Love Is a Four Letter Word

by Claire Calman

  ‘I dare say you’ll want to share, will you?’ Alessandra said, giving a little, indulgent laugh, making it sound like a perversion.

  ‘It is pretty normal for people in their thirties.’

  ‘I daresay it is, Bella-dear.’ Alessandra closed the curtains and moved a vase of spiny sea holly slightly. ‘I’m sure I’m hopelessly out of touch.’ She straightened the guest towels by the washbasin. ‘Towels. Soap. Yes. Wait until you have children and they start telling you off every time you open your mouth.’

  Bella started to unpack her holdall.

  ‘I’m not telling you off,’ she said at her washbag. ‘I’m just saying – it’d be abnormal if we slept in separate rooms at our age.’

  ‘Well there’s no problem then, is there?’ Alessandra paused by the door. ‘You’re not in separate rooms.’ She smiled at Will. ‘Do just say if you need more towels.’ The door closed behind her.

  ‘For God’s sake! I daresay it is Bella-dear. And more towels!’ Bella thumped a plumpfy pile of them laid on a chair. ‘Whatever for? What does she think we’d be doing in here? Having babies? Covering ourselves in maple syrup? What?’

  ‘Oh, keep calm.’ Will looped his arms around her. ‘Now, about this maple syrup …’

  ‘I can see where Bella gets her culinary finesse from,’ Will said at supper, grinning as if he’d had a whole bowlful of manna. ‘This is superb.’

  Bella mouthed ‘Crawler’ at him.

  Back in their room, Will sat on the bed and asked Bella what was the matter.

  ‘I can see where Bella gets her culinary finesse from,’ she parroted. ‘Culinary finesse? Whatever happened to good old cooking skills, Mr Lover-of-Plain-English?’

  ‘Why are you having a go at me? I’m not your mother.’

  ‘Very funny. I’m not, anyway.’

  ‘Yes you are. I thought you wanted me to praise her cooking. That’s what it said in the manual: Bella’s Parents – A Visitor’s Guide.’

  She could see the corners of his mouth curving, expecting her to laugh with him.

  ‘It didn’t say be a slimy, goody-goody, suck-up sycophant, did it?’

  ‘Oh, charming. I love you too.’

  ‘I just think it would be appropriate if you were to show me some support while you’re here.’

  ‘Appropriate? What? I’m not not showing you support by being nice to your mum. It’s a common custom when you’re a guest. It’s called Getting On with People. You should try it sometime.’

  ‘Ssh! Will you keep your voice down. And I don’t Get On with People, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, you could try the revolutionary new tactic of being pleasant to your mother. It wouldn’t kill you, would it?’

  Bella fiddled with the stiff latch and opened the window.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t see what she’s really like.’

  He crossed to her and put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

  ‘I can see that she’s awkward with you. Not relaxed. I’ve no idea why. But you’re making it worse, can’t you see that? She looks nervous around you, almost as if she thinks you might hit her.’

  ‘Her nervous around me. Hah!’

  Will nodded, serious.

  ‘Yes, that’s how it looks. Like you’ve both got stuck in some stupid – deadlock. Why don’t you make the first move, like Helen said?’

  ‘Why should I? She’s the mother, that’s her job.’

  ‘Excuse me? Hello? “Sir, sir, she pushed me first” – that’s certainly going to get you good results.’

  ‘I do try actually.’ Bella folded her arms, holding herself. ‘You’ve got no idea. You don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Yes, well, I wouldn’t, would I?’ His voice became brisk. ‘Because you haven’t told me. If something’s difficult, painful, you don’t talk about it. You just turn away or change the subject or make it into a joke – that’s your solution to everything. Except it hasn’t actually solved anything, has it?’

  Bella wanted to speak, to protest, retaliate. But she couldn’t swallow. She tried to concentrate on moving the muscles in her windpipe so she could take in some air.

  ‘No,’ Will continued. ‘But then what would I know? I’m just an outsider. I guess it’s none of my bloody business.’ If she had turned from the window, she would have seen that he looked suddenly smaller, somehow defeated.

