He turned, not looking her in the eye. ‘Look – I think we’d better call off tomorrow. You need time to think about all this, sort it out in your head. So do I. I’ll ring Matt and tell him I’ll work tomorrow after all, he can use the help. I’ll drive you home now if that’s OK, then go straight back. Anyway,’ he added with what Hilly considered unnecessary sarcasm, ‘shouldn’t you be keeping the Sabbath?’
In the car, Hilly hardly looked at him. It was like Monday’s argument with Reuben all over again – bleakness and sorriness conflicting with a stubborn refusal to make any move to put things right. He’s using this, she thought miserably, as an excuse to – to dump me, Zoë would say. I’m being dumped. I’ve built the whole thing up into more than it is; I’ve been deluding myself.
They were close to the town centre. ‘Stop! Stop here,’ she said, in a tight voice. ‘I’ll get out here, thanks.’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m going to see Reuben.’
‘Oh yes, Reuben,’ Rashid said, with a look on his face she could not fathom. ‘See you, then.’
‘Possibly,’ Hilly said coldly.
She got as far as the window of Settlers, looked in, saw Saeed but no Reuben, and turned away again. She walked away between rows of shops, hardly aware of her surroundings, unsure, now, whether she wanted to see even Reuben. But she couldn’t go home yet either; they’d been expecting her to be out all evening, and would ask questions she didn’t feel like answering.
Veering away from the town centre, she took the road to the park between her house and Reuben’s. Another park, another lake, and the round pond where they so often met. This time she could be alone there; she could think about what had happened. It’s all my own fault, she thought one moment; then, immediately, no! It was his fault. He didn’t have to react like that, did he? But underlying her annoyance was the thought that no, she did not understand. She had not been to the Middle East. Had not seen what happened on the streets. Had not experienced the anger and hatred on both sides. But the whole point, she thought, is that I want to find out! I’m making an effort, aren’t I?
Disappointment dragged at her steps; the weariness of having been misunderstood; the heaviness of loss, the feeling that a promise had been made between them that would not now be kept.
Voices behind her broke into her thoughts: young male voices. She heard a whooping call, loud laughter. Turning, she saw three boys, tall, large, filling the alley, shoving and joshing each other. Unsure whether she recognized them in the fading light, she walked on faster towards the open space of the park.
Grant! Was it? The tallest one could be Grant; she didn’t want to turn again for a better look. Grant, with Clyde and Tuck! And if it was, had they seen her – stupidly walking alone into the shadows of the park – recognized her, seen their chance for revenge?
She was ahead of them, walking fast: but at what point did a brisk walk stop looking confident, and become a frightened scuttle?
Reaching open grass, the slope down towards the lake, she looked around hoping to see pairs of lovers, dog-walkers, even druggies – but the park was quiet, no one in sight at all. Instinctively, Hilly turned towards the round pond, and the sanctuary of her meeting place with Reuben. It was tempting to break into a run, but she didn’t want to display her fear so openly. A glance back showed the boys taking the same path, behind her. She quickened her pace, felt her heartbeat quicken, the pulse swooshing in her ears. There was no one she could yell to for help. Spasmodic traffic on the road moved smoothly behind a screen of trees – no one would see if they—
Reaching the hedge that bordered the pond, she risked a look round before deciding which way to go. The boys had left the path, spilling out across the grass, running down to the lake. One of them waved at her. Not Grant, not his friends, but three boys she knew vaguely from school, Year Thirteen. Stuart Adams, the one who had waved. The other two started a mock fight by the edge of the lake, threatening to wrestle each other into the water. Hilly returned the wave, stupid with relief.
Turning her key in the lock, she had the sense that her family was not quite the family she knew, not any more. Nothing was quite the same; no one was who she had thought. The doormat, the hall table with a shaded lamp on it, the pegs for coats, looked almost jarringly ordinary, but the floor no longer felt quite solid under her feet. Heidigran was not Heidigran. And Mum, Zoë, me, Hilly thought … we’ve all shifted our identity. Even Dad isn’t the same, since I found out about Stella …
She went upstairs, not wanting to explain to her parents why she’d come back early. In their attic room, Zoë was getting ready to go out; she turned from the mirror, smiling, radiant, a mascara wand in her hand.
