She stands, dries her eyes on a tissue from her mother’s box of Kleenex, and then pulls on her coat. ‘And there’s no reason why I should do this on my own,’ she adds as she swipes her keys from the table. ‘Bloody hell, Vicky. Where are you?’
When Penny gets to her sister’s place it is Bertie who opens the door. He’s still in his dressing gown.
‘Hi, Bertie,’ Penny says. ‘Is your mum in?’
Bertie shakes his head.
‘Oh,’ Penny says. ‘Do you know where she is? She promised to help me with something today and she’s not answering her phone.’
Another shake of the head, then, ‘Mum’s not brilliant with promises at the moment. Or phones.’
‘No,’ Penny agrees. ‘No, she isn’t, is she? Is your dad around?’
‘Work,’ Bertie says. ‘But he should be home soon.’
‘Right. Well, can I come in and wait, then? Would you mind?’
Bertie shrugs and steps aside.
Once the front door is closed, Penny removes her coat and hangs it on the stand. Bertie is already heading for his bedroom, so Penny trots in an attempt to get there before his door swings shut. But she’s too late and has to knock to get him to open it again.
‘Look, I know I’m not your favourite person at the moment,’ Penny says tentatively, ‘but do you think I could have a word with you?’
‘Sure,’ Bertie replies, albeit unenthusiastically. He backs into his bedroom and plops himself on the edge of his unmade bed.
‘Were you sleeping?’ Penny asks.
‘Facebook,’ Bertie says, nodding in the direction of his laptop.
‘Right. Well, I wanted to talk to you the other day, actually. At the funeral. But your mum said it was better to wait.’
‘She told me.’
‘She told you what?’
‘That it was all a misunderstanding and everything.’
‘Yes. It really was,’ Penny says. ‘If I’d realised you were . . . you were having a hard time, I would have definitely said yes. I just thought you were joking. It was right in the middle of my argument with your mum and I just thought you were taking the mickey, to be honest.’
Bertie nods. ‘OK,’ he says.
‘Can I sit down?’ Penny asks, nodding at the chair next to Bertie’s desk.
‘If you want.’
‘So, your mum told me you had a really bad summer,’ Penny says, moving clothes from the chair to the desk and sitting down.
‘Yeah. Kind of.’
‘Can you tell me what’s been happening? Only if you want to, of course, but . . .’
‘Nah,’ Bertie says. ‘You’re all right.’
‘Oh.’ Penny hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Well, can you at least tell me if things are still bad?’
Bertie shrugs.
‘So, you don’t feel the need to come and stay with us any more?’
Another shrug. But then, just as Penny is beginning to despair, an opening comes. ‘They wouldn’t let me anyway,’ Bertie says.
‘Who wouldn’t?’
‘Mum and Dad.’
‘But you’d like to? If you could? Would you like me to talk to them? Would you like me to see what I can arrange?’
Bertie shrugs yet again but also nods. ‘I guess,’ he says. ‘Maybe Will could come and pick me up. Like he used to come and get Gran?’
‘That’s possible. I could ask him.’
‘I just need to get out of here,’ Bertie says. ‘I hate it here.’
‘Why is that, Bertie?’ Penny asks. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’
Bertie pushes his bottom lip out. ‘They’re always asking me questions. All the time. I can’t stand it. It’s like a police interrogation or something.’
Penny clears her throat. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Message received.’
‘Sorry,’ Bertie says. ‘It’s just . . .’ He shakes his head.
‘No, I know exactly what you mean, actually,’ Penny tells him. ‘Sometimes you just want to keep things to yourself, don’t you? Sometimes you just want some time to think about things without everyone asking you to explain yourself before you even know what you think about it all.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ Bertie says.
‘So, leave it with me. And I’ll see what I can do, OK?’
‘You’ll ask Mum and Dad? Really?’
‘Yes. I’m not promising miracles, but I’ll ask if you can come for weekends from time to time. That should be doable.’
‘And you’ll ask Will if he can come and get me?’
‘Yes. I mean, even if Will isn’t coming down, you’re big enough to jump on a train, aren’t you?’
‘Sure,’ Bertie says.
