‘Bien sûr! You are on a train!’ Eve claps.
Bells claps too. ‘Choo-choo train!’
‘I am on the, er, underground at Waterloo.’ He talks slowly, emphasizing every word, in between his stammering. ‘I could not get a seat so I am er … er …’
Oh good lord. Is it only me who thinks this is insane?
‘I am holding on to the, er, strap.’
He is about to do another role-play and I have to say something now, I’m at breaking point. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Vickers, we’re busy …’ Eve, Bells and Mr Vickers look around the empty shop.
‘Er, nice to meet you, Isabel, Eve.’ Mr Vickers looks at me and nods before he leaves.
‘You come back?’ Bells calls after him.
When he is out of sight, Eve looks at me disapprovingly and I shrug my shoulders. This is my shop, not a community centre.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t realize it was your turn to host the poker night,’ I apologize again. Sam watches me as I throw down my handbag, newspaper and house keys on the sofa. Today felt about a week long. No visit from Mr Vickers but the thing that really gets to me is when Bells touches the clothes with her gummy fingers. Thank God most of them are black, but even so, no one wants sticky grains of sugar on their dress. Eve took her up to the box room, a tiny room off the second floor where I keep a kettle, coffee and my delivery boxes. She said she’d help Bells wash her hands. ‘Hot soapy water,’ I could hear my sister saying.
‘You bite your nails? You should eat raw jelly,’ I overheard Eve suggest. ‘I will treat you to a French manicure. You would like?’ Sometimes I wonder what I would do without Eve. That manicure gave me enough time to refold all the clothes.
Now Bells sits down on the sofa and opens her Magnum ice-cream wrapper, oblivious to my conversation with Sam. Sam is eyeing the sticky chocolate wrapper that is precariously close to his cream-coloured cushion. ‘Why do you plonk your crap on the sofa, Katie, when there’s a perfectly good table next to it?’ He frowns. ‘Isabel, give me that wrapper.’
‘You like Stevie Wonder?’ Bells asks him.
‘What?’ Sam squints at her.
‘You like Stevie Wonder?’ Bells repeats, holding the CD towards him, ice cream wobbling in the other hand.
‘Not a fan,’ he says. ‘That “Ebony and Ivory” song he did with Paul McCartney was a pile of pants.’
So charming.
‘What I really don’t like, though, is junk lying around the place. It’s my home, so if you could respect the rules? Good girl,’ he says, avoiding eye contact. ‘Wrapper, please.’
She hands it to him and he marches off downstairs to the kitchen. I follow him. I can hear the television being turned on upstairs. Bells is watching Wimbledon.
‘I can’t go out tonight, Sam, I have to do my accounts. Bernard was on the phone today, putting the pressure on.’
‘Katie, it’s strictly a boys’ night,’ he tells me, lifting the bin lid, throwing the wrapper in and slamming it shut.
‘OK, what if I told you Kate Moss was coming over this evening?’
A slight smile plays on his lips and then promptly disappears. ‘Not allowed access, I’m afraid.’
‘What if I’m really quiet … as quiet as a mouse?’
‘What’s Isabel going to do then? I thought Tuesday night was your girls’ night with Emma?’
‘I had to cancel.’ I open the fridge and look inside. Potatoes for baking are in the bottom drawer, as well as a head of organic broccoli and a bag of organic carrots. Cheese, bacon, mushrooms and a pot of olives stuffed with garlic are in the middle.
‘I wouldn’t hang around if you had a bunch of girls here having a Botox party.’
‘I don’t do Botox.’
‘You know what I mean. Christ, you’re pedantic sometimes,’ he says, rubbing his nose.
‘Sam, Bells and I will stay in our bedroom until the coast is clear,’ I tell him. ‘We just need to make … oh, shit, what does she cook on a Tuesday?’
‘What do you mean? Get a takeaway. The boys will be here soon.’
‘I’ll microwave a potato.’
‘I don’t believe this!’ He watches me slit the potatoes across the top, waiting for me to change my mind.
‘Stop rubbing your nose so hard, Sam. You know what happened last time, it went raw at the end.’
He stops. ‘You’re ruining my boys’ night.’
I set the timer on the microwave. ‘You sound like a spoilt brat. It’s one night. I won’t make any noise. You won’t even know Bells and I are here.’ He still looks furious. ‘Is this really about her? If it were just me, would you mind?’
