Page 57 of The Elements

Whether or not Arthur and Pascoe’s father had, in fact, murdered their mother would forever remain a mystery to me, for I never asked them about it again.

When I spoke to Beth about her landlord, she simply shrugged her shoulders, saying that she didn’t know him well and that he only came by occasionally to make sure she was keeping the place in good repair.

Eli was equally unhelpful, telling me that all he’d ever discussed with Kitto Teague were his plans for the renovation and as soon as the place was finished he’d be glad to move on, as Teague was a tight-fisted London sod who condescended to the locals and never got his round in.

While the house’s overhaul intrigued me, I was more interested in the great pit being dug toward the rear of the mansion, looking down onto the beach, into which, eventually, a swimming pool would be installed.

It was intended to be the final construction job; until then, it was being used to dispose of all the building site’s detritus, and every Tuesday morning an enormous lorry came by to empty it.

“Why do you need a pool when you live so close to the sea?” I asked the twins, leaning over the side one afternoon and looking down.

There was no rain that summer, and the base was a rich shade of blackish brown, a mixture of cracked earth and displaced sand that blew in overnight from the coastline.

“Because we’re rich,” said Arthur. “And rich people have pools.”

Having never known any rich people, I accepted this as perfectly reasonable.

Beth lived from hand to mouth, working in a pub most evenings and cleaning holiday homes during the season, while, back in Norfolk, Hannah held down three jobs, a café in the mornings, a bar at night, and a fast-food restaurant on Saturday evenings, although she still never seemed to have any money.

I tried to picture what it might look like when it was filled with water, imagining the sides tiled in bright green with a mural of cartoon fish spread across the base.

I wondered whether the Teagues might allow me to swim in it the following summer when I returned or whether they would keep it just for themselves.

My relationship with Arthur and Pascoe developed slowly over those first weeks, and although we spent most of our time together, I found their company as irritating as it was addictive.

They liked to lord over me the fact that they were fourteen while I was only twelve, inferring that they knew so much more about the world than me, although I suspected, being poor, that I understood it a lot better than they did.

Sometimes they became shy, particularly at the beach, when I slipped beneath a towel to change into my swimsuit.

Then I would catch them watching me, their faces growing red when I ordered them to turn away, and they would be less confident until we were all dressed again, at which point they would reassert their dominance.

At other times, they could be aggressive, although never with each other, pushing me roughly or dragging me to the ground in a game of wrestling, covering my body with theirs, their hands mauling every part of my skin that was available to them.

I would give back as good as they gave until, finally, they would jump away from me in a sudden rush, looking awkward and confused as they tugged at the crotch of their shorts.

I had only known one other set of twins before, two girls in my class in school.

They were as different as diamonds and dust and didn’t seem to like each other very much, let alone want to spend any time together, sitting far apart in the classroom and socializing with different groups of friends.

In the two months I spent with Arthur and Pascoe, however, I don’t think I ever saw either of them alone.

Once, they brought me upstairs in their house while their father was out to show me their makeshift bedroom, which contained a double bed that they slept in together. The walls were entirely bare, not a book, toy, or photograph in sight.

“What do you think of that?” asked Arthur, giving me a sordid look that I was too young to understand. I didn’t think anything of it, I told him. What was I supposed to think? It was just a bedroom. Everyone had one.

“It’s only for now,” explained Pascoe. “When the house is finished, we’ll have beds of our own.”

“Although we’ll still share a room,” insisted Arthur.

“Definitely,” replied his brother.

Sometimes, when we were rambling around the dunes, they would grow tired of my company, almost forgetting that I was there, and I might slip behind, happy to be on my own for a while.

When I’d eventually catch up with them, I would discover them walking hand in hand, something I had never seen two boys do before, or sitting by the rocks, staring out to sea, one boy’s head resting on the other’s shoulder.

If one ran off to pee, the other went with him and, at first, I thought it was because he didn’t want to be left alone with me, but in time I started to realize that they simply couldn’t bear to be apart.

