The Good Girl

by Fiona Neill

  ‘The message you think you are sending might not be the message that other people receive,’ Ailsa pointed out.

  ‘They all wear the same thing,’ Luke intervened. ‘Marnie and Becca look exactly the same.’

  Ailsa tried a new tack. ‘Have you ever considered why female singers perform in their underwear while the men get to keep their clothes on?’ she asked, remembering something she had read in a book she had bought for the library at her old school.

  ‘Because they make more money,’ replied Romy. ‘There’s an inverse correlation between the amount of clothes they wear and the money they earn. Look, I’m not exactly going out in my underwear, Mum.’

  ‘I can practically see your knickers.’

  ‘If Luke was wearing this outfit would you have the same reaction? Because I think there’s a double standard operating here.’

  ‘Girls are becoming conditioned to the idea that they have to look sexually available all the time by showing more flesh than boys,’ said Ailsa. ‘You don’t see Harry Styles dancing in his pants.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Girls have nicer bodies,’ said Luke.

  ‘Not helpful, Luke,’ said Ailsa. ‘Or Rachel.’

  ‘It’s because we live in a country where we aren’t required to hide our sexuality behind a veil,’ said Romy. ‘What is it you’re scared of, Mum? Do you think I look slutty? That I might get the wrong attention from the wrong man? Because if I do, I think that is his problem not mine. Or is it that I don’t reflect well on you? Because I thought that feminism was about being free to wear what you like.’ She sounded genuinely confused. And so was Ailsa. There was a lot of cognitive dissonance involved in being the parent of a girl. She told Romy frequently that she could do anything with her life but not that she would still have to work harder than any man to prove herself. She said that any job was within her reach but not that she might want to choose a career that was compatible with family life. She told her that she regretted hating so many parts of her own body when she was a teenager then berated Romy when she had the confidence in hers to wear short skirts.

  ‘You look great, Romy,’ said Ailsa finally.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Romy deadpan.

  Badly done, Ailsa, Ailsa told herself.

  Away from the path, the snow was deeper but less slippery. Ben led the way, making deep footprints with his snow boots so that everyone else could follow in his tracks. Adam shuffled along in his trail, wearing wellington boots two sizes too big. Rachel walked behind her father, ostentatiously holding her arms out to catch him, to demonstrate that at least for tonight she was there for him. Harry opted for the virgin snow beside Ailsa and offered to carry the trifle. Ben stopped beside a deep flower bed by the fence separating the two properties. He narrowed his eyes to examine a snow-covered willow, shaking a branch to create a mini flurry that fell onto everyone’s heads.

  ‘It’s this one,’ he said triumphantly.

  ‘How can you tell?’ asked Luke, peering into the flower bed.

  ‘The branches look like a corkscrew,’ said Ben. He stepped four paces forward and turned left into the undergrowth. Moments later he emerged holding four slats of wood, which he stacked beneath the willow in a well-practised routine.

  ‘Follow me,’ he instructed. They obediently walked behind him in single file, heads bowed, like an army in retreat, and guiltily regrouped in the Fairports’ back garden. ‘Don’t break any branches. According to Ray Mears, it’s a dead giveaway.’

  ‘What exactly do you do here, Ben?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Observe,’ said Ben, gratified by the attention. ‘Mum wanted to know what they were building in the woods. And I can tell you even though it’s got shelves, it definitely isn’t a pizza oven. It’s way too big. Unless they’re going to cook human beings.’

  ‘Don’t use me as an excuse for your nosiness,’ retorted Ailsa. She paused. ‘So what does it look like inside?’

  ‘I can stand but my head almost touches the roof. It’s really long and there’s a big pit in the middle,’ explained Ben. ‘In one corner there’s lots of really big stones and a shelf with candles. It’s really dark. And there aren’t any windows.’

  ‘Spooky,’ teased Harry.

  ‘What have you learned about them?’ asked Luke. ‘Because people are generally way more interesting than buildings.’

