Family Secrets

by Liz Byrski

  ‘Can’t I come to the hotel with you?’

  And he’d relented then and said she should call Linda and ask her if it was okay for her to stay with him for the weekend.

  ‘Ask her? Why can’t you tell her that I’m going to stay with you whether she likes it or not?’

  ‘For all the reasons I’ve just explained,’ he’d said.

  ‘Suppose she says no?’

  ‘She won’t.’ Andrew had hesitated then. ‘Look, Brooke, your mum loves you, and she knows this is hard for you. Try to remember that and make the most of it. Treat her with respect and she’ll have to do the same. I don’t like this any better than you but I promise it’s the best way to do it.’

  And so she’d called her mother, who had gone very quiet at the other end of the line, and then asked to speak to Andrew. Brooke couldn’t hear what she said, only heard him say that he’d let her know where they were once he’d found a hotel, and that he would bring Brooke back home on Sunday evening, and then the two of them would have to talk. And then he’d got on her iPad and found a place in the city for them to stay together over the weekend.

  She didn’t see her mother or Zachary for two whole days, which certainly helped, but in the end, of course, she’d had to go back, knowing it could be weeks before she would be able to leave for good. That was three weeks ago and she’s still here. The only good thing is that last weekend she and Andrew had found a nice little townhouse near her school and fairly close to his office, and they’d gone straight to the real estate agent’s office and he’d filled in the application form and all they were waiting for now was for the agent to check her dad’s references.

  ‘So you’ve changed your mind about living with Nan then?’ Andrew had asked her while they were house-hunting.

  And Brooke had felt that sudden jerk of shock, because she hadn’t given up that idea at all. She saw the new place first as an escape from her present situation, and then as a place to come home to, a place for holidays and sometimes weekends, a place she might eventually live in with her father from time to time, perhaps when she finished school and went to university or got her first job.

  ‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I still want to stay with Nan, to go to that school. But you won’t let me ask her yet.’

  He’d looked hurt then, quite crushed, but he hadn’t said anything, only nodded, and she’d felt really bad about it.

  ‘After all, Dad,’ she’d said, ‘you might not want me to stay all the time. I mean, you might meet someone and then I’d be in the way.’ And as she said it she’d had a horrible hollow feeling, because she was sure he would meet someone and probably quite soon. That had happened to three other people she knew, so it seemed to be a sort of pattern. One parent met someone and the parents split up and very soon, just as it was all settling down, someone new came along for the other parent too, and everything changed all over again. Brooke imagined this happening to her; she saw herself comfortably ensconced in the new place and then one day Andrew would tell her about a lovely woman he’d met, he’d say they were just friends and he hoped Brooke would like her. They would go out together and meet this woman in a café for lunch, or take a walk somewhere, like she’d seen happen in the movies, and then he’d start talking to her about how nice it would be if the three of them lived together. And however hard her dad insisted that she must be honest about how she felt, the woman would still move in and it would be her, Brooke, who would have to fit in, to get her life organised again on the edge of theirs.

  As she lies here now thinking about this, Brooke is convinced that this is what will happen, that Andrew may already have met this woman and that even if he’s not planning it yet, the prospect is just around the corner. Brooke hauls herself upright. It’s the wrong time of day to Skype her Nan but she’ll send her an email anyway. Find out when she’ll be back, ask if it’s still okay to stay in the holidays. She’s aching to ask if she can live there, go to school there, but she’s promised to wait until Nan gets home for that. She switches on her iPad and starts writing, and she has almost finished her email when the Dad ringtone, one he picked for himself from some movie, starts.

  ‘Brooke,’ he says.

  And she knows from his tone that something is wrong.

  ‘Did you get the keys?’ she asks.

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. I got to the office to sign the lease and pick up the keys, and the owner had just called to say he wanted to withdraw the place.’