At that moment, the front door to the apartment opens. ‘Ah, someone’s home,’ Penny says.
‘That’s Dad.’
‘How do you know?’ Penny asks.
Bertie shrugs. ‘He drops his keys in the bowl when he comes in. Mum leaves hers all over the place. And then we all have to help her look for them, otherwise she cries.’
Penny steps out of Bertie’s bedroom to find Martin in the hallway; he’s shrugging out of his overcoat while simultaneously fiddling with his iPhone. ‘Oh! Hello, Penny!’ he says. ‘I was just reading your text messages.’
‘Sorry,’ Penny says. ‘I didn’t realise you were at work. I was just trying to find my sister, really.’
‘She’s gone AWOL again, has she?’ Martin asks, hanging his coat on the rack.
‘Yes, she was supposed to help me with Mum’s flat, but she didn’t turn up.’
‘Huh,’ Martin says, now loosening his tie and undoing his top button. ‘How’s that going? Cup of tea?’
‘Sure,’ Penny says, following him through to the kitchen. ‘And it’s not really going at all. I tried to start going through her stuff, but I couldn’t face it on my own.’
‘I can imagine,’ Martin says. ‘Actually, I’m hungry. I’m going to make myself a sandwich. Do you want one?’
‘A sandwich would be good,’ Penny says. ‘Would you like me to do it, though? You don’t want to be getting butter over your suit.’
Martin shakes his head. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘Take a seat. And then if Vicky isn’t back by the time we’ve eaten, I’ll come and give you a hand with the flat. How does that sound?’
‘Oh, um, that sounds lovely,’ Penny says. ‘But totally beyond the call of duty.’
‘It’ll be easier for me,’ Martin says. ‘I mean, I loved the old dear, but she wasn’t my mother.’
‘No.’
‘Bertie? BERTIE!!’ Martin shouts.
Bertie pops his head around the door and shouts back, ‘What?’
‘I’m making sandwiches. Do you want one?’
‘No, thanks,’ he shouts back.
‘I don’t know why I bother,’ Martin mutters.
‘Adolescence?’
‘Something like that,’ he says, pulling bread from the bread bin, then cheese and butter from the refrigerator.
‘That is a lovely suit,’ Penny comments. Martin’s sleek teal suit is catching the light as he moves around, shimmering almost.
‘This?’ Martin says. ‘It’s pretty ancient, actually. But Vicky won’t let me get rid of it. She got the trousers adjusted a while back. Middle-aged spread.’ He taps his stomach through his shirt.
‘Oh, you’re looking pretty good for . . .’
‘For my age?’ Martin laughs.
Penny smiles. ‘We all put on a bit of weight. It’s called being human. But most guys approaching fifty look terrible. I have a single girlfriend, Terri, and you should see the guys she meets online. You’re still pretty fit and sporty, aren’t you?’
‘I do my best,’ Martin says. ‘You and Vicky are doing OK, too. You’re both good-looking women.’
‘Thanks,’ Penny says. ‘But Victoria has her weight far better controlled than I do.’
‘Ah, that’ll be her cast-iron willpower,’ Martin says.
Penny wi
shes briefly that he had contradicted her instead. ‘Yeah,’ she replies vaguely.
She sits at the kitchen table and watches Martin as he assembles the sandwiches. It’s actually quite strange to find herself alone with him. She’s spent shockingly little time alone with Martin since her sister married him twenty years ago. It’s simply not something that ever seems to happen and, in fact, she has never really had the time to work out what she thinks about him. He’s a good-looking man, that’s for sure. He’s a smooth, snappy dresser, too. But beyond that, she’s never quite been able to decide whether he’s shockingly congenial or merely superficial and boring. Whichever it is, he’s certainly easy on the eye.
‘So, how’s life at the seaside?’ Martin asks.
‘Oh, you know,’ Penny says. ‘Same old, same old.’
‘Work OK?’
‘Work’s horrific. But that’s entirely normal.’
‘Ha! I know what you mean there,’ Martin says.
‘We’re just waiting for probate to come through, really,’ Penny admits. ‘We have this whole backlog of things that need buying, or fixing, or replacing . . . The kids need new . . . new everything, really. Sander wants to buy some canvases or something. And a load of weed, no doubt.’