Their need to touch each other regularly, even if it was just a slap on the back or an arm around the other, struck me as strange but affectionate.

Then, one day, they told me about the caves that had been eroded into the rocks of Cornwall over centuries.

“Smugglers used them hundreds of years ago,” explained Pascoe.

“They came from France, bringing gold, diamonds, and whiskey with them. They had a whole crew of accomplices around the coastline so they could distribute everything and make their fortunes. But they hid lots of stuff in the caves too in case they got caught, and sometimes they forgot about it or died or drowned and it was left behind. Half these caves have hidden treasure in them if you look hard enough. It might be buried deep under the sand, or in the nooks and crannies, but it’s there.

When we were down here at Easter, I found a gold necklace. ”

I raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. It sounded like something they’d read in a book. They seemed offended by my disbelief.

“We’ll show you,” they said, and we walked down the hills together, descending carefully as the stone beneath our feet was sharp and unforgiving.

“You can only come here at low tide,” said Arthur. “If you came in the evening, it wouldn’t be long until the caves filled with water and you’d drown.”

The idea of this made me uncertain whether I wanted to risk entering, just in case the tide came in early, but the sun was still high in the sky and the waves were placid so there seemed little risk. Still, something about the place reeked of danger, and my reluctance must have been obvious.

“Come on,” said Pascoe, reaching out and trying to drag me forward. “Don’t be a girl.”

“But I am a girl,” I told him.

“That’s no reason to act like one,” said Arthur. “Take our hands,” he said, looking at his brother, who walked back and stood on the other side of me. “The whole point of coming here is to explore it together.”

I was intrigued, certainly, and, unwilling to be bested by them, I finally agreed.

Inside, it was brighter than I had expected, the daylight sparking into the passageway and bouncing off the glossy, sea-sprayed rocks.

Tunnels led left and right with the occasional hollow allowing light to spill through from the surface.

I thought of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and wondered whether, when I turned a corner, I might be confronted by chests filled with gold.

I could fill my pockets, I told myself, and bring it all back to Hannah and Beth.

Or, better still, I could run away with it and never have to see either of them again.

As we ventured further into the interior, I began to worry that we’d taken so many turns we might be unable to retrace our steps. I didn’t want to appear frightened, however, so was relieved when Arthur said, “We can stop here, this is the best place.”

Looking ahead, I saw a rough wall of black stone, and in front of it an area filled with sand and tiny stones, the accumulation of centuries of night waves eroding the rocks here before breaking them down into pebbles.

I was glad to have reached the end and turned around, ready to return, when Arthur stepped in front of me, blocking my way, as Pascoe took up position behind.

“Not yet,” said Arthur, looking me up and down, and the pupils of his eyes seemed to grow larger as he reached out to stroke my bare arm. “There’s a game we like to play, but we only play it here. Where no one can see us.”

“What kind of game?” I asked.

“A fun game.”

“Aren’t all games fun? Isn’t that the point?”

Arthur and Pascoe looked at each other. They obviously hadn’t expected me to be quite so provocative.

“They’re meant to be,” agreed Arthur. “But this one is more fun than anything we’ve played before. And it’ll be even better with a girl.”

He reached out and took my hand, pressing it to the crotch of his shorts, and when I didn’t immediately remove it, he smiled and glanced toward his brother, who was watching us intently.

Looking back, I don’t think I told him to stop; not that first time, anyway.

It was exciting and, recalling all those schoolyard conversations, I wanted to see what it was like.

It wasn’t what I expected. From what little I understood, I thought it was supposed to be enjoyable for both people, but it wasn’t enjoyable for me.

I felt like a piece of meat, lying on the ground, while Arthur did what he wanted to it.

He didn’t even look me in the eye. When he was finished, however, which was only two or three minutes later, Pascoe started to unbuckle the belt on his shorts, and this time I did say no.

“That’s not fair!” he cried. “You can’t do it with Arthur and not with me.”