“Really?” Cliff asks. “Who?”
TWENTY-FOUR
James IV
His lips grazed mine, and, at first, I kept my mouth firmly shut. But even then, even like that, that kiss felt like no kiss I had ever had. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it happens to be true.
I had only ever had sex with Ben before Cliff, remember. And I had only kissed a handful of boys before Ben.
So though I had known good kissers and bad kissers (Cliff was actually one of the better ones) I had never experienced such heart-stopping desire. I wanted James. The second our lips touched, I felt as if I had been drugged, as if I had been injected, and Heroin or something was suddenly rushing through my veins. It was as much as I could do to remain standing. I had never experienced that before, and if you’ve never experienced something before, how could you possibly know what you’re missing?
I slowly started to open my lips (I was melting, my defences were vanishing) but then a noise, the slamming of a car door, jerked me back to the here and now of who I was and where I was and above all, who James was. My heart beating crazily, I pushed him away and ducked under his outstretched arm and ran to the front door grabbing my coat as I passed it in the hallway. I don’t think he even attempted to follow, but I don’t know. I didn’t look back.
I walked to the park and wandered around until I came to a bench. I sat and stared at the still wet grass and felt numb. I watched as the sun dipped in the sky finally disappearing behind a purple bank of cloud.
I waited until I knew that Cliff would be home before I returned to the house. I half expected that James would be missing, that he would, in shame, have vanished.
Cliff was drinking a can of beer and watching the news. “Hi love. Where have you been?” he asked, in an unsuspicious tone.
James, from the sofa, was eyeing me warily.
“I went to see Shelley,” I lied, realising as I did so that it was the first time I had ever lied to Cliff.
“Ah, I said you’d gone shopping,” James said. “I thought that’s what you said, sorry.”
“I intended to, but you know what I’m like when I get together with Shelley,” I said. “I’ll have to go tomorrow now.”
“I’m pretty hungry,” Cliff said. “I know it’s early, but... Do you want me to get a takeaway? I can go and get fish and chips if you want.”
“No, it’s fine,” I replied, remembering the dob of mayonnaise on James’ lip. “I have stuff for tea. I’ll get it going.”
I had just dropped the spaghetti into the pan when James entered the kitchen. “I’m sorry about before,” he said. He was standing too close to me for comfort. He had his arms folded. He looked uncomfortable.
“It’s fine,” I said, “Just, you know...” I made a shooing gesture, and he took a step further back.
“The thing is, Hannah,” he said.
I was stirring the bolognese sauce around the pan, and then squishing the spaghetti into the boiling water. Only once it was submerged did I look up. “Yes?” I asked.
James glanced behind him and then said, “The thing is, I think I’m falling...”
I stepped forward and placed my fingertips on his lips, effectively silencing him. “For fuck’s sake, James,” I whispered, glancing towards the lounge.
“But I need to...” he said.
I tutted sharply and yanked him out of the back door.
“You just can’t do this James,” I said once we were outside. “It’s not fair.”
“But I’m in love with you,” he said. “You know I am.”
“I don’t know anything,” I said, but then he slipped one arm behind me and kissed me, and I felt myself melt against him all over again.
We kissed for a few seconds before I turned my head sideways. I rested it on his shoulder. “God James,” I said quietly. “You’re just so...”
I had been about to say, “sexy”, but it suddenly struck me as the sort of thing Jill might say. It sounded slutty.
“You’re amazing, Hannah,” he said, and he kissed me again, and I let it happen – it was wonderful, and the last of my defences collapsed and I allowed myself to fall into him. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I shivered and wanted more of him, all of him. I wanted every bit of him deep inside me, I wanted, somehow, to merge with him. Oh God, I thought, simply.
And then, as if from nowhere, the absurdity of the whole situation hit me again and I started to laugh.
James pulled away. He looked hurt. “What?” he asked.
“Well!” I said. “Can’t you see how ridiculous this is?”
“I don’t see why.”
“I’m pregnant,” I said. “I’m getting married on Saturday. To your brother.”
“But what if you didn’t,” he said, his eyes looking a little crazed. “What if you came away with me instead.”
“Away?”
“Yes, travelling. To India, and Thailand. We’d have such a great time you and me. I know we would.”
“You’re crazy James,” I said. “You know that, right?”
James shrugged and broke into a broad smile, and I looked into his eyes, and just for a second, I glimpsed that, despite everything, this madness was a possibility, and I started to grin stupidly too.
“This sauce is burning!” It was Cliff, calling from the kitchen.
I broke from James’ grasp and ran back inside to snatch the spatula that Cliff was ineffectually using to stir the still-burning sauce. I pulled the pan from the heat. “Sorry about that,” I said. “... got distracted. Don’t worry. I have another jar.”
“I just smelt it burning,” Cliff said. “What were you doing out in the g–”
At that instant, James stepped back through the door. He smiled at Cliff, and there was something aggressive, something challenging about his stance.
“Oh,” Cliff said. “Right.” And then he turned and left the kitchen. “Let me know when dinner’s ready,” he said, flatly.
James watched him walk to the lounge and then whispered, “Hannah, I...”