  ‘Guess not,’ she said, staring straight ahead. ‘So it’s really not your worry.’

  She heard him let out a breath as if his whole body were sighing, then the quiet click as he closed the door behind him. She stayed completely still, seeing herself as if she were in one of her own paintings, leaning on the window ledge, looking out to the garden in a dream.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Through the bars in the back of the bench, she watches them sitting over there under the almond tree. From where she lies, here in the long grass, pressing herself close to the ground, she can see stripes of people through the bench – neat segments at once unfamiliar yet recognizable: Daddy’s Sunday jacket, green and scratchy like dried-out moss; Mrs Mellors’s ‘strawberry-blonde’ hair, not like strawberries at all (‘It’s not dyed – just a rinse to bring out my natural highlights’). Patterns of sound reach her, shifts in tone and pitch going up and down like the temperature chart she did at school, as each grown-up speaks. Then, out of the pattern, words suddenly take on shape, sharp and clear in the sunlight.

  ‘– finds it hard to mix with other …’ says her mother. ‘… really very …’

  ‘… more of an effort?’ says Mrs Mellors.

  Then Daddy’s voice, low and gentle, tantalizingly beyond grasp. Suddenly, a loud ‘Ssh!’ and silence. She flattens her face into the smell of greenness, but it is too late.

  ‘Bella!’ Her mother’s voice, careful and distinct. ‘We didn’t see you there, darling. Don’t skulk in that damp grass. Come and say hello to Mrs Mellors.’ Bella gets up and rubs her grassy knees hard with the heel of her hand, tucks her hair back behind her ears.

  ‘There’s panettone,’ adds her mother, briskly brushing bits of grass from Bella’s front, ‘for good little girls who come and sit down nicely.’

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  25

  By Sunday lunch-time, Alessandra was patting Will’s arm and laughing at everything he said. Gerald took him on a tour of the garden and pronounced him ‘a breath of fresh air and robust enough to stand up to Bella’. He laughed when he said it, so Bella was sure he must have been joking. Will found Bella in the sitting-room after lunch, curled up in an armchair reading a book. Was she coming to join them, he asked; there was fresh coffee.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Would Madam like a cup brought through before the staff go off duty?’ He smiled and leant down to see her face.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m reading.’

  ‘Rightio. You’re reading. Of course. We trail miles across country so that you can introduce me to your parents then you spend the entire time skulking in corners like some snotty adolescent. Do you always visit people then ignore them when you get there?’

  Bella continued to stare at her book.

  ‘I think it’s very rude. To me as well as your parents. I’m here only because of you but you’ve practically abandoned me.’

  ‘You seem to be managing very well without me.’

  ‘I’m trying to be sociable enough for two people to compensate for you.’

  ‘Please don’t bother on my account. They’re used to it. I’m “difficult” apparently – surely my mother mentioned it?’

  ‘Come on. Will you please at least look at me?’

  Bella raised her eyes from the page. They were like glass.

  ‘I hate it when you do that.’

  She raised her eyebrows and remained silent.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what?’

  ‘I daresay you’ll tell me anyway.’

  ‘God
, you can be infuriating.’ He shoved his hands down deep into his pockets. ‘I hate it when you shut me out like that. Go all icy. I don’t know how to get through it.’

  ‘Better not waste your energy then.’

  ‘What is all this? What’s the matter?’ Will moved towards her and laid a hand on her hair.

  ‘Don’t do that. Flattens it.’ She flicked her head.

  His hand dropped back to his side.

  ‘Come through when you’re planning to rejoin the human race, why don’t you?’

  Bella deposited a single kiss on Alessandra’s right cheek and promptly stepped backwards, stranding her mid-ritual. Alessandra hovered, then tugged at her silk cardigan draped over her shoulders and crossed her arms. A hug and kiss for Gerald, then Bella squatted to clasp Hund in a warm embrace. She heard Will kissing Alessandra and her light laugh, heard Gerald clapping Will affectionately on the back. She kissed the top of Hund’s head again and showered him with extra pats.

  ‘You must come and see us again, dear Will. Don’t wait for Bella to bring you – we’ll be quite old and grey by then!’ Alessandra laughed.

