The View Was Exhausting

by Mikaella Clements

  Resigning himself to boredom, Leo startled when he came across Pritha on the back porch, half-hidden in the gray morning, staring out at the high hedge and the waves breaking beyond. She was such a lost, lonely figure that Leo demanded, without thinking, “Where is everyone?”

  Pritha blinked at him.

  “If my mum was sick, we’d need a bouncer on the door,” he said, throwing a hand out to encompass the huge, empty house. “We’d have about fifty cousins round and Thea’s artist friends would be burning sage in the kitchen and me and Gum and Hannah would probably have to share a camp bed to make room. Where are your people?”

  “I have a book club,” Pritha said mildly, “but we’re reading Infinite Jest, so we’re skipping a month to give everyone time.”

  Leo pushed a hand over his hair, bristling prickly against his palm. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I know it’s different, I know—obviously you’re out here, and my family’s in London and I have siblings, it’s a totally different situation. Sorry.”

  Pritha didn’t say anything, but there was something about the straight line of her eyebrows that made Leo think she was trying not to laugh. He wished she would, but she just kept peering at him, as if waiting for him to continue. Eventually he said, “You’re reading Infinite Jest?”

  “We wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Pritha said, and after a moment Leo dropped onto the wooden bench next to her.

  “Well, let me know.” He dragged his palm over his face. He imagined Win at the Chanel shoot, in an empty swimming pool, green-lit and red-mouthed. He could see her turning slowly in the vacant space, high vaulted ceilings, one foot curling dangerously over the other.

  “My sister lives in Birmingham,” Pritha said, perfectly naturally, as though Leo had just been making polite small talk. “She visits when she can, but she has four children, and two of them are still small. Besides, she’s ten years younger than me, and we’ve never really been that close.”

  “Oh.” Leo swallowed. “Me and my siblings were all born within four years of each other,” he offered. “We think our parents had kids just for something to talk about.”

  “Jotish and I had some trouble conceiving,” Pritha said. “We discussed having more children, but it took a long time, it was hard, even after Win was born and they thought it might be easier. By the time she was six…I thought the age difference would be more trouble than it was worth.”

  Leo waited. He kept himself still, not wanting to spook her.

  “Jotish was one of eight siblings,” Pritha said. “He always wanted more room and attention to himself. He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he quite liked the idea of having an only child who he could spoil.” She paused to reach for the tea at her side. “But most of his family stayed in India. When he died, they wanted me and Win to move to Kolkata, to be closer to them. I thought it would be a bad idea, to lose her father and pull her out of school and away from her best friend and—even acting, I wondered, I wasn’t sure whether the transition would be too hard, and she didn’t speak the language well enough. So I said no, they kept pushing and…” She grimaced. “I was not particularly polite. Occasionally I lose my temper,” she added, and Leo thought of Win and almost laughed. Her narrowed eyes and snarl, her tendency to leap straight to shouting when she was angry—clearly a family inheritance. “I lost touch with his family. We never got back in contact.”

  “Right,” Leo said. He paused, thinking. “And your parents died a long time ago, you said.”

  Pritha nodded.

  “So it’s just been you and Whitman?” Leo said. “For…ten years?”

  “Fourteen,” Pritha said. “So actually, everyone is here. She came back.”

  Leo stared at her, but Pritha didn’t seem lonely or sentimental or regretful, just matter-of-fact. Her and her daughter, and the old cat, and the big house, and Leo: everyone.

  Any last vestiges of guilt about talking to Lila again disappeared a week later, when he walked into the kitchen while Win was making a video call. He took a step back, said, “Hey, sorry,” and then did a double take.

  “Oh, right,” Nathan Spencer said, voice tinny over the connection. He was wearing a jaunty polka-dot tie with a thin knot. “I forgot you were there.”

  Win looked at Leo over her mug of tea. She was perched on one of the kitchen barstools, ankles hooked underneath her, and there was some quirk of amusement in the corner of her mouth.