I turned to face him, furious now. I raised the palm of my hand. “Stop!” I hissed. “Just stop it.” And then I added, quite loudly, “Please get out from under my feet James. Please just go and watch television or something.” And that’s what he did.
Everything seemed normal enough that evening. I think we were all pretty good at playing normal, even back then. I served dinner, and we watched some TV, and then I went to bed followed, after half an hour, by Cliff.
I couldn’t sleep for ages. I stared at the ceiling and calculated possible lives. I tried to imagine getting up the next morning and announcing that I wouldn’t be marrying Cliff, that I was leaving with James. I imagined announcing nothing at all, simply eloping with James in the old fashioned way – the way they did in films. I pictured going downstairs and telling James that he should leave, expelling him from the house so that Cliff and I could get married in peace. But all of the options seemed as unlikely as parallel universes. I couldn’t imagining myself doing any of them.
So I stared at the ceiling and listened to Cliff snoring and wondered, as if there were a script to all of this, as if there were no such thing as free will, what would happen next.
And in a way, I was right. There were no choices to be made.
Because what happened next was that I finally fell asleep. And by the time I woke up in the morning James had gone.
TWENTY-FIVE
Brisbane - 3rd July 2003
Dear H.
I am writing to tell you that I’m gonna get hitched.
Her name is Judy, and she is an amazingly strong woman – the daughter of farmers – very lively, very organised. She keeps my life in good order, keeps us busy and well kept. I sometimes wonder if my heart isn’t still a bit broken, and Judy does too. She calls me the ice-man, but swears she will melt me. Please wish her luck.
We met over a year ago and have decided that it’s time (now she’s pregnant!) that I made an h
onest woman of her.
I haven’t sent you an invitation, as it’s not a practical proposition for you to attend, but the date of the wedding is 2nd August, so if you don’t hate me too much you could toast us on that date.
Deepest apologies for any hurt I ever caused you two.
Much love, J..
PS: The above is our new address. I have enclosed a photo so that you can see how we live over here. Through the big window you can just see the amazing Glasshouse Mountains. It was summer though, when the photograph was taken, it’s winter now, and a cold windy one at that.
TWENTY-SIX
“Where’s your mum?” Hannah asks.
They are seated on the patio awaiting Cliff’s return. He and Luke have bravely ventured into Frenchy-land in search of fresh bread and croissants.
Aïsha shrugs. “The door’s locked,” she says. “She locks it when she wants a lie-in.”
At the sight of the Mégane returning, Hannah heads indoors to fetch the coffee. She crosses paths with Tristan coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around him, his hair still wet.
“Morning,” she says, and he nods, and returns the greeting before turning and heading towards his room. Hannah, despite herself, steels a glance at his muscular back as he walks away.
She then carries the pot of coffee outside before walking around the back of the house to peer through Jill’s shutters. Sensing that they aren’t locked, she pulls on them gently and looks into the room – into the empty room.
Back at the table, Tristan, now in shorts and a t-shirt, is taking a seat.
The croissants – still warm – are a buttery marvel, and combined with the thick dark coffee they make a perfect, if not particularly healthy, breakfast.
“Are we doing something today?” Luke asks.
The adults glance at each other. “I suppose we could go somewhere this afternoon,” Cliff says. “We could maybe go to Cannes or something.”
“What’s in Cannes?” Luke says.
“It’s a seaside town. Beach, shops, cafés...” Hannah says. “Why, are you bored?”
“A bit,” Luke admits.
Aïsha, who has been jabbing at the screen of her phone, sighs and slaps it down on the table.
“Careful Aï’’,” Tristan says. “You’ll break it.”
“It doesn’t work anyway,” she says.
“Internet?” Tristan asks. “Or the whole thing?”
“Facebook.”
Tristan holds his hand out. “Show me,” he says.
Aïsha stares at him. She looks alarmed.
“I’m not gonna look at your stuff,” Tristan says. “I just want to check the settings for you.”
“Promise?” Aïsha asks, dragging her phone towards her, and then rounding the table to Tristan’s side.
“I promise,” Tristan says. As he starts to fiddle with the phone he mumbles, “Now, it might be your network settings... and those are in here...”
“I didn’t do anything,” Aïsha says. “I was on Facebook talking to Jess and then it stopped.”
“How is Jess?” Hannah asks. Jess is Aïsha’s best friend.
“She’s OK,” Aïsha says. “Her mum’s pregnant again.”
“Ah!” Tristan says. “Eureka! You’ve reached the limit, haven’t you.”
“What’s eureka?” Aïsha asks. She doesn’t know what Tristan is talking about.
“There’s a fifty euro limit,” Tristan explains. “That’s what this text you got says.”
“What’s fifty euros?” Jill has reappeared, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re back,” Hannah says, smiling falsely at her sister. “Sorry, I mean ‘up’ of course. You’re up!”
“Yes,” Jill says, shooting her a knowing glance, and then, returning her attention to Aïsha, “So what’s this about fifty euros?”
“She’s reached the data limit,” Tristan says. “There’s an EU limit. Fifty euros. After that it stops working unless you phone them and get the limit removed.”
“I only used Facebook,” Aïsha says defensively.