Sam ignores me. ‘Fine. If you have to bloody well be here, can you go upstairs?’
‘No! Sam, as scintillating as it might be listening to you boys, I promise I won’t eavesdrop.’
He makes a disgruntled noise. ‘You promise?’
‘Promise.’
*
Bells sits on the edge of our double bed eating her baked potato. She was cross with Sam because he wouldn’t let her cook. ‘There’s no time,’ he shouted at her, and then at me. Bells was opening the fridge and cupboard doors and he was hovering behind her, slamming them shut the moment she moved away. I explained why she couldn’t cook her vegetarian risotto with olives and pine nuts. ‘Always cook in Wales,’ she protested.
I watch her as she eats. She doesn’t look impressed by the soggy-skinned potato. ‘Try not to get anything on the duvet,’ I whisper to her.
‘Sam kill me if I make a mess,’ she says.
‘Shh! Yes, he will. Bells, you can sit more on the bed if you like.’
She slides a bit closer to me but still doesn’t look relaxed. ‘Do you want a magazine? Look, I bought a Tatler.’ I hold it up towards her.
Bells shows no interest.
‘Or how about doing the crossword? Or we can watch the tennis with the volume off? Better that way anyway, you can’t hear the players grunting.’ Bells stares absently at the walls. She looks so bored. Mum and Dad told me, before they left, that she did get easily fed up when she was staying with them and often wanted to go back to Wales.
‘I know it’s not much fun,’ I say, hearing a loud knock on the front door.
Bells puts her food on the floor. ‘We’ve got to be really quiet now,’ I remind her.
Any trace of excitement on her face evaporates into boredom again. ‘Why? Bossy Katie. You like traffic warden. Where’s Sam?’
‘Sam’s here, it’s his boys’ night.’ I’m still smiling at that image of me in uniform with a navy hat on.
‘Who’s at door?’
Oh God, I think to myself. Perhaps it was a bad idea staying in.
‘Davey mate,’ I hear Sam bellow, followed by a few slaps on a manly shoulder.
‘Who Davey?’
‘Bells, whisper. Davey works in the City with Sam.’
‘Lakemore,’ Davey returns in a ringing tone. ‘Am I the first here?’
‘Yep, you are numero uno. No one else here,’ he emphasizes loudly. ‘Come on in. Looking sharp, mate.’
I flick my pen between my fingers. I can imagine him winking at Davey now. Sam often follows a compliment with a wink.
‘New Paul Smith shoes. They’re the business, aren’t they?’ Davey says.
‘Very nice.’
‘Like your shirt, mate. Your missus pick it out for you?’
‘No, saw it down the Fulham Road. Nice, isn’t it? Look the part, feel the part …’
‘. . . and you ARE the part,’ they both finish together. ‘Sit down, David, pour yourself a whisky.’
‘Cheers.’
There’s another knock on the door.
‘Crispin, me old diamond geezer.’
‘Lakemore.’ Thump on the back. I can hear their shoes clicking across the wooden floor. They go into the poker-playing room. Sam turns the sitting-room into the games room, puts out the card table with the polished casino
chips. ‘Weh-hey, Davey!’
‘Crisps! How goes it?’
‘Who Crisps?’ Bells asks me in an even louder voice. Perhaps she’s unable to whisper?
The door knocks again.
‘MAGUIRE!’ shouts Sam. The door crashes open.
‘LAKEMORE!’
‘They all deaf?’ Bells asks me, rocking forwards and putting her fingers into her ears.
‘Good question,’ I tell her.
‘Davey mate …’
‘Maguire, what you up to?’
‘Crispin, you diamond!’
I laugh quietly to myself. I can’t tell who is talking, they all sound the same.
*
‘You OK, Bells?’ She’s doodling on my newspaper. ‘Give us a clue,’ I suggest and put my files down. Sam has been playing poker for about an hour now, and I don’t know why he worried about me listening to their conversations. Boys together are about as interesting as a night out in Slough.
‘I’m gonna raise you twenty quid,’ I can hear one of them say.
The chips go into the pot.
‘I’ll play,’ one of them says, more chips going in.
‘Fold,’ another says.
‘Are we all on for Ibiza this summer?’
‘Absolutely,’ one of them says.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, absolutely,’ echoes another.
‘Tobes isn’t coming this year, his wife has well and truly put the mockers on that.’