  “Nathan was just telling me about the guests he’s got lined up for his show this week,” she said. “It’s a reality TV special. Maybe you and Ma can watch it together.”

  “I don’t care for reality TV,” Leo said. “You guys have fun.” He gave the screen finger guns as he left the room.

  An hour later, Win drifted across his path in the living room, though Leo doubted it was an accident. He looked up at her. “I didn’t know you were still in contact with that asshole.”

  “He called me when he found out about my mum. We’ve decided to be friends.”

  “Oh, great idea. He was an awesome friend to you this summer.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Who gives a shit when it was?” Leo said. “He made racist jokes about your mum!”

  “You don’t have to tell me when people are being racist, Leo,” Win said, voice low and thrumming with anger. “I’m actually pretty good at noticing that for myself.”

  “I—yeah, I know,” Leo said. He pushed two knuckles against his eyebrow. “I get that you can’t call him out, but do you have to be nice to him?”

  “I don’t like wild cards,” Win said. “If he’s not angry with me, he’s not going to go to the press.”

  “So that’s what it is? Making sure he’s still obedient?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Thanks for reminding me I’m a psychopath, once again.”

  “It’d be harder to do if you didn’t treat everyone like they’re a liability.”

  “Nathan knows things about me, and I don’t want him to hate me. That’s common sense.” Her voice was still cool and aloof, but her chin was tilted up, and Leo narrowed his eyes. He knew what Win looked like when she was spoiling for a fight. Part of him had been waiting for another break in the tension; he was surprised it had taken this long. He sprawled his legs out across the living room floor.

  “Sure,” he drawled. “I guess that does make sense. Anyway, it must be tricky to find new people to talk to without Marie here to vet everyone.”

  “Marie’s vetting system isn’t perfect,” Win said. “It turns out you never know what people are hiding.”

  “Oh, Whitman,” Leo said. “I thought we were friends again.”

  Win rolled her eyes, turned, and walked away. “Say hi to your wife for me,” she said as she ducked out of the room, and Leo lost his temper. He jumped off the couch and swung into the hallway.

  “You’re allowed to talk to Nathan but I’m not allowed to talk to Lila?”

  “Get out of my way, Leo.”

  “She didn’t do anything to you,” Leo said. “Nathan, on the other hand—”

  “It’s none of your business who I talk to,” Win said. “And I haven’t told you not to—”

  “Oh, and a little dig like that doesn’t mean anything?”

  Win raised her eyebrows. “You had a go at me first.”

  “That’s mature,” Leo said.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Win said. For a moment she was all warmth and breath against his side, and then she slipped past him and walked off down the hallway. “I’m going for a run.”

  “You’re always running away from me!”

  Win looked over her shoulder. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “I’m not,” Leo said. “I barely see you. I know you’re mad, but Christ, Whitman, you can’t just keep walking out of rooms when I walk in—”

  “We’re basically living together. I see you all the time.”

  “We used to be friends.”

  “I’m not the one w
ho fucked that up,” Win said, low and furious, stepping back toward him. “I’m not the one who lied. I trusted you, and you—”

  “I know,” Leo said, and felt ruined. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to show you.”

  “I don’t care. It doesn’t—it doesn’t matter—”

  “It does.” They were nearly nose to nose, staring at each other. Win was almost breathless with anger, her eyes dark. When Leo reached out, she caught his wrist, so all he could feel was the cool loop of her hand on his skin, the pads of her fingers cupping his wrist bone. She’d done that a lot, in Saint-Tropez, taking quiet, possessive hold of him. He stared at her.

  Win blinked, shook her head, and let go of his wrist. “Fine. Go put your running shoes on.”

  “What?”

  “You wanna hang out? I’m going for a run. Go get changed. I’ll wait five minutes.”

  Leo glared. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” Win said, and checked her watch.