‘Hilly! Everything’s OK – look!’ She pointed to the open packet of Tampax on her bed. ‘Started this afternoon. Isn’t it great?’
‘Oh, Zoë—’ Hilly found herself enveloped in a hug, whirled between the beds in a mad caper.
‘Isn’t it fantastic? I’ve got a stonking great period pain but I’ve never been so glad in my life! I wouldn’t care if it went on for a fortnight! Periods are great! I’m so lucky. Now Gloopy Grant can get stuffed, I don’t have to think about him again, ever—’
‘You’ve put mascara all over my sleeve,’ Hilly pointed out, detaching herself.
‘Oh, it’s only one of your crummy Oxfam jobs. It’ll wash out. I never even had to use the pregnancy kit!’ Zoë said, giggling. ‘What shall I do? Throw it away or save it for another time?’
‘Please,’ Hilly said feelingly, ‘don’t put me through this again. I don’t think I could stand it.’
‘You couldn’t stand it? What about me? That’s just typical of you – you’re so self-centred!’
Hilly laughed, sitting on her bed, pushing off her shoes, toe against heel. ‘So we’re back to normal, are we?’ How typical of Zoë, she thought, exasperation mixing with affection. Trust her to bounce back, full of herself and bolshie as ever, after a scare like this!
‘Do you think I really was pregnant, and lost it?’ Zoë was back at the mirror with her hairbrush. ‘Or is it just my period was late?’
‘Late, I should think. All sorts of things can cause that – like being upset,’ Hilly said.
‘Honestly, I don’t even know what I saw in Grant now – he’s vile, and as for his friends—’
‘I do,’ said Hilly.
‘You what?’
‘I do see what you saw in Grant.’
Zoë stared. ‘But I thought you hated him!’
‘I don’t like him,’ Hilly said, ‘not at all, but he’s – well, sex on legs. Anyone can see that.’
‘You thought so?’ said Zoë, with a disbelieving laugh.
‘Even I thought so, yes. Trouble is, it can sort of mesmerize you – make you do stupid things.’
‘Hilly! You don’t mean you’ve —This bloke you’ve met – you mean him? I didn’t realize you’d—’
‘Well, you were right,’ said Hilly. ‘You’re ahead of me there. And it’s not going to happen now. All off.’
‘Oh, too bad.’ Zoë was too preoccupied with her own relief to show much interest. ‘The thing was with Grant, he made me feel good about myself. That’s all it was.’
‘But Zoë, you’ve got all sorts of reasons to feel good about yourself! You don’t need an arrogant yob to tell you who you are. For God’s sake, if you want a boyfriend, find someone who’s worth the effort! Where are you off to, anyway?’ she added.
‘Out with Nads.’ Zoë took a sleeveless top from her wardrobe, then another. ‘Which, do you think?’
‘Mm – the red one.’
Zoë held it against herself, posing for the mirror. ‘Yes, I’m in a red mood, red’s my favourite colour!’
‘Just be careful how you celebrate,’ Hilly said.
Downstairs, Heidigran was watching a comedy on television, with the vacant expression she often wore nowadays; she looked vaguely, blearily at Hilly as she passed.
‘Thought
you were going out?’ Rose said, in the kitchen. She was writing in felt tip on the message board.
‘I did go out. Now I’m back.’
Rose looked at her for an explanation; when none came, she turned back to the board where she had written ‘Saturday’. Now, underneath, she wrote: ‘Rose, Gavin, Heidi – Fairlawns, 11’.
‘Fairlawns? The residential home?’
‘Yes,’ Rose said – slightly defensively, Hilly thought. ‘Just to have a look. Josie’s arranged it. The idea is we start taking Mum there one day a week, and see how things go from there. When she’s used to it, we can arrange longer stays – a few days, even a whole week, if we want to go away, or if we just need a break. I know I’ve always said I’d never put her in a home,’ she said, as if Hilly had accused her of betrayal, ‘but one of the most important things I’ve learned from Josie and the group is that guilty feelings are no use to anyone. And after all, we’re not planning to dump her there, abandon her. I honestly don’t think it’s going to make much difference to her, once she feels safe there – look how all these revelations have washed over her! We have to make a situation we can all live with.’
