by Jenny Colgan
“So . . .” said Stephen. He sat back in his chair as if what came next was obvious.
“So what?” said Penny immediately. Her cheeks were very pink. “You want to move in with us?”
Stephen looked uncomfortable.
“I suppose there’s the boxroom,” said Lizzie, trying to pour oil on the troubled waters. After all, he wasn’t coming across so well, but he was her dad. Maybe he was just nervous; maybe underneath it all there was a good man, and they could all live together and get to know each other again and they’d all get on really well and she could reintroduce him to their mother and they’d fall in love again and . . . Lizzie sighed.
“It’s got all the most obvious crap in it, though,” argued Penny, realizing what Lizzie was thinking. “If we take stuff out of there we won’t be able to move around. Especially with three people here.”
“We’d find somewhere for it,” said Lizzie. “Of course we would. This is a big flat, there’s plenty of room for everyone.”
“I suppose,” said Penny, looking mutinous. “How long would it be for?”
Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Stephen cleared his throat.
“The thing is, girls, you know, it’s lovely to see you and everything, it really is. You’re my gorgeous girls and I can’t wait to get to know you again. But I’m a grown man, you know? I’m a grown man, with, you know, various business arrangements to set up, and there’d be various comings and goings, know what I mean? And a man needs a bit of privacy. Bit of, you know, space to get his head together. And, anyway, so I spoke to Mum, and she said—well, she said she’d only seen one of you by the way, wanted to know if you’re identical and she’d just forgotten . . .” Penny rolled her eyes, to cover up how guilty she felt suddenly. “So, anyway, I think she wants me to live here now. Her son. On my own.”
And he stretched out his legs, revealing a stretch of slightly grubby-looking white calf and a pair of cheap brown shoes.
“No fucking way,” said Penny. They were in her bedroom, holding a council of war. Stephen was still in the sitting room; they could smell his revolting cigarettes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m squatting.”
“But what about when we go to work?” said Lizzie. Their argument was completely forgotten. It was them against the world.
They’d tried phoning their mother—although what she could do, apart from march around with a rolling pin and pound the crap out of him, which Penny couldn’t see an earthly reason against at the moment—but there was a message on her phone about her being out at the zoo impersonating an antelope for drama class, and they were only to leave a message if they could bray it.
Lizzie was just miserable. For a second, a tiny second, her heart had inflated with the possibilities of having a daddy. And then—well, he’d turned out to be just the shit her mother had told them he was. Hardly surprising, given their mother had never lied to them about anything in their lives. Which was why Lizzie’s expectations had been so low. Whereas Penny’s had been so much higher—had she taken after their father much more, with dreams of breaking free, becoming famous, being successful, which was why she seemed to be crashing to the ground so much harder?
“Well, our father’s a prick then,” said Penny, sitting back against the wall. “Do you think social services would do anything?”
“What, like take us into care?”
Penny winced. “What about the police? What if we say he’s not really our dad but an imposter that’s trying to break into our house?”
“That would work brilliantly, until they lined you up and looked at you side by side.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Penny. “When am I ever going to catch a break?”
Lizzie shrugged. “When I do, I suppose.”
There came the sound of the television being turned on followed by the noise of the horse racing.
“Oh, good,” said Penny. “John McCririck is exactly the person to make all this better right now.”
Lizzie sighed. “Well, listen. We’re not going to sort this out sitting in here.”
“We’re not, eh? Oh God, I need to phone Sloan.”
“Sloan will understand it’s a family crisis.”
“No, he won’t. He believes in severing all ties with your family at eighteen and never speaking to them again.”
“Apart from taking money out of his trust fund,” said Lizzie. “I suppose using your cashcard can be an act of love.”
“We wouldn’t know,” said Penny, scowling.
“Well, what I was thinking was, we could go and see Gran,” said Lizzie. “Just, you know, to make sure that having him around is what she meant.”