  Will got into the front passenger seat and balanced a tin of home-made biscuits on his lap. A jar of cherries macerated in brandy was wedged between his feet.

  ‘Enough going-home presents there, have you, dear Will?’ Bella turned the car and gave a cursory wave out the window, a perfunctory goodbye toot of the horn.

  ‘I thought it was very kind of her. She was only trying to make me feel welcome.’

  ‘Welcome? She practically offered to adopt you. I’m surprised she didn’t just swap me for you, old for new: “Don’t throw that old, unlovable child away. Trade it in for an easier, more adorable one.”’

  ‘I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate.’

  ‘Is that the best you can do? Time to splash out and invest in a few new jokes, I think.’

  ‘You are angry, aren’t you?’

  ‘As you well know, nothing is more guaranteed to make a perfectly calm person angry than telling them they’re angry. You’re so – so fucking smug sometimes.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me. I really don’t understand why you’re so upset.’

  ‘Don’t you? Don’t you really? You’ve just spent all weekend forming a cosy little mutual fan club with my parents, especially my mother, and you’ve no idea why that would upset me?’

  ‘Not really, no. Well, I could hazard a guess.’

  ‘And what would that be, Mr Smug?’

  ‘Cut it out. Don’t push it, Bella.’

  ‘Bella. Oh, you do know my name then? But only when you’re telling me off? The rest of the time it’s “sweet pea” or “pumpkin” or some other type of vegetable matter.’

  Will was silent for a minute.

  ‘That’s just me being affectionate, you know it is. Why didn’t you say if it annoyed you? I thought you liked it.’

  I do like it. She felt as if she were at the bottom of a pit and could see no way to scale the walls; what could she do but dig deeper?

  She exhaled shortly through her nose. Will ignored it.

  ‘I think you’re pissed off because I got on OK with your mum and that’s blown your guiding theory of life out of the water – that she’s the Wicked Witch of the West and you’re sweet little Dorothy.’

  Bella raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, the famous Kreuzer look. I am scared. I think you’d actually rather be right than happy, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That does sound likely, doesn’t it?’

  ‘OK. Why are you so upset then?’

  ‘I’m not “upset” – I might be justifiably pissed off that you smarmed up to Alessandra,’ her voice quivered dramatically. ‘So that I was made to look like the bad one, a naughty misfit schoolkid.’

  ‘You were acting like a stroppy brat, so what do you expect?’

  ‘I really fail to see the point of this conversation.’

  Will rested his hand on her leg.

  ‘C’mon, you.’ He moved her leg to and fro playfully. ‘Let’s not fight, eh?’

  Bella reached to change gear and nudged his hand away.

  ‘’Scuse me. Could you …? Thanks.’

  He withdrew it and clucked a quiet rhythm to himself for a minute, then he turned to look out of the window.

  The rest of the journey passed in near-silence.

  Will pulled out a tape.

  ‘OK if we have some music?’

  ‘Mmm-mm.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then, as you would say.’

  He hummed along without enthusiasm.

  ‘Got a busy day tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Yes, indeedy. Busy day. Busy, busy day.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  Will turned to look out of the window once more.

  Bella stopped the car outside Will’s house and kept the engine running while he unloaded his bag from the boot.

  ‘Well then,’ she said.

  ‘Bella? Could you park the car and come in for a minute?’

  ‘I’m really tired.’

  ‘Aren’t we all? Just for a minute. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Why? Not if you’re going to tell me off. You’re doing your schoolmaster voice.’

  ‘Give it a rest.’ Will let out a breath. ‘Right.’ He got back into the car and slammed the door.

  Bella sat facing straight ahead like a passenger on a bus, feeling his eyes on her.

  ‘Hello?’ Will ducked his head from side to side to try to make eye contact. ‘Hello? Am I going to get any response or what? It’s like you’re not even here. You’ve gone off to Kreuzer Dreamworld again, haven’t you?’