‘It’s hard for you, Mum,’ Hilly said.
‘Hard for all of us.’ Rose wrote ‘Hilly’ on the board. ‘You could come with us, if you wanted – or are you working?’
‘No, I’m doing Wednesday afternoons now and late Thursday,’ said Hilly. The Saturday she had kept free for Rashid now loomed emptily ahead. ‘I could come, or …’
‘Mm?’ said her mother, pen poised.
‘No, on second thoughts I might go to Oxford. Have we got a bus timetable?’
‘In the drawer, I think.’ Rose looked at her with eyebrows raised. ‘Oxford? Rashid?’
‘Yes,’ Hilly said, with a hint of defiance.
‘Perhaps you’d like to bring him home, next time he’s back in Northampton? Invite him round for a meal?’
A conciliatory move: shame it was probably too late.
‘Thanks,’ Hilly said. ‘I’m not sure if it’s on or off, to be honest.’
Her mother looked at her. ‘But you want it to be on?’
Hilly nodded, not trusting herself to speak, looking in the drawer for the timetable leaflet.
‘OK. Let me know how tomorrow turns out.’ Rose wrote ‘Oxford ’ beside Hilly’s name on the board.
There. It’s definite now, Hilly thought – timetabled, in writing. No chickening out.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Catch 22
Love, n. a warm affection, strong emotional attachment; sexual passion or desire. Fall in love (with) begin to feel passionate attachment (for); make love express sexual desire, usually physically.
The Oxford English Dictionary
In Walton Street, Hilly’s feet began to drag. She couldn’t be sure she hadn’t passed the turning, let alone make up her mind whether this was a stupid thing to do.
Last night it had seemed the only thing to do. Either come and find Rashid, or let whatever they had between them fade away to nothing. That would be pathetic, wouldn’t it? Apathetic. She had to try. If there is one thing I have learned, Rachel had said in her e-mail, it is be happy when you can. Love the blessings life gives you.
And what had she herself said to Zoë? If you want a boyfriend, for God’s sake find someone who’s worth the effort. Well, wasn’t Rashid?
And against these thoughts were ranged all the common-sense arguments Hilly didn’t want to hear: You’ve only been out with him one and half times. One day and half an evening. Why are you making it into such a big thing? Do you really think he cares about you this much? Anyway, he’s working today, he said he doesn’t want to see you, he’ll think you’re an idiot, coming all this way for nothing … And, making her stop and gaze absently at ridiculously overpriced dresses in a shop window, Zoë’s words about Grant: He made me feel good about myself, that was all.
Rashid makes me feel good about myself, Hilly thought. Is that all? How could she possibly tell? He made her feel unusual, intelligent, fascinating, attractive. Unused to feeling any of these things, she was intoxicated. Mesmerized? Wasn’t that what she’d said to Zoë? And how could you trust such feelings? Look what happened to Dad—
Wouldn’t it be simpler to go out with some sixth-form boy with nothing in his head but football and mates and having a good time?
Simpler, yes – but I want Rashid, and no one else will do. I want to see and touch him. I want his dark, dark chocolate-brown eyes looking at me, and the solid warmth of his body, and his voice, and his obstinacy and his separateness, I want it all now, and I want more and more and more—
Yes, she was going the right way; she saw the Picture House cinema and a bike shop on her left, the Jericho Café on her right, and now it was only a short distance farther, along a residential road. Well, it was too late to turn back now. She could, if she were really feeble, go back to the city centre and wander round the shops or do more Oxford sightseeing before catching the bus home; but then how would she put up with herself?
This was the house, she knew, coming to a halt: no curtains at the downstairs windows, a front garden full of brambles and nettles, the gate propped open. She stood on the cracked path, looking up at the bay window. Rashid was on a stepladder, working at the ceiling with a paint-roller. Hilly stood, indecisive with anticipation. He was here, and she only had to knock on the door, or wave, to get his attention.
It was a kind of madness, Dad had said that time in the car – wanting Stella so much that it made him forget everything else. But I’m not mad, Hilly thought: I’m too cautious for that, too careful. As she hesitated, a young man in paint-stained navy overalls came to the window with a scraper in his hand, saw her, and gestured that he was going to the door. There was no going back.
