Hannah shouts Luke’s name twice, then Aïsha’s. Her voice echoes vaguely from the rocks on the other side of the brook but there’s no sign of the kids.
“It’s lovely down here,” she says again, sitting now on a large stone.
“Isn’t it?” Jill says, squeezing in beside her.
“So tell me about Pascal,” Hannah says. “Tell me the truth.”
“Pascal?” Jill says. “Well... He’s quite nice really. I mean, as far as I can tell. We do have some comms issues as I said.”
“And you’re sleeping together?”
“We are now,” Jill says. “But only the last two nights.”
“So you didn’t do anything when you went off with him that first time?”
Jill wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.
“You are such a wind-up merchant,” Hannah says.
“His mum lives there. And she really did make horrible Turkish coffee.”
“And then?”
“He came back the next day. To do the pool.”
Hannah pulls a face as she struggles to remember when this might have happened, so Jill explains, “You were at the water-park-place.”
“Oh, of course.”
“And Tristan was here, so he translated. We were able to talk a bit. And it turned out he was nice.”
“Right,” Hannah says, nodding thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Well, that was the bit I couldn’t fathom,” Hannah says. “How you got from holding his bucket to... you know.”
“Holding his bucket sounds like a euphemism,” Jill says.
“It does rather.”
“But, no, it was all quite sweet and innocent to be honest. Coffee with mum. He spent the afternoon with me and Tristan. I showed him my room but he didn’t take the bait. Only he did give me a peck when he left.”
“And then?”
“He was outside my shutters the night before last. Said he couldn’t sleep. So we came down here. Had a kiss and stuff. And he came back to the house with me and...”
“OK, OK,” Hannah laughs. “I can imagine the rest.”
“You are strange,” Jill says. “I mean, you want to know, and then you don’t want to know.”
“I don’t want to know the sordid details, that’s all,” Hannah says.
“It’s not sordid,” Jill says. “That’s your whole problem.”
Hannah laughs. “It’s just a figure of speech. But you may be right.”
“So what about you?” Jill asks.
“Me?”
“Yes, how are you feeling about the whole James thing now?”
Hannah takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “I don’t know really,” she says. “I’ve been kind of blocking it out. I’ve been pretending he isn’t really coming. After all, we’re not exactly sure that he is, are we?”
“No, I suppose not. I still think he will, but... So were you in love with him?”
“I don’t know Jill,” Hannah admits. “That’s the truth. It was fifteen years ago. I don’t really remember.”
“I think you remember pretty well,” Jill says.
“Well, of course I do. I had a mad crazy crush on a guy called James. I’m just not sure I trust my memories. I mean, we only kissed a couple of times. We never even... you know, slept together. We kissed, and I spent half the night wondering what to do in the morning but by then he was gone.”
“What to do?”
Hannah swipes at a mosquito on her arm. “Why do they always go for me?” she asks.
“My sun cream has insect repellent in it,” Jill says. “So you’re the bait.”
“Ahh,” Hannah says.
“So you were saying?” Jill prompts. “You were wondering what to do...”
“I was supposed to be marrying Cliff, wasn’t I?”
“Oh god, yeah. The first time around. I forgot about that.” Jill slides her arm around Hannah’s waist and gives her a squeeze. “That was horrible,” she says. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
“That’s probably no bad thing,” Hannah says. “I wish I could forget.”
“So when you say you were worrying what to do, you mean you were thinking of calling the wedding off? Even then? Even before...”
Hannah nods. “Maybe,” she says. “I’m not sure.”
“But that means it was a bit more than a crush,” Jill says.
“Maybe,” Hannah says again.
“Oh sweetie,” Jill says, giving her another squeeze before releasing her. “So what does Cliff say about it all?”
Hannah picks up a small stone and throws it into the water. “Nothing,” she says.
“Nothing?”
“We don’t really talk about stuff like that. We don’t really know how to. Does that make any sense?”
Jill nods. “Most men don’t,” she says. “That’s why finding one who doesn’t speak a word of English is something of a relief. No expectations, you see.”
