Jill pauses and peeps out through the towel at Hannah. “I think so,” she says. “He’s always been like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Independent,” she says, starting to rub her hair again. “A free sprit. He does what he wants.”
Hannah nods and glances out of the window. “I think it might actually rain today,” she says after a moment.
“I think that might be a good thing,” Jill says, now sitting down in front of the mirror. “This heat is horrible.”
“I heard them arguing, you know,” Hannah says. “Tris’ and Cliff.”
Jill fumbles in a drawer and retrieves her lipstick. “Really?” she asks, taking a seat at the dressing table and looking back at Hannah via the mirror. “What about?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah tells her. “I was hoping you’d be able to enlighten me.”
“Sorry babe,” Jill says, stretching her lips, and swiping the lipstick expertly across them. “When was this?”
“This morning. Before you were up.”
“I doubt that,” Jill says. “I was up at four.”
“Really?”
“Uh-uh. I went over to see Pascal.”
Hannah nods. “So that’s still current then?”
Jill shrugs. “Yeah, it’s nice,” she says. “I think it’s just a holiday fling, but it’s nice.”
“But Aïsha’s in with you. In here, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“So she knows.”
“Well, of course she knows. She’s not blind.”
“And she doesn’t mind?”
“Why would she mind?”
Hannah shrugs, but then realises that Jill isn’t looking at her – she’s applying mascara. “I don’t know,” she says.
“She quite likes him I think. Well, as much as anyone can like anyone who speaks a foreign language.”
“When did they even meet?”
“When we went to Nice. We had dinner together,” Jill says.
“Oh. He didn’t stay with you though? In the hotel?”
“Of course he did,” Jill says. “We all slept in the same bed.”
“You said you weren’t going to do that anymore,” Hannah says. “You said you were going to stop trying to confuse me.”
Jill looks back at her and rolls her eyes. “Of course he didn’t. What do you think?”
Hannah frowns confusedly.
“What now?” Jill asks.
“I’m just trying to imagine dinner for three when one of you doesn’t even speak English,” Hannah says.
“We got an app for Aïsha’s iPhone,” Jill says. “It’s really good. You type in a phrase and it translates it to French.”
“So you spent the meal passing the phone back and forth.”
“Something like that,” Jill says. “But really. Aï’s fine about it.”
“She’s actually been amazing since... you know... the accident. I don’t know what you said to her, but it worked.”
“She has,” Jill says. “But you know it won’t last. So just make the most of it.”
“I will,” Hannah says. “So have you really no idea what Tris’ and Cliff were arguing about?”
Jill massages her brow with one finger, rubs her lips together, and then turns to face her sister. “Nope,” she says. “So how do I look?”
“Hot,” Hannah says.
“What shiny, sweaty hot?” Jill asks, turning back to the mirror.
“No. Hot as in sexy. Have you got a date or something?”
Jill shakes her head. “Not really,” she says. “But we are going shopping.”
“Again?”
“Food shopping,” Jill says. “He’s taking us to some big supermarket. Says it’s cheaper.”
“How domesticated.”
“Isn’t it?”
“So you really have absolutely no idea?” Hannah asks again.
“About Tris’ and Cliff?” Jill says. “None. I can phone him if you want.”
Hannah wrinkles her nose. “No,” she says. “No, I just wanted to know if he’d said anything.”
“I would guess it was about James if it was about anything,” Jill offers.
“James?”
“Well, Cliff hasn’t exactly been being nice to him, has he?”
“Hasn’t he?”
“Well, no,” Jill says. “I mean, there’s not much brotherly love going on there, is there?”
“No,” Hannah agrees with a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
“Still, I expect he’s a bit jealous,” Jill says. “Don’t you think?”
Hannah laughs sourly. “God, they don’t call you Sherlock for nothing, do they?”
“I wasn’t aware they did,” Jill says, spraying on perfume.
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Yes,” Jill says, “I got that.”
“Do you know what aftershave Tris’ uses? I really like it.”
Jill shrugs. “Not sure. Ungaro something or other, I think.”
“It’s lovely. I thought I might get some for Cliff.”
“Not sure he’d appreciate being made to smell like Tristan,” Jill laughs.
“No,” Hannah says. “Maybe not.”
“So how do you feel about James this time around?”
“How do I feel?”
“Yes. I mean he’s pretty hunky, isn’t he?”
Hannah laughs sadly. “Hunky,” she repeats.
“Well, he is.”
Hannah nods and fingers at the hem of her shorts. “You’re right of course,” she admits. “He’s very hunky. And he’s friendly, and sweet and rather lovely.”
“But...”
Hannah shrugs.
“He’s still married?” Jill asks. “Is that it?”
“He’s widowed,” Hannah says. “His wife and child were killed in a car accident two years ago.”
Jill pauses brushing her hair, then flashes the whites of her eyes at her sister. “God, that’s awful,” she says.
“I know.”
“And you’re not even a bit tempted to you know...”
Hannah pulls a face indicating incomprehension.
“To... console him?” Jill says.
Hannah laughs. “I know you don’t really get the whole concept of monogamy Jill, but I’m married.”
