THAMES 1876.

A BROTHER MEETS UP WITH HIS SISTER ON THE THAMES IN 1876

I can think of nothing better to do than this on a Sunday afternoon with you two ladies, said Lumley Limwater. Margaret, his sister, smiled at him from beneath her black parasol.

Nice of you to take us, said Margaret Limwater gazing at her brother's dark bearded features. Kathleen Newbody, her companion, looked away at the large daunting ships that they were passing. She only knew Lumley a little and was at that moment shy and unsure of herself.

Nothing to thank me for, Lumley said, you're me sister and you know I'd do anything for you. Margaret elbowed Kathleen gently.

He wasn't always so obliging, Margaret murmured. We use to fight cat and dog when we were kids. Lumley said nothing but looked out at the river ahead. Kathleen looked round at Lumley discreetly and then looked at Margaret. She felt a glow of warmth for her companion beside her, with her red and black coat and new hat bought recently for her by Kathleen herself.

Did you and your brother fight? Margaret asked, turning to Kathleen.

My brother died. Kathleen left the words hanging in the air and looked once more at the ships that lay like giants sleeping.

Of course, murmured Margaret, I'd forgot. Sorry Kath, should have remembered that.

It was a long time ago, Kathleen said distantly. Margaret touched Kathleen's arm. She sensed Kathleen's annoyance. She gazed at her companion who was looking at the ships. She squeezed the arm gently.

The cream coat made Kathleen look special to her. She wanted at that moment, had not Lumley been in the boat with them, to kiss her, to hold her close and say how sorry she was, to have forgotten about Kathleen's brother, James. But although her brother knew about her and Kathleen, knew about them as a couple, she did not want to embarrass him unnecessarily.

What we did as kids is one thing, said Lumley, but now is different. He stared ahead as if he were unsure what to say next.

How long have you been in the Navy, Lumley? asked Kathleen suddenly throwing both Margaret and Lumley into a panic searching for a reply.

Fifteen years or so, now, said Lumley looking across at Kathleen, not sure of her, but trying to appear manly, but feeling like a little boy again. Love the sea, I do, love the open sea, he said, looking away again, feeling he didn't know what, towards this female, whom his sister loved, and, whom, he sensed adored Maggie.

Since you were a boy, Margaret added. And Pa was proud of you weren't he Lumley? Lumley nodded his head and gazed ahead of him again. Silence settled between them and they sat in the boat looking at the river, brown and murky. Kathleen wondered what it was like aboard a ship out at sea. Margaret stealthily looking at Kathleen,

wondered if Kathleen was enjoying the trip she'd arranged with Lumley a few weeks back. Lumley sensing his sister's companion's gaze, blushed slightly, and stared even harder at the ships passing by.

He thought back to the time a few months before when he had a young woman in the boat with him, and how more relaxed he was then and what a different out come there had been then from this one, now.

Kathleen sat back and tried to relax, tried to forget for the moment that Lumley was gazing at her. He thinks me strange, she mused, looking at the black and red funnel of a passing ship. Wonder what he thinks of me? she asked herself, feeling insecure and hesitant.

When are you back at sea again, Lumley? Margaret asked.

A few weeks time, he replied, without turning round. Long trip this time.

Where’re you going?

South America or some such place. Lumley looked up at the sky which was dull and grey.

Are you married, Lumley? Kathleen asked, looking at him, taking in his bearded head and stern features.

No, he said as if he had regrets, no, not yet.

Who’d 'ave 'im, Margaret said jokingly.

There’s plenty as would, Lumley replied.

Bigger fool them, Margaret said. Lumley smiled at his sister and looked briefly across at Kathleen, and thought at that moment that she was quite good-looking in an off-hand sort of way.

How’s Ma? Margaret asked suddenly, seriously.

None too good, Lumley muttered. She fears the workhouse.

Does she ask after me?

Course she does, Lumley replied.

Kathleen listened to their conversation, but felt left out. She knew nothing of Margaret's parents, about the past. She only knew the young woman she loved and bedded as and when she could. Lumley, she felt, was not happy about Margaret's relationship with her, not sure of what it all entailed, what it involved.