“But it’s not just Cliff,” Hannah says. “It’s both of us. Neither of us could ever talk about feelings really.”
“You talk to me,” Jill points out.
“Well, that’s different, isn’t it,” Hannah says. “You’re my sister.”
Jill laughs. “I suppose,” she says. “I don’t really tell anyone else my secrets either.”
“You do, you tell Tristan.”
“That’s true actually,” Jill says. “But you’re the only two. Talking of Tris’, I suppose we should get back. Lunch will be ready.”
“Yes,” Hannah replies, scratching at her leg. “Yes, I’m getting bitten to death here as well. Luke? LUKE! Aïsha?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
At the house, Luke and Aïsha are already seated: lunch has been served.
“Wow, that looks good,” Hannah says. “Quiche?”
“Yep. Well, a tart really – salmon, asparagus and goat’s cheese,” Tristan says. “I stole it from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.”
“It looks gorgeous.”
“You put asparagus in everything, don’t you?” Jill comments.
“Well, it’s such a lovely summery flavour isn’t it?” Tristan replies.
Hannah turns to Luke next to her. He is slumped, uncharacteristically, in his chair. “Are you OK?” she asks. “You look a bit peaky.”
Luke nods.
“We went looking for you down by the river,” she tells him. “Where were you?”
Luke shrugs. “Here,” he says.
Hannah glances at Aïsha who is looking equally glum and wonders if her moods are finally rubbing off on her usually buoyant son. Heaven forbid that these two weeks together should be the final straw that nudges Luke into adolescence.
“You all right champ?” Cliff, returning from the kitchen with a salad bowl, asks.
Luke nods again, but wrinkles his nose and shrugs at the same time. It’s one of Aïsha’s favourite combinations of gestures.
“Cliff made the salad,” Tristan says as he takes a seat, reaches for the salad bowl and passes it to Jill. “Dig in folks.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook,” Jill says, serving herself and passing the bowl on to Hannah.
“Cook!” Cliff laughs. “I’d hardly call washing a few leaves and peeling a few avocados cooking.” But he looks, and feels, quite proud. He enjoyed making the salad and mixing dressing with Tristan. He has today made a decision to get more involved in the kitchen from now on. Against all expectation, food preparation is relaxing.
“Do you want some of this?” Hannah asks.
Luke shakes his head.
“But you like avocado,” she says.
Luke shakes his head again and says, “I’m not hungry.”
Hannah cuts a sliver of quiche and puts it on his plate. “Well, just eat this then,” she says. “You have to eat something.”
“So you went down to the river?” Cliff asks.
“It’s lovely,” Hannah tells him. “Beautiful. Put insect repellent on first though. Ther
e are loads of mosquitos.”
“It is really nice,” Jill agrees. “It’s shady and cool.”
“We’re lucky we don’t have them up here really,” Hannah says. “The mosquitos, I mean.”
“I’ve been bitten here,” Cliff says.
“Me too,” says Tristan.
“Luke, eat something,” Hannah says. “Sit up straight and eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” he says again.
Hannah puts down her fork and touches her son’s forehead. “You do look pale,” she says. “Please try to eat something.”
With visible effort, Luke sits up and forks a mouthful of quiche.
“So are we going to Cannes this evening?” Cliff asks.
“I thought after lunch,” Jill says. “I want to get out and about. I feel the need to move.”
“Hum. I’m getting quite used to having a siesta after lunch,” Cliff says. “Plus I may have had a couple of glasses of wine whilst we were cooking.”
“We could take two cars,” Tristan offers. “Meet up in Cannes.”
“We have to take two cars anyway,” Jill points out.
“Sure,” Tristan says. “You know what I mean.”
“Luke!” Aïsha whines. She sounds disgusted.
Everyone turns to look at Luke who is bent over his plate, spitting out the mouthful of masticated tart.
