Fragile

by Sarah Hilary

  Over the black dress, I tied a clean white cloth. When I turned to the mirror, I met a stranger. A girl with tumbling hair and fathomless eyes, who leaned towards me to whisper, ‘Hello, again. I thought I’d lost you. After the Shunt Lounge, after Brian. They said you left, no way of contacting you. I didn’t expect to see you again, but here we are. Just like old times.’

  I shut my eyes at the mirror, blocking her out.

  Closing the door to the attic, I went down the stairs, trailing my hand along the wall, finding out its imperfections. To live in an old house is to live with death, isn’t that what they said?

  After dark, the house was different. More solid, somehow. The shadows stood and stretched as if they’d spent the day as he had, cramped over a desk. The evening’s noise slipped away as night prowled in, poking its muzzle into all the corners, seeking something to hunt.

  Only at night did the house feel real, ready.

  And I was its keeper.

  I found a wound in the wall where a ladder had leaned, pressing the tip of my ring finger there, as if I could staunch the wound. The house was very still about me, waiting for my next move. I stayed where I was, sealing the scar in its wall with my crooked finger, the stairs winding away below me to the kitchen where supper was defrosting, and four fragile glasses waited to be filled.

  27

  That night, Carolyn had a new streak in her hair, an expensive platinum stripe running from root to tip on the right side of her face, as precise as a blade. She must have left the house after Robin told her of my supper plans, taking a cab to her hairdresser. The platinum streak made a statement, bold and brave. She’d stolen a march on time, that was how it looked. I admired her for it, the emotion alien, a metallic twinge on my tongue.

  The ratatouille smelt good. Zesting a lemon, I winced as its juice found a paper cut at the tip of my little finger. Sucking at the sting, I thought of the brick of banknotes in their hiding place on his library shelf. Wouldn’t that be easier than this? Fairer, surely. Robin’s pride mattered more than his wealth, but either way it was a betrayal. Meagan imagined I could walk away from tonight unscathed. That, or dig myself deeper into Starling Villas. She thought this a transaction like any other. The scent of bread filled the kitchen, lofty and seductive. Hunger flipped my stomach. The light moved in red pinwheels, making a carnival of the kitchen.

  Fear was everywhere in Starling Villas, now.

  Not hiding any longer but sitting in the sun like a cat, stretching as the sky stretched, greedy for its heat. I was doing this thing, Megan’s transaction. No, we were doing it. Robin and Carolyn, and Joe and I. My motive was fear – of what Meagan would say or do if I didn’t obey her instructions. But at the same time it felt inevitable, as if the house had always wanted it. As if it’d only ever been a place where couples came to kill a lonely hour or to stop hunger in its tracks, the rubbing of bodies like the rubbing of sticks to make fire. I told myself we were keeping warm, that was all. That was everything.

  In the dining room, Carolyn had arranged herself at the far end of the table where the light struck the new note of silver from her hair.

  Robin glanced up when I brought the drinks, a smile warming his eyes. I smiled back. Then I smiled at her, as if tonight I could afford to be generous.

  The banknotes were burning a hole in the wall one room away. I could leave the room and take them, a short detour on my way back to the kitchen. Then when Joe came, I could hand him the money and send him away.

  I’d lose my job. If the police were involved, I’d be arrested and sent to prison, a warm place for the winter. All for what, Joe? For you? To tie you more closely to that old witch who scalped us for years, and will scalp us again if she can?

  ‘Thank you, Nell.’ Robin’s smile was too much, I had to turn away.

  Carolyn caught my eye as I turned, pinning me with her stare as if she could see through the threat of my tears to the promise I was keeping to Joe, and myself. A promise made two years ago, as I knelt at the lip of the lake with Rosie’s teddy in my arms, weeping her name into the water.

  Enough. The rubbing of sticks. That was all.

  The Wilders were spearing butter onto bread when Joe knocked at the front door. I answered without speaking, to let him inside Starling Villas, the house hollowing at my back.

  Joe followed me down to the kitchen where I’d placed the props for our meal, bowls of congealing stew, oil in yellow chevrons across the surface, crusts of bread on side plates.

  ‘There’s no wine.’ I pulled out my chair to sit at the table.

  Joe took the seat opposite.