‘Is he painting again?’
Penny shrugs. ‘Not really, no. But he reckons he has an idea. Though I’ve heard that one before.’
‘The money’s got to come through soon, hasn’t it?’ Martin asks as he pours boiling water into mugs. ‘It can’t be that complicated.’
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘We could lend you some,’ Martin offers. ‘In the meantime, I mean. If that helps.’
Penny wrinkles her nose. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘But I’ll give it another week and see if it comes through. If not, I might well take you up on that.’
As Martin puts the two plates on the table, his phone buzzes on the countertop, so as he pours milk into the mugs of tea he studies the screen.
‘Your sister,’ he says. ‘She says she’s gone to see a specialist. She’s sorry, but it was the only appointment available.’
Penny blows out through pursed lips.
‘She’s let you down a lot lately, huh?’ Martin says. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
Penny gestures vaguely with her hands. ‘I just . . .’ She sighs. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her, really. She seems so different. So unpredictable. Is she like this with you as well, or is it just me?’
‘She’s pretty strange,’ Martin says. ‘I think she’s going through some kind of change. And we’re all kind of waiting to see if it’s for the better, in a way. Or not for the better.’
‘When you say “change”, do you mean “The Change”?’
Martin pulls a face. ‘The menopause?’ he says. ‘No, I think she’s a bit young for that, don’t you? No, she’s just a bit all over the place. And, of course, your mum dying hasn’t helped.’
Penny thinks that her sister isn’t too young for that at all, but that she should probably leave that clearly undiscussed subject undiscussed. ‘So, what kind of specialist is she seeing on a Saturday, anyway? Or is it personal?’
Martin shrugs. ‘Probably someone who will give her even more Valium,’ he says. ‘Or perhaps someone who will help her get off the stuff. Hopefully, the latter.’
‘I thought she was taking something,’ Penny says. ‘I caught her popping pills a couple of times. And she sometimes seemed . . . I don’t know . . . kind of vague?’
‘Oh, she’s so stoned sometimes you can’t even have a conversation with her,’ Martin says as he hangs his jacket on the chair back and takes a seat next to Penny. With his close physical proximity, the moment seems even stranger. ‘But I think it’s one of the things she’s genuinely trying to deal with at the moment. Has she never spoken to you about it?’
Penny bites into her sandwich and shakes her head. ‘She never talks to me about anything,’ she says. ‘Well, nothing important, anyway.’
‘No, me neither,’ Martin says as he reaches for his own sandwich. ‘Anyway, bon appétit!’
‘Bon appétit,’ Penny replies, through a mouthful of cheese and bread.
Martin remains relaxed and amenable throughout lunch. He seems pretty ‘happy in his skin’, as the French would say, but then Martin’s skin has always been almost irritatingly flawless. It must be a fairly easy skin to be happy in, Penny thinks.
When, in their separate cars, they arrive at Vivian Court, Martin switches to ‘stunningly efficient’ mode. It’s a side of him that Penny has never seen before. It must be, she reckons, how he is at work. No wonder he has done so well.
As she watches Martin ruthlessly clear the food cupboards and refrigerator directly into bin bags, Penny realises that it’s truly easier for someone who isn’t emotionally involved to help out.
As he repeats the operation with Marge’s clothes, Penny watches numbly. She truly doesn’t want to keep any of these items and yet she’s certain that she would find herself totally unable to bin them without Martin’s logical, emotionally neutral help.
When they reach the box of photos, Martin says, ‘The easiest thing is just to seal them up and put them in your loft – or ours – for later. There’s absolutely no reason to look at them today. In fact, I would think that’s just about the worst thing you can do.’
‘You’re totally right, of course,’ Penny admits. ‘It was looking at those that threw me off my stride this morning.’
‘And I’d suggest you do the same for all her knick-knacks,’ Martin says, picking up a china bell from a shelf and ringing it. ‘Stick them in boxes and tape them up. You’ll enjoy going through them one day, but I don’t think today is that day.’
Penny swallows with difficulty, takes the horrible bell – a horrible bell that graced her childhood home from birth until the moment she left – and starts to wrap it in newspaper. ‘God, I am so glad you’re here,’ she says.