Are your parents here in the city? Kathleen asked, breaking into their conversation, into their world.

Yes, Lumley replied coolly, not far away.

Distance is in feelings not just miles, Margaret said.

When did you last see 'em? Lumley muttered roughly.

You know when it was.

Not since then?

Not after what Pa said. Margaret paused. She looked ahead. Lumley leaned forward and poked about in a bag he'd brought.

My parents are both dead, Kathleen said unexpectedly.

Both? Margaret echoed.

Many years ago.

So you're alone in the world, Margaret said softly. Kathleen nodded.

Except for you, Kathleen added, looking away again at the dark keel of a ship. Apart from you, she echoed to herself, sensing a hand placed on her arm, feeling Lumley's eyes on her, not wanting to see.

You should see Ma again, Lumley said after a few minutes of silence.

I will, Margaret said, I will when Pa isn't about.

Which is quite often, Lumley stated sadly. He’s not often there. He pulled a bottle from his bag. Drink Ladies? He raised the bottle and smiled.

What we drinking to? Margaret asked.

Our reunion, Lumley suggested brightly. Me and you and Kathleen. And whatever the future 'holds for us, Lumley added. Kathleen gazed at him from beneath her parasol. She looked at his white trousers and black and white shoes and at his black hat set back on his dark-haired head. She sensed he was uneasy with her presence. That he

was unsure what his sister's relationship with her was in detail, that maybe, he didn't want to know.

You are drinking ain't you? he asked them. Margaret nodded her head.

Of course we will, Kathleen said. She turned to her companion and saw Margaret's pale face brighten. Lumley brought out the glasses and placed them on the dark blanket he'd brought. The boat swayed slightly. He opened the bottle carefully and his body swayed gently as if the waters were teasing him. He set the bottle above the

glasses and poured slowly. He thought back to the time when he had a young woman on board with him and they were drinking and how unlike that time was to this. How he and she had drunk and then...

Does Ma really want to see me? Margaret asked, disturbing Lumley's thoughts.

She’s your mother ain't she, Lumley said filling the third glass. She often asks what yer doing. He set the bottle down against his leg and passed round the glasses. They all sipped as if the liquid were hot. What are you doing now? Lumley asked pausing his sipping and holding his glass away from him.

We are ...

We are artist's models, Kathleen stated firmly, fixing her gaze on Lumley. We are in much demand.

Models? Lumley repeated as if he did not understand the word. You don't go about without your clothes I 'ope? he said primly.

No, no, Kathleen insisted, Nothing like that. We pose for good artists. Margaret stared at her brother and then away at the union flag on the stern of the boat.

I’ve seen some pictures that would make even me blush, Lumley said.

When’d you ever look at paintings? Margaret asked smiling.

I’m not a complete fool; I've been to galleries with me lady friends. Lumley said no more for a few minutes. He sipped from his glass, looking across at Kathleen, and then at his sister. He tried to imagine them together, Maggie and her friend, what they got up to when they were alone. He knew little of such going-ons. He knew about

women as such, at least the ones he went with, but about Kathleen's sort, nothing.

She looks quite the lady sitting there, he mused to himself, catching sight of her from the corner of his eye. Quite the lady, he repeated, turning his gaze to his sister who stared at an old sailing ship anchored some way back.

Margaret felt Lumley's eyes on her; they were dark and piercing like her father's. She hadn't wanted to say what it was that she and Kathleen did and now Kathleen had lied and made her feel even more unworthy of looking her brother in the eye, or seeing her mother again. If Lumley asked about the artist she'd be completely in the dark, not knowing any living artist whom she could name. Will Ma be up to us visiting 'er? Margaret broke out suddenly.

Dare say, Lumley replied. She don't see much since 'er eye problem. But she'll know your voice, he added.

And when will you see your parents again? Kathleen asked Lumley sitting forward slightly as if to catch each of his words.

Quite soon, Lumley stated, quite soon, as soon as I get the time. He stared back at Kathleen and their eyes met. He breathed deeply.

She turned her head away and scanned the view to her left.

Well tell 'er I'll see 'er soon, Margaret said. Long as Pa ain't there, poking 'is nose in, asking questions. She curved her head and looked at Kathleen. She wanted so much to kiss the cheek turned from her at that moment. Wanted to take the gloved hand and hold it tight.