  He was dressed in a white shirt and dark Levi’s. New jeans. Meagan must be very sure of the evening’s success. Unless she’d stolen the Levi’s. Once upon a time, Joe would have done the stealing, back before the tremors in his hands.

  ‘You’d better eat something,’ I said.

  ‘You sound like Meagan.’

  ‘You smell like her,’ I shot back, stung.

  He nodded, picking up a spoon. ‘That’s what happens when you share a bed with someone.’ He wasn’t trying to shock me, simply stating a fact. He shared a bed with Meagan, her grey hairs on his pillow. ‘Not for sex,’ he added through a mouthful. ‘Just because it’s cheaper, and warmer. S’good,’ he refilled the spoon, ‘I’d forgotten what a good cook you are.’

  ‘That’s not all you’ve forgotten.’ I wanted to claw at his face in my frustration. I wanted to cling to him, and beat him with my fists. ‘Meagan said you confessed. About Rosie, that day at the lake.’

  Joe was silent, eating the food, wiping his bowl with bread when he was done. My words slid off him and the light did the same, gliding from his shoulders like syrup. I couldn’t keep hold of him, couldn’t make him still the way I once could. How weak he was. The thought stabbed through my anger like new knowledge, but it was old. Joe was weak, and I was strong. I’d always known it.

  ‘Remember the Shunt Lounge,’ he said through a mouthful of bread.

  ‘You remember that, then.’ He wasn’t going to talk about Rosie, or whatever he’d confessed to Meagan to give her this new hold over the pair of us. Instead he wanted to remind me I’d once played tonight’s game readily, even happily. Swapping sex for security. ‘It was a long time ago, Joe.’

  ‘Since the Shunt Lounge? It was four months, not that long.’ He sucked his fingers clean, looking around the kitchen. ‘This’s a funny house. I almost couldn’t find it the second time around.’

  ‘It hides, like a fake house.’

  He nodded, as if he knew what I meant. ‘You’re not eating.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ I moved my helping to his place, clearing his empty bowl out of the way.

  I’d loved him once, more than the whole world.

  ‘Red stew, yellow pudding.’ He ate as if making up for a month of starvation. ‘And what was it she called fish fingers?’

  Or was it the memory of my happiness I’d loved? My happiness, and my freedom. Afraid to let it go, knowing what lay underneath. I’d thought we had to be together, Joe and me, because of what was done. Not love, not now. Penance, or punishment. I’d been on my guard against love, ever since the lake. Because of what it’d cost us, what it cost Rosie. But that was before I found Robin.

  ‘What did you tell Meagan?’ I waited. ‘Joe. What did you tell her?’

  ‘Black and orange fingers, that was it.’ He bent over the bowl, a smile in his voice. ‘Burnt fish fingers, her favourite.’

  ‘Don’t talk about her,’ I said savagely. ‘If you’ve told Meagan – don’t you dare talk about her.’

  ‘Meagan doesn’t care.’ He slowed over the food, picking at it now. ‘She wants to pay the bills, that’s all. We liked it once, her straightforwardness, how she didn’t care what we did.’

  ‘This isn’t indifference.’ I gestured at him, the new jeans. ‘She’s making us do this.’

  ‘She said you’d want to help.’ He put his spoon down. ‘You’d want to h
elp me.’

  ‘I tried to help you, Joe. For years I tried, but you wouldn’t let me. You wanted something else. Drugs, oblivion – nothing I could give you. Not at Lyle’s, not in London.’

  ‘You stayed.’ He sat back in his chair, knuckling his right eye. ‘In London. You got it together. I couldn’t do that. So I guess you’re right.’ He let the hand fall. ‘You’re right about me.’

  ‘But now you’re going to let her blackmail us into ruining what I have. You’re not happy so I’m not allowed to be.’

  ‘Like at Brian’s, you mean. Like you ruined that for me?’

  ‘You were never this cruel.’

  ‘I’m not cruel.’ He drew his hands into his lap. ‘I’m just sad, and lonely. At least she cares enough to take me in, even after everything you did, the stories in the papers, all of that.’

  ‘She doesn’t care. This isn’t care.’ I leaned towards him, hissing. ‘She’s not capable of it.’