“So you are then?” Jill says, poker faced. “Tempted, that is.”
“I’m married to Cliff,” Hannah says pedantically.
“Yes, to Cliff,” Jill says, pulling a face.
“God, you’re terrible,” Hannah says. “You’re like... like some kind of little devil sitting on my shoulder.”
Jill smiles wickedly. “I know,” she says. “I can’t help it.”
When Jill and Hannah step outside, they find Pascal sitting with Cliff, waiting, silently. He is wearing normal clothes – white shorts and a blue short-sleeved shirt – and looks relaxed and boyish. “Bonjour,” he says, rising to embrace both Jill and Hannah.
“Tout va bien avec la maison ? Avec la piscine ?” he asks.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah says. “I don’t speak any French.”
“I think he wants to know if the house and pool are OK,” Aïsha says.
Hannah raises one eyebrow and shoots an astonished look at her.
“He’s told me some words,” she says. “Piscine is pool and maison is house.”
“Very impressive,” Hannah says. “Oui. Bien. Merci,” she answers. “I’m afraid that’s about the limit of my French.”
THIRTY-SIX
Once they have cobbled together a shopping list and Hannah has given Jill the code for her Visa card, Jill and Pascal climb into the little red Fiat and drive away.
With James in the bathroom and Luke and Aïsha arguing about points through the badminton net, Hannah finds herself alone on the patio with Cliff, seemingly for the first time in days.
“She seems happy,” Hannah says.
“Jill? Or Aïsha?”
“Both.
Aïsha’s being amazing at the moment. Long may it last. But I meant Jill. I think she really likes that Pascal guy.”
“Aïsha’s probably up to something, and Jill likes anything in trousers,” Cliff says.
“A little unfair,” Hannah says. “He seems OK.”
“Sorry. Yes. He seems nice enough.”
“Not that we’d know really.”
Cliff shrugs. “He’s smiley. He’s taking her shopping...”
“It’s a shame the kids couldn’t go with them. But we’re taking them to Nice tomorrow, right?”
“That’s what we said. I hope the weather will be OK.”
“It looks stormy over there,” Hannah says, pointing at the horizon where the sky is an even darker shade of grey.
“And it’s coming this way,” Cliff says. “Anyway, they could have taken the kids, couldn’t they? I expect they just didn’t fancy going shopping.”
“No, they wanted to go,” Hannah explains, “but the Fiat only has two seats. It’s a commercial vehicle.”
“Oh,” Cliff says. “I didn’t know. They should have taken ours. It’s insured for any driver.”
“Well...” Hannah says. “They seem happy enough playing badminton for now. Well, arguing about badminton. I wish Tristan had stayed though.”
“No more haute cuisine,” Cliff says.
“No,” Hannah agrees. “No, we’re back to Hannah-cuisine now.”
“I didn’t mean...” Cliff says. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. But you’re right. I prefer it when Tristan’s cooking too.” Hannah clears her throat, and then adopting a casual tone of voice, asks, “So what did you two argue about?”
“With Tristan?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“It’s of no importance,” Cliff says, picking up his novel from the table and opening it.
“To you maybe. But Tristan has gone.”
Cliff sighs and closes the book again. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing,” Hannah says. “But I have eyes to see. And ears to hear. I’m not totally blind to what’s going on around me, you know.”
Cliff snorts dismissively.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says.
“No, go on, what?”
“Well, you’re not the only one,” Cliff says.
“The only one who...?” Hannah ends the phrase with a tiny questioning upward nod of the chin.
“The only one with eyes to see,” Cliff says.
“OK, that’s enough. You’ve been weird for days. Please stop being cryptic. You know how I hate it.”
“I just wish Tris’ had taken James with him,” Cliff says.
Hannah is momentarily aware that Cliff has dodged the subject of his argument with Tristan by mentioning James, but then her frustration at his relationship with his brother takes over and she forgets. “He’s your brother, Cliff,” she points out.
“Really? Gosh! Hold the front page,” Cliff says.
“You haven’t seen him for fifteen years. You could at least try to be nice to him. Try to get to know him.”
“I do know him,” Cliff says. “That’s the problem.”
“I don’t get you two,” Hannah says. “You have one brother. You pretend he’s dead for fifteen years. And when he turns up...”
“When he turns up, he’s the same selfish bastard he always was.”
“I haven’t seen any selfishness. I haven’t seen any sign of that at all.”
“No, you don’t see anything Hannah,” Cliff says. “But James is the same as he always was. This is what he does.”
“This?”
“This...” Cliff says, gesturing in an all-encompassing manner. “He comes in; he takes over; he spoils everything; and then he fucks off leaving the wreckage behind him.”
“What has he taken over? What has he spoilt? You’re not making any sense at all.”
Cliff snorts again. “I see the way you two look at each other,” he says.
So there it is out in the open. Hannah inhales sharply. “And what way is that, Cliff?” she asks.
“You know full well.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hannah says, simultaneously angry, guilty, and embarrassed.
“You know what’s ridiculous?” Cliff says. “What’s ridiculous is having your brother come spoil your party even now. It’s having your brother still trying to steal your stuff at forty two.”