Hannah shoots Aïsha a questioning glance and then peers in at Luke. “You’re not OK at all, are you?” she says, and Luke, at that instant, confirms her diagnosis by vomiting onto his own lap.
“Jesus,” Cliff says, jumping up and joining Hannah, now crouched at Luke’s side.
Luke retches again, so Hannah stands, grabs his arm and pulls him upright, then tugs him towards the bathroom. “You had better come inside,” she says.
“It’s her fault,” Luke mumbles as she drags him into the house. He is pointing at Aïsha’s seat, now, mysteriously, empty.
***
Once Luke is in bed with a bucket by his side, Hannah returns to the dinner table.
“Where is she?” she asks. “Where’s bloody Aïsha gone?” Her voice has the staccato rhythm of a machine gun.
Tristan shakes his head. “We don’t know,” he says.
“That’ll teach them not to dip into our stash at any rate,” Jill says. She sounds amused.
Hannah turns so that she can aim the full force of her anger at her sister, but can’t, for a second, find the right words to express herself.
Jill pulls a face. “Hey, it’s not my fault,” she says.
Hannah gasps. “How?” she says. “How is this not your fault? You spend your entire life taking drugs in front of Aïsha...”
“It’s only dope,” Jill says.
“Jesus! You spend your entire life taking drugs in front of your kid,” Hannah repeats, “You bring the stuff on holiday. You leave it lying around.”
“It’s actually mine,” Tristan volunteers.
“Shut up Tristan,” Hannah tells him. “This is between Jill and me.”
“O-K!” Tristan says, pedantically. He stands, gathers a few plates, and heads into the house.
“I didn’t make your son smoke dope,” Jill says. “So, just chillaxe, OK?”
“No, Jill, I will not chillaxe. And you’re right, you didn’t make Luke smoke dope. Your daughter did.”
“So Luke says,” Jill snipes.
“Yes, so Luke says. But you never told Aïsha not to do anything, did you? Ever? That’s the problem here. You smoke around them all the time, you don’t teach her right and wrong, you.... You shrug off all responsibility and your daughter is out of control and as a result my son is stoned and crying and vomiting.”
Jill laughs bitterly. “For fuck’s sake, calm down Hannah,” she says. “It was just a bit of dope.”
Hannah lets out an exasperated gasp. “Cliff!” she says, turning to her up-till-now silent husband. “Backup please.”
Cliff opens his palms skywards and exhales loudly. “It’s pretty irresponsible leaving the stuff around,” he says. “You have to admit.”
Jill pulls a face and points at Tristan, who has returned to gather the dirty glasses and cutlery. “Tell him,” she says.
Cliff turns to Tristan. “Tris’?”
“Sure. Whatever. But it wasn’t lying around,” Tristan says. “It was in my room in my jacket pocket. Aïsha must have gone into my room and gone through my pockets.”
“Or Luke,” Jill says.
“Oh, come on!” Hannah says. “You know who’s behind this.”
“Yes,” Cliff says. “It’s far more Aïsha’s style than Luke’s.”
“Whoever it was,” Jill says, “it still wasn’t me, was it?”
“Aïsha’s your daughter,” Cliff says.
“Which makes it my fault?”
“Well, yes, of course it does.”
“I don’t see you taking any responsibility for the fact that your son has been smoking dope,” Jill spits.
“We didn’t bring the stuff here!” Hannah says. “You did!”
“Oh, I don’t have to sit here and listen to this,” Jill says, pushing her chair back and standing. “Aïsha may be out of order but your precious son is the one who’s bloody gone and got himself stoned.”
Hannah watches Jill enter the house, then turns to Cliff. “Unbelievable!” she says.
Cliff opens his palms at the sky again. “It’s just Jill,” he says.
Hannah rubs her brow. “How long does it last?” she asks, after a moment’s pause. “Do you remember?”
Cliff shakes his head. “I only ever took it twice, I think. And then I threw up like Luke. Never cared for the stuff.”
“I used to smoke Jill’s,” Hannah says. “When we were at college.”