  ‘You don’t know.’ His eyes glazed over. ‘You’re safe, you’ve forgotten how it feels to be cold.’

  ‘I’ve not forgotten. How could I? After what happened.’

  ‘It’s one night.’ He turned his head away. ‘Then we’ll go, and you can stay. He won’t blame you, why would he? And if it gets rid of her, then that’s good, isn’t it? You’ll have him to yourself.’

  I looked at him sitting under the bronze lamp, flushed with food, and I thought: You burn too bright, Joe, you always did. That quick fever under his skin. I’d coveted it once, but it couldn’t last. He’d never grow up, because he didn’t want to. He was afraid, the same as anyone, but he couldn’t mend because he didn’t know he was broken. There would always be a Meagan, or a Carolyn. He couldn’t live alone. Each of us needs to be able to live alone. That’s the start and end of everything.

  ‘I have been running,’ I said softly. ‘Ever since Rosie. I couldn’t stop, but now I think perhaps I can. Here, with Robin. And if I can’t, then that’s all right too. I’ll never forget her but I won’t ruin my life over it, not any longer. Joe . . .’ I wanted him to look at me, but his eyes slid away. ‘You shouldn’t let it ruin yours. Meagan thinks she has you, forever. And I’m afraid of what you’ll do to break free. Because I know you, Joe. You won’t be trapped, not forever, not even for a while.’

  He wet his lips, but wouldn’t look at me.

  ‘You’re afraid, and it makes you dangerous in a way Meagan will never understand.’ And Carolyn too, although I didn’t speak her name. ‘She’s right, all the same.’

  His eyes were unfocused, wavering from the lamp. ‘How is she right?’

  ‘I want to help you. But I want to help Robin too, because I can. I’m strong, and kind, and careful.’ I placed a space around each word. ‘I know my worth. I wish you knew yours.’

  ‘You mean that?’ Joe pointed at the rota. ‘That’s what you’re worth?’

  ‘I’m not saying he’s perfect.’

  ‘Good. Because he’s a control freak. At best.’

  ‘You don’t know him.’

  ‘Don’t I? She told me enough, that night she picked me up in the club.’

  ‘Carolyn is a liar.’

  My face was burning, not wanting to believe it any more than I had when Carolyn herself told me her stories of Robin.

  ‘And I know you,’ Joe insisted. ‘You won’t let yourself be happy. You’ll wreck this, the way you did with Brian, with everyone. Anyone who ever tried to help us.’ He sounded bitter, but his eyes were sad. ‘You think you don’t deserve to be happy. Because of what happened, what we did—’

  ‘What we did, Joe?’

  He shut his eyes. ‘I know what she likes. Carolyn. It won’t be hard. It’ll be over soon.’

  ‘You should leave.’ I put back my chair. ‘I can give you thirty pounds, it’s all the money I have. Go to a hostel for the night. I’ll find you in the morning. I’ll help you, but not if Meagan’s part of it.’

  It was no good, I knew. Joe was gone from me. Back to her.

  ‘She took me back. She won’t do that again, not if I let her down.’ He lifted a hand and sucked at the skin on the side of his thumb. ‘Anyway, we owe her.’

  ‘Is that what she said?’ My heart hurt.

  ‘It’s true. Two years. More, if you count the ones before. I owe her.’ He bit at the skin until tears came into his eyes. ‘We both do.’

  ‘I don’t owe her anything,’ I lied.

  This whole evening was lies and tricks and who taught me that, if not Meagan?

  ‘It’s just one night. Then you’ll be rid of us, for good.’ He spread his hands flat on the table between us. ‘Just one night, Nell. Please.’

  Carolyn made the first move. Meagan must have counted on that, on Carolyn’s need for control. I imagine she’d lectured Joe on how tonight must look like Carolyn’s choice.

  ‘There you both are!’ Swaying into the kitchen in her high heels, one hand wringing the neck of an empty wine bottle.

  We’d heard her coming. Joe was at the sink, pretending to dry the dishes I was washing. He half turned, showing off his waist in the new jeans. I felt the hungry tug of her stare.

  ‘Hello again’ – smiling with her voice – ‘have you had a nice supper? It was delicious, a true feast, but . . . !’ A schoolgirl laugh. ‘We’ve run out of wine.’