Jill takes her seat at the table. “Croissants,” she says. “Yum.”
“Me and Dad got them,” Luke explains. “Those square ones have chocolate in them. The man was French and we didn’t know what he was saying and Dad made me pay.”
Jill takes a bite and then speaking through a mouthful of croissant, says, “Ooh, these are good. So have you really spent fifty euros on Facebook? That’s crazy. We’ve only been here four days.”
Hannah sits and stares at her sister, ever a mystery. Jill never has a penny, and yet when her daughter spends fifty euros on Facebook, she only sounds vaguely surprised, and certainly not angry.
“Can we phone them?” Aïsha asks. “Can we phone them and do the thing so it works again?”
Jill laughs. “No, we can’t,” she says, and Hannah thinks, Well, thanks be for small mercies.
Aïsha frowns at Tristan. “So when will it work again?” she asks.
“When you get home,” he says, handing the phone back.
“You’re joking me,” Aïsha says.
Tristan shakes his head. “Sorry babe.”
“Does yours still work?” she asks.
He nods. “Mine’s for work though. I need my emails. So I have to pay for it.”
“I need my Facebook,” Aïsha says.
“It’ll do you good to have a break,” Hannah says. “You’re on there all the time.”
Aïsha shakes her head in disgust. “That’s so lame,” she says, turning and walking away from the table. “I hate France,” she adds – her parting shot.
“Fifty euros!” Jill says, once she has gone.
“How much is fifty euros?” Luke asks, sipping his orange juice. “In pounds I mean.”
“About forty,” Cliff tells him.
“Wow. I’d be in trouble for that, wouldn’t I?” Luke says.
“You would,” Hannah agrees.
“I better not switch it on then,” Luke says.
“No,” Cliff says. “No, you had better not.”
“Facebook’s boring anyway,” Luke says, and all the adults smile, because they understand that Luke doesn’t think Facebook is boring at all; Luke just knows that it’s a cool thing to say to the oldies.
Breakfast over, Hannah manages, for the first time in days, to read her novel. James is still occupying half of her mind and occasionally – whenever a car comes along the lane – all of it. But the rest of the time she is managing to abstract herself from thoughts of James as one might manage to ignore the rhythm of a washing machine.
When Jill appears at her side and asks, “Han’, d’you know where the kids are?” she realises that she has been lost in her book for the last five chapters.
“Um?” she says, “um, no. I thought they were with you at the pool.”
“My guess is that they’re down at the river,” Jill says. “Tris’ is making lunch, so I’m going to see if I can find them.”
“I’ll come with you,” Hannah says, folding her book and jumping up. “I haven’t been down there yet.”
Hannah pulls on her sandals and then the two women climb over the fence at the rear of the property and start, in single file, along the track.
“You have to keep your eyes open for snakes,” Jill calls back.
“You’ve seen snakes?”
“No,” Jill says. “But Pascal said to watch out.”
Hannah frowns at this. “How?” she asks. “How did he warn you?”
“What d’you mean?”
“In what language?”
Jill stops in her tracks. She points at her eye, then at the track, then makes a slithering motion with her hand. “Sssssss!” she says.
Hannah laughs and gives her sister a push. “Get on with you,” she says.
“It’s true,” Jill insists. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Hannah starts to pay attention. The grass either side of the track is elbow-high and humming with i
nsect-life and, no-doubt silent, lurking, snakes. She wishes she hadn’t worn sandals.
As they turn onto a wider path heading down the hill, Hannah spots a wooden chalet farther down the first track. “Is that where he lives?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Jill says. “Well, it’s where his mother lives in summer. It’s quite pretty isn’t it.”
“It looks nice,” Hannah says. “Presumably they have their own access? I take it they don’t have to trip along that track every time?”
“No, there’s a road the other side.”
“Anyway, I thought you made the mother up. Or am I getting confused?” Hannah asks.
Jill laughs. “Intentionally confused,” she says.
Hannah tuts. “Can you please just tell me,” she says. “I’m getting bored with all these confused versions of your stories.”
“I’m sorry,” Jill says genuinely. “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just habit.”
And Hannah knows it’s true. Jill has been weaving multiple contradictory realities around her since she was fourteen. Because fourteen was when Jill started having sex. And the only way to dissimulate what she was really up to was to keep her father and older sister permanently guessing by alternately exaggerating or denying her sins. Poor Hannah has been in a state of confusion as to what really goes on in Jill’s life ever since.
“So how do you manage to communicate with him?” she asks.
“Like I said,” Jill says, making the snake gesture again. “Sign language, mime, drawings... it’s quite fun really.”
They reach a set of steps cut into the hillside and have to revert to single file. As they enter the shade of the canopy of trees that have grown up along the line of the stream, Hannah says, “Ooh, it’s lovely and cool down here.”
“I know,” Jill says. “Mozzies though.”
“Yes,” Hannah says, swiping at her arm. “Yes, I just found that out.”
The “river” is in reality no more than a tiny stream, a trickling brook, but with the speckled patterns of sun and shade from the trees above, the water sparkles and dances magically.
The Half-Life Of Hannah (Hannah series Book 1) Page 12