  ‘What? No, Dad, he can’t do that. He just can’t.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid he can, although the agent is spitting chips. As for us, Brooke, I’m sorry, but we have to start all over again.’

  Fifteen

  Flora wakes at first light to the anxiety that haunts her more with each passing day. She is no nearer to knowing what she wants to do and Connie is not proving as helpful as she’d hoped. She seems to see it in very basic terms.

  ‘You just need to decide where you want to be, and who with,’ she says. ‘Then try to sort out how to do it.’

  It is, Flora thinks, characteristic of someone who actually has enough money to decide where she wants to be without having to consider what might actually be possible.

  ‘Once you decide where you want to be you can work out how to manage it. Try to imagine yourself with more money, it might clarify it for you.’

  Flora can see that this does, in a way, make sense. In another way it simply frustrates and confuses the issue.

  ‘I want to avoid having to do things on a temporary basis,’ she’d said. ‘That always gobbles up money and one has nothing to show for it. When Suzanne understands that I really am leaving she’ll want things to move quickly. She’s very impatient and businesslike.’

  ‘Well, she’ll have to wait for you,’ Connie had said. ‘You’ve devoted a huge chunk of your life to her business, she has to give you time to adjust and make plans. It’s not like you’re just deciding whether or not to leave a job; this decision is about the rest of your life.’

  And Flora had smiled, thinking not only that Connie didn’t know Suzanne all that well, but also that it was good to hear her friend sounding like the old, or rather the young, Connie again – determined, assertive, ready to take control.

  Flora gets out of bed and tiptoes to the window so as not to wake Connie, who is still asleep in the other bed of their twin room. London is on the move this glorious spring morning and from their fourth floor window she has a splendid view of Russell Square Gardens where people are hurrying to work along the paths. In the centre of the shallow pond a fountain suddenly bursts into life scattering some small birds and surprising two elderly men who are making their way towards the chairs outside the café. Could she live here? She has longed for London and a couple of nights ago at dinner Phillip had practically offered her a job.

  ‘You’d be terrific,’ he’d said, ‘and you’d probably stay, unlike some of the younger people we’ve taken on recently. It’s not remarkably well paid, I’m afraid, but it’s award rates. And you’d have Bea breathing down your neck, but she’s not as terrifying as she pretends to be. I’m sure she’d be much nicer to you than she is to me. Think about it. Come into the shop, I’ll show you around and we can talk about it. You’re just what we need. Isn’t she, Bea?’

  This obviously came as a surprise to Bea, whose expression was one of interest mixed with caution. ‘Well – yes,’ she’d managed, ‘yes, Flora, it could work well. You and I together could certainly pull Phillip into line.’

  ‘She pulled me into line once before,’ Phillip had said then, ‘in a punt at Richmond on a hot summer afternoon in – um – well, a lot of years ago.’

  ‘Really?’ Bea said. ‘This sounds interesting – do tell.’

  ‘May I?’ Phillip asked, looking at Flora.

  ‘Well, if you don’t I will,’ she’d said.

  ‘Oh, I want Flora’s version,’ Bea had said, ‘don’t you, Connie?’

  ‘I was there,’ Connie said, smiling, �
�with Gerald, just the four of us.’

  ‘Go on then, Flora,’ Phillip said, grinning. ‘Expose my shame.’

  And with the help of a few whimsical embellishments, Flora told Bea the story. ‘He was absolutely doubled up,’ she said at the end. ‘For a few moments, at least, I was pretty worried about how much damage I might have done.’

  ‘Well, it certainly hasn’t stopped him leading a full and active life,’ Bea managed to say through her laughter.

  They were all laughing now. Phillip had tears running down his face at Flora’s telling of the story. ‘I do feel it was somewhat of an overreaction, Flora,’ he’d said. ‘And I certainly didn’t see it coming.’

  Flora had turned to him then and put her hand on his arm. ‘There’s a codicil to this, Phillip, something you need to know now that you didn’t know at the time. You see, I’m a dyke.’