‘D’you think he played away?’
‘’Course he did,’ one of them guffaws.
‘I wonder how she found out? Pub rules. What goes on tour, stays on tour,’ someone says.
Bells and I look at each other. I pull a silly face at her and when she laughs I’m taken aback by how pleased I am. She lifts her right hand, thumb pointing up, near her nose. Sometimes, when I look at Bells, I wonder where she came from. Apart from the colour of her hair and eyes she looks like no one else in the family, but her laugh is almost identical to Granny Norfolk’s.
‘Stupid boys,’ I mouth at her, hoping to hear her laugh again.
‘Very stupid,’ she repeats, rocking forward with her thumb up.
I move closer to her. ‘Boring, aren’t they?’ I whisper into her ear.
‘Ha-ha!’ she grunts, and almost laughs again. ‘That’s right. Very boring.’
‘She was a right moose too,’ one of them carries on. ‘I said to Tobes, “Mate, you could have done better than that.” Sam, who was that bird you got friendly with last year?’
I tiptoe towards the door.
‘Can we go now?’ Bells asks impatiently. ‘I’m bored.’
I put a finger over my lips.
‘Need loo,’ she says, getting up.
‘Boys, can you keep the noise down?’ I hear Sam asking, firmly but politely.
‘What’s got into you, Lakemore? You’ve turned a bit quiet. He must be holding seriously bad cards. Where’s your poker face gone?’
‘I could be bluffing, Maguire.’
‘You’re coming to Ibiza, aren’t you, Lakemore?’
‘Yep.’
‘What was that girl’s name?’
‘Er, I don’t know. Cigar, anyone?’
‘Scared the missus will find out?’ They all laugh.
‘I wasn’t going out with Katie then,’ Sam reminds them. ‘I would never cheat on her,’ he says loudly, rather overdoing it. ‘Music, anyone?’
Come on, answer the question. Who did you meet, Sam? It doesn’t matter, we all have a history.
‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’ starts to play. The boys laugh.
‘What the …?’ Sam is clearly ejecting the CD. ‘Must be one of Katie’s,’ he says, trying to keep his composure.
I put a hand over my mouth to try and stifle a nervous giggle when Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder’s ‘Ebony and Ivory’ plays next.
‘Blimey, mate. What’s happened to your taste in music?’ Maguire roars with laughter. ‘Next you’ll be playing Celine bloody Dion!’
‘It’s Katie’s,’ Sam mutters.
I can hear Bells now, laughing in the loo, and then there is a flushing sound. Oh my God! I turn around and lean against the door. Bells! How could I have lost my concentration and forgotten to remind her not to flush the loo? Sam will kill me. He will kill us both.
‘Lakemore? What’s that sound? Who’s here?’
I pull Bells back into the bedroom.
‘Feeling tight, not funny, Katie.’
‘We’re in serious trouble,’ I whisper.
‘Serious trouble. Not funny, Katie.’
‘No, it’s not funny.’
‘Lakemore, what’s going on? Someone flushed the loo,’ one of the boys says incredulously.
I find myself laughing now and Bells copies me. This situation is so ridiculous. Sam has got to come clean. Tell them we’re here.
‘No one’s here, boys. Can we get on with the game?’ he insists.
‘Come off it!’
I frown. Yes, come off it! Are we that embarrassing?
‘Come off it!’ Bells says, stamping her feet.
‘Maguire, it must be the neighbours. You can hear everything, and I mean, everything.’
The neighbours? Oh, for God’s sake, Sam. Bells is getting restless and wants to leave the room but I hold her arm firmly. I want to see if Sam is eventually going to confess that we’re here.
Maguire walks out of the room and looks around. ‘Where’s the loo?’
‘Straight ahead of you.’
I can hear the sitting-room door open.
‘Maguire, come and sit down. Listen, who else is going to be here? I’ve told you, it’s the neighbours.’
‘All right,’ he concedes. Then: ‘What the hell was that? There is someone here!’
Bells has managed to escape my grasp and is wrestling to open the door.
‘Too tight, not funny, Katie,’ she says now at the top of her voice.
‘Lakemore, someone is in your house.’
Another door is flung open and Bells disappears from the bedroom. I can see her rushing past the sitting-room, her arms flailing in the air. This should be – interesting …
‘Who the fuck was that?’ one of them bursts out. ‘By the way, full house,’ he adds.