“Your stuff?” Hannah says in disgust. “Your stuff?”
“It’s a figure of speech,” Cliff says.
“When you say your stuff, do you mean me?” Hannah asks, wiping her forehead, now damp with perspiration.
“No, it’s just what he always did,” Cliff says, “when we were kids.”
“I am not your stuff,” Hannah says. “How dare you!”
“That’s not what I meant, Hannah, and you know it.”
“It’s exactly what you meant. And I know it. How dare you! I’m your wife, Cliff. Your wife. Do you know what that means? It mea–”
“It clearly doesn’t mean much to James,” Cliff interrupts.
“Is that so?” – a voice from the doorway. They both turn to see James standing in the shadows. He takes an extra step forwards onto the doorstep.
“Oh, just... go away James,” Cliff says.
“Go away?”
“Yes, just fuck off, will you,” Cliff says.
“Oh, fuck off, is it?” James repeats, laughter in his voice. “Nice.”
“Yes,” Cliff says. “Fuck off back to Australia or wherever it is you hide out when you’re not trying to steal my wife.”
James stares at Cliff, his amusement fading and being replaced by an expression of eyebrow-raised shock. “Maybe I will,” he says, quietly. “Maybe that’s the best thing here.”
As he heads back into the house, Hannah stands. “Really Cliff! For God’s sake, what is wrong with you?”
Hannah heads inside in pursuit of James. “James? James!” She finds him in Aïsha’s room stuffing clothes into his rucksack.
“You don’t have to leave, James,” she says. “Don’t listen to him.”
James looks up. His face has turned pink.
“He’s just...” Hannah says.
“An asshole?” James offers.
“No, don’t say that.”
“Well, he’s what Hannah?”
“I don’t know. He’s jealous,” Hannah says.
James laughs bitterly.
“Don’t leave.”
James sighs and releases the handle of his bag. “I don’t know Hannah,” he says. “What’s the point?”
“The point?”
“I just seem to be causing a load of shit for everyone. Isn’t it better if I go?”
Hannah shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, I don’t think it is. If you leave, this will never get sorted out.”
James sighs deeply.
“Please?” Hannah says.
James shrugs. “You’re sure you don’t want me to leave?”
“It’s the last thing I want,” Hannah says.
James nods, pushes the bag from the bed to the floor and then sits on the edge of the bed. “You need to talk to him then, Hannah,” he says. “You need to calm him down. Because I can’t.”
“I’ll try,” Hannah says running a hand through her hair. “Just give us a little space and I’ll try.”
She heads to the bathroom and washes her face in cold water, then pats it dry and heads back outside. The time has come, she decides. She will tell Cliff that she never did sleep with James. Her failure to do so has been shameful, she now realises. It’s been the cause of an unbridgeable gap between her husband and his only surviving family, and it’s time to fix it.
She pauses in the kitchen to drink a glass of water, and then steeling herself for the next round, heads back out to the patio, but Cliff is no longer there.
She walks around t
he grounds, past the exit to the track, past the pool, past the Mégane, still parked. Finally when she reaches the hammock, she finds Luke and Aïsha lying side-by-side playing with their phones. “Any idea where Dad is?” she asks Luke.
“He went for a walk, I think.”
“Are you two OK?”
“We’re on Facebook,” Luke says. “I’m letting Aïsha use my phone. But only for a bit.”
“That’s nice,” Hannah says, absent-mindedly. As she carries on back towards the porch, she sees Aïsha nudge Luke sharply but it only barely registers, and she doesn’t even stop to wonder why. She has other things on her mind.
Back in the house, she finds James in the kitchen opening a beer. Seeing her arrive, he offers her the can. “Beer?” he says.
Hannah nods and takes the can from his grasp.
“Well?” James asks, opening the door and reaching for another one.
“I don’t know where he is,” Hannah says. “He’s gone for a walk apparently.”
“Right,” James says.
Hannah sips at her beer and then rubs the cold can against her forehead. “He still thinks we slept together,” she says out of nowhere. “That’s the thing.”
“I’m sorry?” James says.
“Cliff. He thinks we slept together. Fifteen years ago.”
“Oh,” James says. “Why does he think that?”
Hannah shrugs. “I never explained. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”
James shakes his head and swigs at his beer. “Can I ask why?” he asks. “Can I ask why you didn’t explain?”
“I was angry,” Hannah says. “It’s stupid, I know. But he assumed that we had slept together, and that hurt me. So I let him carry on thinking it. And then he was...” she closes her eyes briefly at the almost physical pain the memory still brings, then continues, “He was so awful to me after you left. I really hated him for a while.”
“Wow,” James says.
“And by the time that was over, well, it seemed better not to mention it. I’m so sorry,” Hannah says. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”
James tips his head sideways. “Well, not entirely,” he says. “I mean, I guess I did try to steal you. He was right about that at least.”
“God, you heard all of that?”
James blinks and nods slowly. “And I’m sorry about that too,” he says. “It was wrong of me. It was clearly a mistake.”
“What was a mistake?”
The Half-Life Of Hannah (Hannah series Book 1) Page 21