  Anger rose inside her, bubbling up through her body like boiling milk, threatening to spill over in a hiss of scalding steam and acrid smells. How could he? How dare he? She wanted to let it out, scream at him, rage at him, punch him as hard as she could. She dug her fingernails into her hands, felt her fury wind tight as a spring, coiling around her in wiry bands; she clung onto it, buckling it around her so it would hold her together.

  ‘Just don’t.’ She raised her hand in front of her face as if he were about to strike her.

  ‘Have you any idea how cold you seem when you do that? How on earth is anyone ever supposed to get close to you if you keep shutting them out?’

  ‘I don’t imagine anyone is supposed to get close to anyone else. You either are or you aren’t.’

  ‘Fine. And I never have been?’

  Bella shrugged and folded her arms.

  ‘Right. No need to put up a placard. I think even thicko Will has finally got the message.’ He fumbled for the door-handle. ‘I love you to pieces. You know I do. But I can’t—’

  She could see him trying to swallow.

  ‘Whatever.’ He clenched and unclenched his hands. ‘Why didn’t you just say you didn’t love me? Is it so hard? Will, I don’t love you, please go away. There. I feel like – I don’t know. Jesus. I—’ He ran his fingers through his hair and was silent for a moment. ‘It’s Patrick, isn’t it? You’re still in love with him. And how the fuck is anyone supposed to compete with a dead guy on a fucking ginormous pedestal?’

  Bella held herself still as he opened the car door. A wall of cold air hit her, surrounding her. She felt it was coating her, pouring over her like chilled liquid glass, sealing her in.

  ‘I do love you,’ she spoke quietly.

  ‘Well, feel free to have mentioned it before now. Or had you signed the Official Secrets Act?’

  The touch of his lips briefly brushing her hair.

  ‘Take care of yourself,’ he said, without turning round.

  The door clunked firmly behind him. And then there was nothing, only the almost-silence of air prickling in her ears and his footsteps walking away.

  26

  Bella took from the dresser a fine china cup and saucer, one patterned with tiny shamrock leaves and edged with gold. Decanted some milk i
nto a small matching china jug. She needed proper tea, more for the predictable complexity of the ritual than for the flavour. Real tea, English Breakfast. Warmed the hand-painted teapot, losing herself in its swirls of colour: citrus, sky and seaweed. One and a half spoons of tea, using the smooth wooden caddy spoon Patrick had given her in her stocking one Christmas, carved from a cherry tree; a tiny bit more to make it just so.

  If only tea were harder to make, then she could really put 100 per cent of her mind to it, lean on it, let it hold her together, perhaps that was what the Japanese Tea Ceremony was all about, the quest for order, for pattern in the untidiness of life. Then she could sink herself absolutely into the perfect execution of the elaborate process, keeping those other thoughts at bay – those thoughts that now nestled in the tea tin, waiting for her when she eased off the tightly-fitting lid, that poured creamy-white from the milk jug, clouding the clear tea in her cup, that breathed hotly on her upper lip as she dipped her head to drink.

  She cradled the cup in her hands, concentrating on the slight burning of her fingers through the thin china, and examined the floor. That rug was really very pleasing in here, she thought, wonderful colours, but a bit slippy on the floorboards; perhaps she should get one of those mat thingies to go underneath. Or, she had a sudden thought, she could get rid of it and paint a rug on the floor. An image came to her of the entire house emptied of objects, with trompe-l’oeil furniture painted on the walls, lamps on the ceilings, a stage set in distorted perspective; the cushions would never be creased nor the rug ruckled; nothing would wear out, nothing would get broken, nothing would change.

  Of course, it was impossible NOT to think about a particular person or a particular thing just by deciding to. The very act of NOT thinking about – brought his face bright and alive before her. She would not name him to herself as if even the letters, the sound of them in her head, held the power of a spell. His scent seemed to hover in the air, catching her unawares when she entered the bedroom. She felt she could see the imprint of his footsteps on the floors, the whorls of his fingerprints on furniture, objects, as if she had infrared vision. She must fill her head with something else, anything else, to oust him. Flush out all thoughts of him as if they were no more than niggling grains of sand stubbornly stuck between her toes. Soon he would be uprooted from her mind, and his face nothing but a fragile, gauzy image, a fleeting fragment of a distant dream.