  ‘I’ll bring another bottle.’ I shook suds from my hands, reaching for the tea towel.

  ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Joe held the towel out to me, addressing Carolyn. ‘Thank you for this, letting me see Nell before I head off home.’

  ‘But you’re not drinking? Oh, you must have a glass! Come along.’ A dip in her voice at the last moment as if she’d tasted the cutting edge of something. ‘Nell? There’s another bottle of this, yes?’

  I nodded, folding the tea towel over the rail on the stove, taking my time. Showing her I wasn’t in a hurry, that I didn’t feel the same desperation she felt. It was the first time she’d used my name, but of course she had no choice after Joe used it. She’d pushed the silver streak behind her ear. Her dress was a vivid midnight blue, ruched at the waist to give the illusion of softness. She’d been afraid to wear black, knowing her sleek lines would be reduced to sinew. She’d worn a black satin coat the night she took Joe home with her, but that was different. She’d seduced him, that night. This second time must feel like an invasion, his coming to her house. But she wanted it to happen, or perhaps her pride insisted on it; like me, she had to feel in control of the situation. I felt for her, the brave dash of silver wilting under her fingers, her need exposed by the greedy light that sought out all the places she’d fought to fill with a highlighter pencil and a bronzer brush.

  ‘I’ll bring another bottle.’ I selected one from the wine rack.

  Perhaps my pity was too obvious because she tilted her chin at me, saying sharply, ‘Come upstairs. We should have a drink together, the four of us.’

  She gestured at the table. ‘This is too . . . primitive. We can do better.’

  Primitive. Servants in the kitchen, eating alone, when what she was suggesting was so civilized: four adults getting drunk and fucking. I didn’t want to go with her. Joe had collected a pair of long-stemmed glasses and was following her up the stairs, but I wanted to stay down here in the warmth of the kitchen where the scent of bread lingered. Upstairs, Robin was waiting, alone. I didn’t know what he’d do when Carolyn and Joe stopped drinking and started kissing. He might be appalled, or aroused. I didn’t know, and I was afraid to find out. He might blame me for Joe’s presence in the house or he might accept it, watching as his ex-wife took Joe by the hand and led him away to the guest bedroom. Or to his room. She loved to play games, he’d told me that. And Carolyn had said the same, but of the pair of them. What if she played with Joe in front of Robin, if that was her idea of fun? I couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting alone, cuckolded. So I followed, up the stairs and across the tiled floor to the drawing room, carrying my bottle of wine in both h
ands.

  The drawing room had clearly been Carolyn’s province, with its velvet cushions and curtains. She’d curled herself at one end of the sofa, nodding at Joe to set the glasses on the low table where a single stained glass already stood. Robin wasn’t in the room.

  Joe sat where he was told.

  Carolyn met my eyes over his head. ‘He’s in the library.’ She reached to pull her shoes from her stockinged feet. putting her whole attention on Joe. ‘Pour the wine, would you?’

  It was shocking, how blatant she was. I’d expected an opening act where the four of us pretended politeness, asking one another about our days, discussing the meal or the wine. Instead, Carolyn dismissed me with a handful of words, wanting Joe to herself, imagining I wanted Robin in the same way. I stood for a moment, an awkward adjunct until she flapped a hand, swatting away my unscripted attempt to alter the shape of the room, and the night.

  Joe leaned to pour the wine, his wrist exposed, still brown from the summer. I was afraid to take my eyes off him. Then Carolyn leaned towards him, the tips of her fingers dark with polish. I couldn’t look any more.

  In the library, Robin was waiting by the window, his white shirt blue with shadow.

  I walked away from the door, towards him. I understood that this was necessary – we were necessary – to make sense of Carolyn and Joe. I didn’t speak, grateful when he too stayed silent.

  He put a short glass into my hand. Ice and raw vodka, setting my tongue on fire. More honest than wine. I was grateful for that too, the way he shed any pretence of seduction, even though it meant the stories Carolyn had told were true – he liked to take charge. I should let him take charge, play the master of the house. Meagan would approve of that. It was the quickest way to win her game. But I’d wanted this, for days now. To be alone with him, to be touched by him. It wasn’t a game, to me. It wasn’t one night, bookended by blackmail. It was my whole life.