  Phillip’s eyes had widened, his mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding,’ he said, peering at her more closely. ‘Really? I never knew.’

  ‘Obviously!’

  ‘And you were back then too? I mean a lot of women …’

  She shook her head. ‘Back then, back before then, from birth, I suppose, although I was about fourteen before I worked it out.’

  ‘Good lord, I’d no idea. I’m so sorry, Flora, how crass I must have seemed. Gerald never said.’

  ‘He didn’t know,’ she said. ‘And he didn’t like it at all some years later when he found out.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t,’ Bea said. ‘Gerry and I had many arguments about that. He prided himself on being open minded but he wasn’t open minded about that.’

  ‘No, he certainly wasn’t,’ Connie said, looking sharply at Bea.

  ‘Is that why you and he fell out, Flora?’ Phillip had asked. ‘I always wondered. When he came back here from Australia once, I asked after you and he said you’d fallen out and hadn’t been in touch for years. Never said why though, and changed the subject when I asked.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what it was,’ Flora had said, nodding. ‘Water under the bridge now of course, but it left its mark on both of us.’

  ‘On our family too,’ Connie added, ‘and especially on our friendship.’

  Flora, thinking back over that evening, over the quieter conversation that followed and the genuine warmth and good humour of it all, suddenly feels the effect of Gerald’s rejection more acutely than she has for a long time. He had insulted, abused and humiliated her, shown no respect for the person she knew herself to be. She had walked away and vowed not to look back, but of course she has been looking back on it for years, smarting from it, letting it leech away her confidence in her own sexual identity, running from relationships as soon as things got serious. Suzanne’s remarks about Connie not being supportive enough crowd back into her head and she pushes them away. But there is some satisfaction in knowing that had he been sitting at the table with them two nights ago, Gerald, rather than she, would have been the one marginalised by his prejudice.

  ‘You’re up already,’ Connie murmurs, yawning, and she drags herself into a sitting position.

  ‘Still half-asleep really,’ Flora says, turning to her. ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Mmmm, yes please. Tea in bed has been sadly missing from my life for donkey’s years.’

  ‘Suzanne and I did alternate days,’ Flora says, ‘but I must admit that even on my days she would wander into my room with a cup before I was up. I try to remember that when I’m annoyed with her about other things.’ She fills the kettle, switches it on and gets two cups from the cupboard above the bar fridge.

  ‘Suzanne is going to miss you more than she realises,’ Connie says. ‘I think that much as she may love Xavier and want to live with him, she’ll find her work increases when you move out and he moves in. Have you thought any more about what you would do if money wasn’t a problem?’

  Flora drops tea bags into the cups and struggles to open a small carton of milk. ‘I have, and I’m not sure, but I suppose I’d be more relaxed about taking time to make up my mind, so I might spend a bit of time with you in Australia.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ Connie says. ‘I’m so glad you want to come back to Hobart, and the house is big enough for us to jog along happily together.’ She takes her tea from Flora and empties a sachet of sugar into it. ‘By the way, I had a dream last night about Gerald and Bea, can’t remember what it was about at all but as I was trying to go back to sleep I remembered something Bea said at dinner. It struck me as odd at the time but then I forgot to mention it.’

  ‘Go on,’ Flora says, sitting back on her bed with her tea.

  ‘When you told Phillip why you and Gerald had fallen out, Bea said something – I can’t remember the words exactly, but the way she said them it sounded as though she knew Gerald really well. Until then I assumed she was more a friend of Phillip’s. Did you hear that?’

  Flora shrugs, sipping her tea. ‘No, I can’t say I did. But they were at uni together, so they probably all knew each other well.’

  ‘Mmmm. Oh well, it just seemed odd. Anyway, it was lovely of Phillip to invite us both to the opera. I wish you’d come too.’