“She doesn’t know what she means,” said Penny. “Can’t we just lock him in and run away? It’s not like there’s any food in the house. He’d die in about two days.”
“There is food in the house,” said Lizzie, peeved. She’d started to build up the basics of a cook’s cupboard, and had been selecting olive oils, balsamic vinegars, and various staples on Georges’s advice, and was annoyed Penny hadn’t noticed. “You just don’t eat any of it.”
Penny weighed things up. Going to see their grandmother was probably the most sensible idea. But what if—and she probably would—she told them that it was OK, her only son was looking after the house now, and thanks for the help?
She didn’t want to go back, she really didn’t. The commute, if she were to keep her job at Sloan’s—and she really wanted to—would be about four hours a day. To go anywhere with Minty and Brooke would either cost her her entire wages in taxi fees or set her back on the night bus to hell. Her chances of life looking up would go. Maybe they should just sit tight. On the other hand, he was a man they didn’t know anything about. Who knew what he was capable of?
Penny looked at Lizzie. “I’ve never even met her,” said Penny. “She’s going to be really fond of me, isn’t she?”
“Well, I did tell you when I was going,” said Lizzie.
“Yes, yes, all right, Saint Elizabeth. No need to point it out.” Penny shrugged. “What about if you go alone and I go and try and save my job?”
“I don’t think that will work,” said Lizzie. Penny heaved a sigh.
“OK. Are you absolutely positively sure we can’t just kill him and dispose of the body?”
“Penny!” Lizzie was genuinely shocked.
“Oh, come on, we didn’t even know for sure he still existed till ten minutes ago. And now he’s clearly an idiot. Let’s just kill him.”
“Shh.”
The girls tried to look insouciant as they walked back into the sitting room.
“Is that you off then, girls?” said Stephen who was trying to look relaxed on the sofa, though not making a very good job of it. “Great. Well, see you later, maybe Christmas, yeah?”
“We are not off,” said Lizzie. “We’re going to visit Gran, actually.”
Stephen looked a bit uncomfortable.
“Oh, yeah? Great. Tell her I said hi, yeah? And I’ll be off to see her soon.”
Penny and Lizzie stared at him.
“So I guess you’ll need a couple of days to move,” said Stephen. “So maybe I’ll leave the locks till then.”
“That’s it,” said Penny. “I’m not going anywhere, you fucker.”
“Shh,” said Lizzie, trying to push her out the door.
“I’m sure Mum wouldn’t like to hear you talk to your father like that,” said Stephen, an unpleasant smile playing on his lips. “Would she, now?”
“You’re not my dad,” spat Penny viciously. “You’re absolutely bloody no one.”
“And who are you?” shot back Stephen. “I mean, you look like a tart, but it’s so hard to tell these days.”
Penny finally stopped shaking after they’d waited for the bus for twenty-five minutes. Lizzie knew well enough just to let her be. It was the one benefit of being pessimistic, Lizzie thought to herself. You weren’t quite so open to disappointment.
They traveled in silence, Penny staring o
ut of the window. She wanted to vow that she would never travel by bus again; she had sworn it, she remembered, when they’d first moved there. And she was getting so tired of it all.
“Come on,” said Lizzie, getting up.
“Are we there?”
“No. We have another bus to get.”
“Of course we do.”
It was getting dark as they alighted at the end of the street. Penny found it just as spooky as Lizzie had the first time she’d come.
“I want you,” said Penny, “to shoot me before I ever have to come to one of these places.”
“OK,” said Lizzie.
“You’re not meant to say that!” said Penny in despair. “You’re meant to say, ‘Don’t be daft, how would you ever end up in one of these places? You’ll be surrounded by family and friends and grandchildren before you painlessly slip off in your sleep one night like that old lady in Titanic.’”
“Sorry,” said Lizzie. “That’s what I meant.”