  Leo made an awful face and stormed out of the room. When he got to his bedroom, he hesitated, then pulled out his sweatpants.

  Win ran every day. If it weren’t for the height Leo had on her, he might have had some trouble keeping up. His heart was still hammering from the fight, his breath coming hard.

  But he wasn’t going to show it, with Win loping along by his side. They ran out the back and through the shady wooded paths that trailed down toward the sea. It was a cold, blue-dark afternoon, the sun already setting, a thin layer of fog around their ankles. Win took the inner path, and Leo kept pace next to her through the sludge of fallen leaves, slipping on the corners.

  They ran downhill, which gave Leo enough of a start to bound ahead for a few meters as they came out of the undergrowth. He looked over his shoulder. “Keeping up, Tagore?”

  Win’s face tightened and Leo laughed, narrowly avoiding running into a tree. Then Win sped up, until she was jostling at his shoulder, and Leo started running harder, too, going all out, heart pounding and chest tight, breath coming ragged. His vision swam. He kept on, with Win furious at his side.

  They ran down an empty road and over the bridge. The trees were bare and stark against the gray sky. He could hear the waves. Everything looked bleak and awful, and Leo was still angry. Win slammed her shoulder against his, and he jostled back against her. A couple of meters back, Win’s security team’s SUV was crawling along, keeping them in sight.

  “I go left here,” Win panted. Leo ignored her, heading straight for the sea. Win spat a curse and ran after him, overtaking so Leo had a view of her ponytail bouncing and flashes of her long shins. He put his head down and sped up.

  They came surging over the bank of the empty beach together, pebbles spilling underfoot, and tumbled down the slope, nearly falling. Leo couldn’t pull himself up until he was at the water, and then he stopped, gasping for breath, and Win toppled right into him.

  Leo grabbed her forearms hard. They nearly fell, both of them stumbling about, red-faced and panting.

  “You’re such a show-off.”

  “What? You said you wanted to go running.” Leo swiped his wrist over his sweaty brow and tried to affect nonchalance. It would have been more impressive if he weren’t still breathless. “Jesus, it’s hot.”

  “It’s not.”

  She was right: it was dismal, close to winter.

  “It’s a really warm day,” Leo said, and jerked his shirt over his head. He put his hands on his knees, head reeling, and when he looked up, Win was smirking again, and Leo’s eyes narrowed. He toed off his sneakers.

  “What are you doing,” Win said, sounding very unimpressed.

  “Cooling off.” Leo shoved his sweatpants down, hopping out of them where they tangled around his ankles. Win’s mouth was a tight, disapproving line. Leo stretched in his briefs, and turned toward the ocean.

  “Don’t be stupid. It’s November.”

  “Thanks, most of the time I can remember what month it is,” Leo said, and headed into the water. “Anyway, you can do what you like. No shame if you can’t handle it.”

  “Oh, come on,” Win said as the first waves lapped around his ankles. Leo froze, hunched his shoulders, then kept going. “Leo.”

  “Whitman,” Leo mocked.

  Win cursed and Leo heard a rustle of clothing but didn’t dare turn around. He edged farther into the icy water. It left pinpricks of pain everywhere it touched. He gritted his teeth, trudging deeper until it was freezing all around his knees, his feet aching like the sea had taken a hammer to them. “Christ,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

  There was a determined splashing sound, and Leo turned around just in time to see Win in—Christ—her sports bra and underwear, charging past him and into the waves.

  Startled out of his annoyance, he said, “You’re so competitive,” and Win dove. Her body made a low, close curve against the ocean, and then the waves swallowed her up.

  “We’ve made a bad decision,” Leo said to no one, and followed her in.

  He came up gasping and shaking his head, his whole body simultaneously on fire and trying to shudder out of its skin. Win was bobbing a little way away from him, her eyes huge, teeth chattering. Every joint in his body was stinging in protest.