Bells is running downstairs. ‘Who?’ Sam asks, but his voice is burdened with defeat.
‘That little person?’
‘With the funny boots?’ another of them says.
‘Sam, the game’s up. Confess all.’
‘I told Katie it was poker night,’ he shouts, banging his fist against the table.
‘But that wasn’t Katie,’ Maguire exclaims. ‘Unless she’s shrunk to half her size.’
I put my shoes on and run past them and down the stairs. ‘Sorry, can’t stop,’ I say to them.
‘Thanks, Katie,’ Sam shouts with heavy sarcasm.
‘Lakemore,’ Maguire now says. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The following morning Bells is in the kitchen listening to one of her Beatles CDs, wearing her embroidered hat and dungarees again. They must be glued to her body. I have to take her shopping for Emma’s wedding. I don’t think I have ever seen my sister wear a skirt.
‘How did you sleep?’ I ask, opening the cupboard that houses the mugs and cereal bowls.
‘Bored,’ she says. ‘You know John Lennon lived with Aunt Mimi?’
‘No.’ I shake my head, flicking the kettle switch on. It’s a large silver kettle with a black handle, which matches the toaster.
‘They were Nurk Twins before the Beatles.’
‘Really?’ I nod again. If Bells was in the black chair on Mastermind her specialist subject would be the Beatles. ‘If you want to go back home, you would say, wouldn’t you?’ I ask her, feeling ashamed that if she said she wanted to go, I’d be relieved. I can’t explain it, but ever since Bells arrived I have had this sinking uneasy feeling hanging over me like an ominous cloud. I ca
n sense something is about to go horribly wrong again, even more so than last night. I wonder if Mum felt like this most of the time when she was bringing Bells and me up.
‘If you want to go home, if you’re unsettled …’ I stop. Why am I such a bad sister? I haven’t seen Bells for months. Shouldn’t I want to spend some time with her?
She nods half-heartedly, chopping dried apricots and figs on the table. ‘Bells, use a proper chopping board,’ I tell her. ‘You’re marking the table.’ I find her a small board. Sam bought a set of five different-sized chopping boards. ‘And remember to say sorry to Sam when he comes downstairs.’
‘Why?’ She bangs the knife into the board.
‘You know why, Bells.’
Sam comes into the kitchen and heads straight for the coffee machine. His hair is dark and damp after his shower. ‘I’ll make you one,’ I say. ‘Sit down.’ I stare at Bells, willing her to apologize.
‘It’s all right,’ he says. Clearly his bad mood hasn’t left him.
‘Hello, Sam,’ she says, looking up at him.
‘Hi,’ he manages, briefly looking sideways at her.
There is a long awkward silence. ‘Wasn’t there something you wanted to say, Bells?’ I look at her and then at Sam. Still she says nothing. ‘You wanted to say something to Sam?’
‘Sorry, Sam.’
‘No problem,’ he says. ‘Just don’t do it again, OK?’
That was simple enough, I think with relief.
*
‘That was the worst night of my life!’ he’d shouted at me last night after the boys had gone. Bells hadn’t got far. I’d found her outside our local Italian restaurant with one of the waiters. He was wearing a striped navy and white apron and smoking a cigarette in his break. We went inside for a hot chocolate. I wanted to give Sam enough time to get rid of the boys before we returned. ‘I told you it was a bad idea,’ he continued, banging one hand against the other, ‘but what do you go and do, huh? You had to wreck it by being there.’
‘Sam, I’m sorry, but it’s quite funny when you think about it.’ He threw me another warning look. I was racking my brains trying to think of something that might ease the situation. Isn’t it always a good idea to tell someone an even worse story so that they realize they got off lightly? That their ordeal was, in fact, not quite so bad? Great idea, I told myself. ‘My parents once gave a dinner party for these clients who had come from America to look at her sculptures,’ I said. ‘It was a really big deal. I mean, Mum even turned the napkins into the shape of lilies, for God’s sake.’ I chortled but Sam stared at me. ‘So, anyway, it was a really important business dinner.’ I stopped again as Sam looked bored. He might as well have had ‘So what?’ stamped on his forehead. Quickly I got to the main part. ‘Anyway, we sat down to find Bells had swapped the lily napkins for sanitary towels.’ I laughed out loud but Sam looked at me with disdain.
Letters From My Sister Page 7