“You don’t say, ‘OK, I will take the gun and shoot you dead when you are lonely and mental, which you definitely will be because you’ll have inherited the mental genes from your gran and the evil genes from your dad.’”
Lizzie patted her on the arm. “Come on,” she said.
“There you are again!” said Penny. “You could have at least suggested I wasn’t evil.”
“You just tried to get me to help you to murder our father.”
“Yes, well . . .”
Lizzie said hello to the usual staff, who were getting to know her well enough that she occasionally almost got a grunt in return, and headed toward her grandmother’s open door.
“Hey, Gran,” she said, knowing the old lady’s closed eyes didn’t necessarily mean she was sleeping, merely that she was unable to find anything of interest around her. “I didn’t have time to get any flowers, I’m sorry.”
“Little twin,” said their gran with a smile on her face. “I get so many visitors these days! I think downstairs they think I’m the Queen.”
She glanced up and took in Penny, then looked at Lizzie inquiringly, waiting to be introduced.
“And this is Penny,” said Lizzie. “The other little twin.”
Penny had the curious feeling of being looked up and down. She had no sense that this woman had lost her marbles at all.
“Hello, Gran,” she said. “It’s . . . uh, nice to see you again after all these years.”
“You look like Stephen,” said their gran almost instantly. “So like him.”
“I’m not like him!” said Penny. “Not at all. Well, you know,” she added, remembering he was Gran’s only child, “a bit.”
“So you’ve met him?” said their gran. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Well, and to see you,” said Lizzie.
“I know,” said Gran. “How’s that man you’re in love with?”
Oh, great, thought Penny, bring that up. Even a senile old woman in bed knew more about Lizzie’s life than her twin had noticed.
“He’s engaged,” said Lizzie, going pink. “To somebody else. But it’s OK.”
“Well,” said Gran kindly, “you tried your best. You look very lovely, little twin.”
“Thank you,” said Lizzie, biting her lip. “I didn’t try my best. But maybe next time . . . you know. If there’s a next time. I could maybe try a bit harder.”
“There’ll be a next time,” said their gran. Penny waited for her to ask a question about her, but she didn’t.
“And my Stephen is back,” she said. “I told you he would be, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” said Lizzie. “Well done you. Was it nice to see him?”
Her gran rubbed her eyes. “You love your children, Lizzie. So much. One day you’ll find that out.”
Lizzie doubted whether she’d ever get the chance, but she nodded and patted her gran on the hand.
“So. Did it feel strange to meet your father again?”
“Strange?” said Penny. “Well, he tried to throw us out on the street.”
“What do you mean?” said their gran.
“He wants to live in your house and he doesn’t want us to live there.” Penny’s voice sounded accusatory.
Their gran pushed herself farther up on her pillows. When she spoke again, her voice was much stronger.
“And you think . . . you, by the way, who I have only just met, who has only just come to see me . . . you think you have a right to my house?”
Penny swallowed hard. “Well,” said Penny, “I thought . . .”
“What did you think? Did you think, I don’t care two bits for what that old lady tried to do for me, I don’t ever have to see her, but I deserve her flat?”
“No,” said Penny. She looked down. “I’ve been busy.”
“I haven’t,” said their gran.
“We’ve loved staying there,” said Lizzie. “Thank you.”
“That’s all right, little twin,” said their gran. “But, you know. Your sister . . .” She looked harshly again at Penny.
Penny didn’t say anything. Lizzie nodded.
“Thank you for looking after the flat for me. But now Stephen is back . . .”
She let her voice trail off, but it was obvious what she meant. Penny slowly nodded. It was all her fault.
“Will you still come and see me, little twin?”
Lizzie nodded. “Of course,” she said. “It’s an easier bus ride here from Mum’s anyway.”
“‘It’s an easier bus ride from Mum’s anyway,’” mimicked Penny as they stood at the bus stop. She was feeling enormously guilty, and it was making her aggressive. “You are such a complete dishcloth. She’s just made us homeless!”