Martin smiles blankly and winks at her. ‘It’s my pleasure,’ he says. ‘It should have been Vicky, really, but to be honest, I think you’re better off with me. She would have been useless at this.’
‘Like me.’
‘You’re not useless,’ Martin says. ‘But it’s your mum’s stuff, isn’t it? It’s bound to be hard. If you want to pay me back, you can help me out when my two finally pop their clogs. If that ever happens.’
‘It’s a deal,’ Penny says. ‘Actually, how are they? You never mention them. They’re in Edinburgh, aren’t they?’
‘Just outside. And they’re, you know . . . senile, grumpy, totally disinterested in anything except their aches and pains.’
‘They’re old,’ Penny says, summing up.
‘Yep,’ Martin says. ‘Coming soon to us all.’
As Marge’s apartment had been rented fully furnished, her possessions don’t amount to much. Penny and Martin fill two large bin bags with rubbish and three with clothes. Her sheets and towels, they give to the warden. ‘People often need them,’ he says. ‘You’d be surprised.’
Everything else – the junk jewellery, the bells, her collection of utterly pointless decorative thimbles, her pictures and paperweights and books and playing cards – fit into the three boxes Dina provided, and these they seal up with tape and load into the back of Penny’s car. There are no surprises. There are no secret love letters, no unmentioned wills leaving everything to an unknown lover or child, no police statements about Cecil.
‘It’s not a lot, really, is it?’ Penny says, staring, her hands on her hips, at the contents of the open hatchback.
‘Well, you got rid of most of the junk when she moved in here,’ Martin says.
‘That’s true. There was masses of it. All rubbish, but masses of it. A whole houseful. But all the same, look,’ Penny says. ‘Is that really it?’
‘I suppose it’s not the stuff that counts, is it?’ Martin says gently. ‘I suppose it’s the memories.’
Penny sighs and nods. ‘You’re right,’
she says. ‘Thanks, Martin. You’re a good man, aren’t you?’
Martin wrinkles his brow. ‘Now why do you sound so surprised about that?’ He laughs. ‘What has my wife been telling you?’
Penny frowns. ‘I didn’t sound surprised,’ she says. But she realises that she probably did, because, in a way, she is surprised. She and Sander have, she realises, kind of boxed Martin into a role that they alone defined for him: the high-earning, Tory-voting lawyer. And like all of us, he is far more complex than that. ‘Oh, I wanted to ask you something,’ she says, dragging her eyes away from the bin bags and boxes. ‘I spoke to Bertie earlier, and I know it’s late notice and everything, but, well, Monday’s a bank holiday. I was wondering if he could come back with me and spend the weekend with Max and Chloe. They haven’t seen anything of each other for ages.’
‘Maybe,’ Martin says, leaning against the bonnet of the car. ‘But he’s being very difficult at the moment. I have to warn you.’
‘He’ll be fine with us, I’m sure he will.’
‘I’m not sure what Victoria’s told you,’ Martin says. ‘About everything that’s gone on this summer?’
Penny nods quickly. ‘She told me,’ she says. ‘About boarding school and the Valium and all that stuff. We’ll keep an eye on him. You don’t need to worry.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t worried about that,’ Martin says. ‘It’s just, I think he might drive you insane. He hates everything and everyone at the moment. Especially me, actually. God knows what I’ve done.’
‘Well, he was OK with me,’ Penny says. ‘I mean, he’s an adolescent boy . . . he just shrugs when I talk to him, really. But that’s normal. I still think he’d like to come. Maybe it would do him good to get away. It would give you a break, too. Things have been quite intense recently, as far as I understand.’
‘They have,’ Martin says, with meaning. ‘Well, I’ll ask Vicky. He can’t come with you now because he has a friend’s birthday party to go to tonight. But we could perhaps stick him on a train tomorrow morning. As I say, I’ll need to get his mum’s approval. Plus, I’m off all week, so she might have planned something.’
‘Of course,’ Penny says. ‘My friend Will said he might come down tomorrow, so if he does, he could maybe bring Bertie with him. He could stay a few days. It would be nice.’
The Bottle of Tears Page 25