Kathleen wondered at that moment what sort of women Lumley mixed with. Where he went for his pleasures. Far below the class that Margaret and she dealt with. She imagined him and in a sense felt a pity for him, knowing the risks involved with that class of women.

And beside her she sensed Margaret, whom she tried to lift up and away from the class that Lumley still mixed with, whom she attempted to change by her speech, sadly let slip today, and her dress. But above all Margaret was her companion. The one whom she loved. The one whom she made love to. South America will be warmer than this! she said without warning, catching Lumley's gaze at her and Margaret.

It will.

And so far away.

Distance is sometimes comforting.

And so is death, Kathleen said.

You’re sombre, Lumley said smiling at her.

What’s all this talk of death? Margaret asked with concern.

Nothing, Maggie, nothing, but your Kathy's jest.

Death’s not something to jest about, Margaret said.

A mere slip of my tongue, Kathleen said.

Margaret looked at the two each side of her and tried to bring them down to happier subjects, than death and leave-takings. I wish you weren't going, she uttered softly.

It’s what I do, Lumley replied. Sailing away is what I do best.

Then, come back soon, Margaret said.

As soon as me ship returns. And he gazed back at flag on the stern of his boat flapping in the late afternoon breeze, thinking of the warmer climes to come. As Margaret looked back she saw the dim orange sun's reflection on the water. The silence from her two companions made her aware of the different lives they had led. Lumley hadn't changed she mused sadly, smelling the water and holding her breath for a few seconds. But he knows nothing about Kathy and me. He only knows what we tell him, and that, she informed herself was all lies.

Shall we eat now? Lumley asked, breaking into Margaret's thoughts. I’ve got the food in the basket 'ere. He fumbled about by his leg and revealed a large basket.

Forgot about that, Margaret said. We arranged it a while back, Margaret added turning to look at Kathleen.

You seem to have thought of everything together, Kathleen said.

We don't see each other much, Lumley said, and when we do we like to 'ave a celebration.

Ain’t 'e a good brother, Kath? Margaret said. Kathleen nodded but said nothing. She watched the two siblings as they arranged the food between them like children playing a game.

I look upon you as me sister too, Kath, Lumley stated lifting his gaze and catching Kathleen's eyes upon him. But inwardly he knew he didn't. She was a complete closed book to him. He knew little of her and her ways. Knew hardly anything of what she and his sister Maggie got up to together. And, he mused, not sure as I want to know. He turned to his sister and stared at her with her lady-like appearance

and how she had changed in a slight way from his Maggie of old. His eyes scanned her clothes, her way of holding her head, the way she talked when she didn't let slip into her old ways. He sighed.

They ate in an uneasy silence. The boat drifted steadily. The sky darkened. Kathleen felt Margaret's hand move along her thigh. She let her eyes wander towards Lumley. He was gazing at the river ahead, staring as if he were in deep thought. She placed her hand over Margaret's hand and gave a squeeze. Contact. A warm sensation raced

through her body. Margaret stared across at Lumley. She thought her brother looked sad suddenly, he seemed like a child lost.

Best get back soon, Lumley said breaking away from his thoughts.

Been a lovely day, Lumley, Margaret stated warmly. Just like we use to be.

Pleasures mine, he said, giving his sister a smile.

A pleasure for us all, Kathleen said. I enjoyed meeting you again, Lumley. And to a certain degree she had enjoyed being with Margaret and her brother. It had allowed her to be with her lover and be quite relaxed.

Yes, yes, Lumley said, nice to get together. He stared across at Kathleen and briefly searched her features as if he needed to have a memory of her, needed to have an image to set beside that of his sister while he was away. Then she turned her head away, and he caught the paleness of her throat and the light just catching that

tone and he sensed a cold chill almost knife him. He turned from her and stared hard at the river. It was dull and murky. He gazed at it's dullness and its hidden depths. He turned and looked at his sister who was leaning back against the rail of the boat. She seemed far away as if elsewhere in deep thought. As if she were a child again,

as if they were all children again, lost in the boat on a vast sea.