“It’s the same thing,” Cliff says. “Don’t worry too much. It’s just one of those rites of passage. He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”
“He’s eleven, Cliff.”
Cliff nods. “Sure,” he says.
“Wait till I get my hands on Aïsha,” Hannah says, then, “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jill and Tristan are leaving the house. Tristan is jangling his car keys and looking embarrassed.
“We’re off to Cannes,” Jill says.
“You’re what?”
“We’re off to Cannes,” she repeats belligerently.
“And your daughter?”
“I’m sure she’ll reappear,” Jill says. “And I’m sure you’ll have a go at her too. You’re good at that.”
They start to walk towards the Jeep, so Hannah stands and runs after them. “Jill,” she says. “Jill!”
As Jill reaches the passenger door of the Jeep, Hannah reaches them and grabs her sister’s sleeve.
Jill shakes Hannah off, then raises her palm in a stop sign. “Just... just step away from me Hannah,” she says. “You’re making me seriously angry now, so just, you know... back off!”
Hannah glances at Tristan, now starting the engine. He shrugs and mouths, “sorry” at her, and there’s nothing that Hannah can do except stand, fuming and forlorn, as she watches Jill climb aboard and the car reverse urgently out of the gate.
Cliff meets Hannah at the corner of the house. “Come here,” he says, opening his arms.
“She’s just...” Hannah says.
Cliff hugs her tight. “I know,” he says. “The most shocking thing is that you’re still surprised by it after all these years.”
Over Cliff’s shoulder, Hannah sees Aïsha, sidling towards them across the garden, her hands in the pockets of her shorts. She breaks free from Cliff’s hug and strides across the gravel. “Aïsha!” she shouts. “Aïsha! I am so bloody angry with you...”
But as soon at she reaches her, her anger melts.
Because Aïsha is crying. “Where’s Mum gone?” she asks. “I don’t feel well.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
By five, both Luke and Aïsha are up again, both well enough in theory, to go to Cannes.
But Hannah feels that rewarding their bad behaviour with a treat would be a parenting faux-pas of massive proportions. So when Aïsha finally plucks up the courage to ask the question she says, “No Aïsha. We aren’t going to Cannes. I’m furious with both of you, so you had better just stay out of my way today.”
Both Luke and Aïsha immediately make themselves scarce.
“The trouble with that of course is that we get punished too,” Cliff comments.
“I know,” Hannah says, nodding sadly. “But the truth is that if I bumped into Jill living-it-up in Cannes, I might just punch her, so it’s probably just as well.”
Hannah is changing for bed that night when she hears a car pull up. She thinks that it’s the sound of the Jeep, but she can’t be sure, so she pulls her clothes back on and heads outside, crossing paths with Cliff heading for bed.
“Tristan and Jill?” she asks.
Cliff nods. “I wouldn’t bother though, Han’,” he says.
“Don’t tell me what to do Cliff,” Hannah says, immediately regretting having sounded so sharp. “I’m sorry. I just mean, well, she is my sister,” she adds as she advances down the corridor. “This is kind of between me and her.”
When she gets to the patio, however, she sees what Cliff was trying to say. Jill is standing in the doorway smoking a joint, and swaying, gently, from side to side.
“Are you pissed now, on top of everything else?” Hannah asks.
Jill wobblingly turns to look at her. The remains of her joint slips from her fingers and spins to the floor. She attempts to stub it out with her toe but misses and grinds the floor just to the left of the smouldering butt instead.
“Oh, fuck off Hannah,” she says as she unsteadily passes her, supporting herself against the wall, and then, more falling than walking, she vanishes through the door of her bedroom.
Hannah steps outside to recover the still-glowing butt, and finds Tristan sitting. He’s pouring the dregs of their bottle of wine into a glass.
“She’s drunk then,” Hannah says when he looks up.
“You noticed,” Tristan says.
“I’m fuming,” Hannah says as she squashes the stub out in the ashtray.
The Half-Life Of Hannah (Hannah series Book 1) Page 13