‘Yeah?’
‘Can I come in? I’ve come to see Rashid.’
‘Sure.’ Matt, presumably, stubble-jawed and spiky-haired, led the way over a dust-sheeted floor and into the large front room. Rashid looked down from ceiling height and gave Hilly a startled look, almost dropping the roller. He clumped down the steps.
‘See if you can cheer him up.’ Matt took a pack of Players and a lighter from his dungarees pocket, took out a cigarette and offered one to Hilly, who shook her head. The interior smelled cleanly of new emulsion.
Hilly and Rashid looked at each other awkwardly. Both began speaking at once. ‘How did you—?’
‘Sorry to barge in—’
‘No problem—’
‘Got the bus. Just thought I’d—’
Matt sat back against the windowsill, unlit cigarette in his hand, watching them with mild interest.
With deliberate slowness, Rashid put down his roller on the edge of a paint tray; carefully, it seemed to her, he kept his distance. ‘Well, this is it,’ he said, indicating the freshly creamed walls. The room was high-ceilinged, with a fireplace swathed in a dust sheet, a radio on the windowsill, trays and tins of paint on the floor. ‘Work. Home, for now. And this is Matt. Matt, Hilly.’
I’m embarrassing him, she thought: he doesn’t want me here.
‘Might as well have a break,’ Matt said, ‘since we’ve stopped anyway. My dad does his nut if I smoke in here.’
‘I’ll show you downstairs,’ Rashid said to Hilly. ‘Where we live.’
‘See you later,’ Matt called from the front door, leaving it open.
Stairs led down to a narrow hallway, a kitchen and two bedrooms. ‘That’s Matt’s room,’ Rashid said, leading the way past a half-open door. ‘This is mine. I haven’t done much to it, yet.’ A roughly made bed-cum-sofa, shelves with books and folders, a CD player, a hanging space with a few clothes in it half-concealed by a curtain, a desk with a reading lamp. His room was at the front of the house, a half-basement, with a high window showing the green tangle of the front garden.
‘It’s a lovely house,’ she said, looking at him, uncertain.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t mind staying on her
e, if I get my place at the John Radcliffe.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Next time you appear from nowhere like that, make it when I’m not balancing on a stepladder. Thought I was hallucinating! I was thinking about you, and suddenly there you were.’
‘I didn’t mean to stop you working,’ she said. ‘No – I did mean to stop you working—’
‘You have.’
‘Sorry if I’ve annoyed you—’
‘Hilly. I am not annoyed.’
‘You said you didn’t want to see me today—’
‘Well, I do.’
‘You do? In spite of yesterday?’
‘Because of yesterday.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said, in confusion.
‘It was a shock, what you told me. Takes a bit of getting used to. But I’m trying.’
‘And I’m trying.’ Hilly launched into her prepared speech. ‘What I came to say was – one of the things – I am going to Israel, even if you don’t like it, because I want to. But you don’t have to react like you did. It’s to see it from both sides, see for myself. Not to sign up for the Israeli army. Yes, I’m going because I want to meet Rachel, and her family, and find out about her. But because I want to know more about you, too. Where you come from, where your relations are, how they have to live. After all, if two people can’t be together, two people in England, two people who – really like each other, what hope is there?’
‘I know. I know. It was stupid, a – a gut feeling. But—’
‘Mm?’
‘I’ll get used to it. There are more important gut feelings.’
Hilly looked at him, uncertain. They had not yet touched; now Rashid moved close and put both arms around her. Hers went around him; she closed her eyes, breathed his warmth and his painty smell. Her head was afloat with relief: everything was going to be all right.
‘What were the other things you were going to say?’ His voice tickled her ear.
‘Can’t remember. It can wait.’
‘Good.’ He kissed her hair, her neck, her mouth, held her close; her hands roved over his back, at first over and then inside his T-shirt, feeling the blades of his shoulders, the ridges of his spine, the suppleness and strength of his body. She lost her balance, swayed; after a moment when they both seemed to totter drunkenly, locked together, she found they were on the bed, half-sitting, half-lying.
Sisterland Page 26