  Flora raises her eyebrows. ‘Phillip’s an opera buff like you and you’ll have more fun without me huffing and puffing alongside you.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Connie says. ‘I’m so looking forward to it and this morning I want to go out and buy something special to wear. I want to dress up. I haven’t had the chance to do that for ages so I thought I’d get the bus to Marble Arch and go to Selfridges. It was always my favourite shop. Do you want to come or have you got other plans?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m in shopping mood,’ Flora says. ‘I might go to the bookshop, see the lie of the land and whether I might want to work there. Phillip said he wouldn’t be there today so I’d quite like to have a mooch around and talk to Bea while he’s out.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Connie says. ‘But you do have to think about what it would cost to live in London – probably phenomenal – and there’s the commute of course.’

  Flora laughs. ‘So what happens to forgetting about financial practicalities and simply deciding first where I want to be?’

  Connie colours slightly. ‘Well, I’m just saying …’ she hesitates and changes the subject. ‘I was quite touched that Phillip remembered that I was at the Guildhall. He seemed amazed when I said I hadn’t sung for years.’

  ‘Didn’t you join a choir once?’ Flora asks.

  ‘Yes, while the kids were still at school, but I gave it up after a few months.’

  ‘Why?’

  Connie shrugs. ‘Oh well, Gerald didn’t like it much. It was in the evenings and it meant that I was going out to that just as he got home from work.’

  Flora is silent for a while, sorting out the contents of her handbag, and Connie gets up and heads for the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll grab the shower while you’re doing that,’ she says.

  Flora looks up, taking off her glasses. ‘Sure. You know, Con, it sounds as though you gave up an awful lot to please Gerald.’

  Connie flushes. ‘I know. I keep thinking of the things I should have fought for. But you remember my father and what he was like – he taught me compliance and expected it, so I suppose I easily became accustomed to it with Gerald too.’

  The silence is suddenly weighted with tension, and Flora wonders if Connie ever considers how that compliance compounded Flora’s own exclusion and the toll it took on her.

  ‘So what do you think about that now?’ she asks finally.

  Connie hesitates, still standing by the door, staring down at the carpet. Then she looks up, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as if to shake away a thought, and gives a stiff half-smile.

  ‘I think it’s time I had a shower,’ she says and she disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  *

  The Marble Arch bus lumbers past as Connie approaches the stop and she runs the last stretch and reaches it just in time
. Swiping her Oyster card she drops into a seat near the front, thinking irritably of what Flora had said about how much she had given up to please Gerald. She wants to explore her past here in England and in France; not revisit the long years of her marriage and her life in Hobart.

  Since the day she arrived in Port d’Esprit she has revelled in memories – in a whole panorama of nostalgic moments. Her memory of the fishing village was like a blueprint over which a series of contemporary images had been superimposed. There she was, in 2012, walking the same streets, eating at the same places, swimming off the same beaches, all of them updated to the present, just as she, Flora and Suzanne were contemporary and aged versions of the girls they had once been. She could see Flora dancing in the square, Suzanne darting between the pine trees in a game of hide and seek on the cape, and the three of them sitting on the sea wall, hoping to catch the attention of passing boys or, better still, the young fishermen mending their nets on the quayside. It was all there, a delightful mishmash of past and present, a drip feed of memories in manageable, evocative doses. But England was different.

  It had been dark when they’d landed at Gatwick and late by the time they arrived at the hotel. The Tudor building that had been a large pub in Connie’s childhood was still a pub but also now a hotel, spread across several acres of land with low, single-storey motel rooms, a swimming pool, squash and tennis courts and a gym. Enough of the old building remained, though, to transport her back to Sunday mornings in the saloon when she could sneak in with her parents and sit unobtrusively in a corner with a lemonade and a packet of Smith’s Crisps, fiddling with the little twist of blue paper that held the salt, and longing for the day she would be old enough to join the throng of young people sinking tall glasses of lager and sizing each other up by the bar.