears.”
The house smelled of cooking. You could unravel the constituent ingredients:
garlic, herbs, wine—some earthy casserole, a coq au vin perhaps, or a boeuf en
daube.
Philip observed the staircase with oak banisters, the landing halfway up with
window seat and further stained-glass window, the door open into a room
apparently filled with books. A big house. A house from the days when people—
a kind of person—assumed a big house.
Gina experienced nostalgia, exasperation, and a passionate need to be in their
flat in Camden, with Philip opening a bottle of something after work.
Someone came galloping down the stairs, and halted at the bend, eyes on
Gina. “Christ!” he said. “Not you again!”
“Sod off,” said Gina amiably.
Philip saw grubby jeans, a frayed sweater, and some eerie affinity with Gina.
“Honestly, Paul!” cried Alison. “Gina hasn’t been here for over a year.”
“It’s called irony,” said Gina. “Not that he’d know that. So how are things,
you?”
Paul came down the stairs. “Why are you that brown color?”
“Africa.”
“We saw you on the news,” said Ingrid. “Talking to those people fighting
somewhere. Terrible.”
“Indeed. Paul—this is Philip.”