  “Oh my god,” Leo said.

  “You’re so fucking stupid,” Win said.

  “I know that now,” Leo said, and dove in the vague hope that he might get used to the cold if it submerged him. He didn’t, and in the freezing dark he dove too far and scraped his knee against the rocks on the bottom and swallowed a mouthful of seawater in surprise. He came up spluttering and choking.

  “You’re bad at this,” Win said.

  “I can still outrun you, though.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” Win said, and launched herself at him, clinging to his back and trying to push his head underwater. Leo fought back with interest. They shoved each other around, ducking under the waves, coming up gasping and fighting to get their hands back on each other.

  “You are such a prick,” Win said.

  “It drives me crazy when you won’t talk to me,” Leo said, and pushed her underwater. Win stayed under, grabbed his ankles, dragged him down. He caught his shin on another sharp rock.

  When they came up again, he was cursing, and Win was coughing like the salt water was in her lungs. She spat, a line of spittle connecting her and the ocean.

  “You drive me crazy,” she said. “You’re always there. I can’t get away from you.”

  “I barely see you!”

  “You’ve got a very loud presence!”

  They stared at each other.

  “I don’t think that’s a thing,” Leo said.

  “I’m so fucking cold,” Win said.

  Leo yanked her ponytail, but gently. “Is that you giving in and getting out first?”

  Win sank down until the water was up to her chin.

  “Fine,” Leo said. “But only because I’m a gentleman.”

  “And a baby,” she said, but he’d already turned and was wading back to the shore, his limbs shaking. He folded his arms over his chest.

  Win came stumbling out a second later, tripping and catching his arm. She was freezing against him. They held on to each other almost by habit, her hand tight on his forearm, his arm around her waist, and then Leo remembered that they weren’t playing for an audience and there were no paparazzi, and he froze. There was nobody to see them on the beach. Win’s eyes were wild. Leo’s teeth started to chatter.

  “We don’t have any towels,” he said.

  “I hate you,” Win said, but she didn’t look like she meant it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They ran back up to the house together with their T-shirts drenched in seawater clinging to their shoulders. Win’s lips were blue, and the cut on Leo’s shin was tracking blood behind them, and the cold chased them home through the trees. Leo bent at the door to untie his shoes, and when he looked up, she had paused at the foot
of the stairs, considering him.

  “Meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes,” she said.

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  After showering he stood undecided in his doorway before he backtracked and rummaged through his bag. He came downstairs with the bottle held aloft. “I’ve got whisky.”

  “Oh.” Win looked up at him from where she was holding the kettle. “I’m making hot buttered rum.”

  “That wins.” Leo sat on one of the stools on the opposite side of Win, watching her carefully. She stared right back at him, and he resisted the urge to straighten up. Something had shifted, some new knot lodged out of place, but he wasn’t sure exactly what had changed, how he was supposed to be.

  Win’s hair was still damp and she’d tied it up out of the way, a dark knot that left her neck bare, the line of her shoulder clean. She was wearing a soft, draping black shirt and an old pair of blue jeans. Without trying he could track every patch of bare skin, from the dip of her collarbone to the cautious curl of her fingers out of her sleeves to her long, bare feet.

  “Nathan was calling about my mum,” Win said. Despite the polite tone there was a dark sheen of warning in her eyes. “She’s just finished her chemo course. He was checking in. His mum had breast cancer, a few years ago.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Leo said. “That the chemo was finished, I mean. You haven’t been telling me much.”

  “You haven’t asked.”

  “No,” Leo agreed. He took a careful sip of his drink. “I didn’t think you’d react very well.”

  “Hmm,” Win said, but didn’t fight him on it. “Well, it’s early days, but the doctors are—optimistic.” She rubbed her forehead, looking annoyed. “She already wants to go back to work.”

  “A workaholic Tagore,” Leo mused. “Such a strange concept, let me have a minute to come to grips with it...”