“She’s an old woman. It’s her house. And, by the way, she might not have been quite so happy to get us out if you had ever bothered . . .”
“I know, I know, I know,” said Penny. “And you’re perfect. What do you care? Grainne’s waiting for you at home, you can get a job in any old caff—there’s six thousand around the corner—and everything will be fine for you. It’s just my life that’s ruined.”
Penny looked at her sister, wanting a reaction, but Lizzie turned away and, in the rain-spattered light from outside the home, Penny noticed for the first time that she was crying. Great big tears were running down her cheeks, collecting in a puddle with the rain.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m not clearing my stuff out when he’s there,” whispered Penny as they mounted the stairs.
“I’m sure you could leave it,” said Lizzie. “It could just blend in and become part of the mess. I don’t think Stephen’s much tidier than his mother is.”
“Oh God,” said Penny. They were mounting the stairs to the apartment, possibly for the last time. Lizzie tried to take in the polished mirrors, the immaculate parquet, the works of art on the wall. Best not to think about that. “Are you absolutely sure we can’t kill him? Surely the world would be better off without him. I’m sure I didn’t notice when he wasn’t around.”
“Really?” said Lizzie. “I always did.”
Penny stopped outside Brooke and Minty’s apartment.
“Oh, no,” said Lizzie.
“Come on,” said Penny. “I need to see some friendly faces.”
“Well, we should go somewhere else.”
“No,” said Penny severely. “I need to find someone who’ll make us a cocktail and talk nonsense about two-hundred-and-fifty-pound boots. And I think this is the best place for it.”
Lizzie, unwilling to head upstairs on her own, lingered behind her sister.
Brooke came to the door, fastening her earrings, obviously heading out.
“Darlings! How are you doing!”
“Great!” said Penny immediately. “Fabulous, in fact. Where are you off to, you gorgeous creature?”
“Oh, some boring old hunt ball. Grosvenor House again.”
“Again,” said Penny, trying to sound sympathetic and keep the disappointment out of her
voice. “That sounds tedious.”
“Alarmingly so,” agreed Brooke.
“Great,” said Penny. “Why don’t you blow it out and we’ll go and get drunk on Tanqueray and pomegranate?”
“That sounds good,” said Brooke. “But I have literally hundreds of people waiting for me to be there.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes.
“All tedious, of course.”
“Of course.”
Brooke eyed herself up approvingly in the huge hall mirror.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your public,” said Penny. “Is Minty about?”
Brooke’s gaze lowered and she moved toward them into the hall.
“Ah,” she said, “rather a delicate matter.”
“What?”
Brooke looked around, but there was no sign of Minty behind them in the large room.
“Well,” she said, “it’s nothing really. Minty’s just having one of her turns.”
“What kind of turn?” asked Penny suspiciously.
“Oh, usual stuff. When a man breaks up with her. She tends to go a bit . . . hmm, what’s the word?”
“Psycho?” suggested Lizzie from behind Penny.
“Yes, that’s it. A bit psycho. Wanders around in a daze, trails them to their house, phones them up a million times an hour, that kind of thing.”
For a moment Penny couldn’t speak. Was that how it had been with . . . Then she found her voice.
“Does that . . . does that happen often?”
“Only all the fucking time,” said Brooke. “It’s all right, I’m quite used to it. We just say she’s fragile, poor girl.”
Just then Minty wandered into view. She was dressed in a hideously stained dressing gown, which didn’t conceal holey pajamas that weren’t buttoned properly. Her hair was a huge pile of straw, and her eyes tiny and red. She was carrying the telephone.
“Hello, Minty,” said Lizzie. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. “You look tired.”
Minty grunted in their general direction. “Men suck.” She sniffed.
“Of course they do,” said Brooke kindly.
“They do,” agreed Penny, nodding vigorously.
“I don’t know enough to do a statistical sample,” said Lizzie. “But I’ve heard . . .”