  ‘The youngest boy smokes in his room and has a poster of Nicki Minaj on the wall. His room is painted blood red, even the ceiling.’

  ‘I can see that from my room,’ scoffed Luke.

  ‘Who’s Nicki Minaj?’ asked Harry.

  ‘She’s a singer. Looks like porno Barbie,’ said Luke. ‘Breast implants, buttock implants, lip implants, toe implants. The works.’

  ‘Luke,’ warned Ailsa.

  ‘What does porno mean?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Pawnee,’ said Luke quickly, ‘as in the native Indian tribe from Nebraska.’

  Luke stopped for a moment. Ailsa noticed his shoulders were already straining against a jacket bought only one month earlier. For the past three years Romy had looked down on her brother from a position of willowy grace. In less than six months Luke had overtaken first her, then Ailsa and finally his own father. Ailsa often caught herself staring at him in the kitchen, observing how the box of breakfast cereal looked tiny in his enormous hand or how dark hair had suddenly sprouted on his calves. His school trousers were already too short and even his hands were hairy. She couldn’t remember such sudden changes since he was a baby. Back then every new development had been faithfully recorded with a camera. Now she had to steal a glimpse. Everything about him was extreme. He was either immobile, sprawled on the sofa listening to music through headphones, or in loud, clumsy motion. He was ravenously hungry or completely full. Very angry or very happy. The polarity took her breath away.

  He had fallen in with a new crowd almost as soon as he’d started at school. Not quite the right crowd but better than the crew he hung out with in London. He’d been suspended from Ailsa’s old school for stealing a rotary evaporator from the chemistry lab in a botched attempt to concoct his own version of the legal high mephedrone from bath salts. Except it transpired that he couldn’t even get this right because Romy told Ailsa that the lab equipment he had taken turned liquids into solids. At Highfield the worst he’d done so far was get caught smoking by the head of Biology and he had got off with a verbal warning.

  After the smoking incident Ailsa and Harry had sat down with Luke and explained that his behaviour reflected badly on his parents and undermined his mother. Luke professed to understand and was apologetic rather than defensive. Then last week Ailsa had found a packet of cigarette papers in his school blazer. She had mentioned this to Harry, who had told Luke that if he smoked too much marijuana his hippocampus would shrink and his short-term memory would fail. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Dad,’ said Luke. ‘If I remember.’

  ‘I went there once with your mother,’ said Adam as they walked across the Fairports’ garden. ‘Ailsa, are you listening?’

  Ailsa pulled herself out of her thoughts.

  ‘What are you talking about, Dad?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Nebraska. We went up into the mountains to go fishing in Big Elk Park. I caught a huge salmon but your mother wanted me to put it back in the water. I refused. I tried to find my club to kill it but it was at the bottom of the bag.’

  Adam stopped and stared straight ahead as if describing a scene unfolding in front of him.

  ‘The fish flapped around our feet, trying to slide back into the water. The more it struggled the wider its eyes got. It was pleading for a second chance but I didn’t let it have one. It choked to death. I regret that decision now. It wasn’t the worst one I ever made. But it was close. Georgia never forgave me. Refused to eat fish ever again. Probably why she ended up having a heart attack. Omega oil deficiency.’

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ said Ailsa gently, taking his arm.

  ‘Don’t worry, Gra
ndpa, a fish’s brain isn’t developed enough to feel pain,’ said Romy. ‘We learned about it in Biology Club.’

  ‘I remember Mum eating fish,’ said Rachel. Let it go, thought Ailsa. Don’t pick a fight.

  ‘She ate it all the time,’ Rachel continued.

  ‘She never ate trout again,’ said Adam.

  ‘You said it was a salmon,’ said Rachel.

  ‘What else do you learn in Biology Club?’ Ailsa asked.

  ‘We’re about to do a big project on blood groups as part of genetics. Mr Harvey is big into extension topics –’

  ‘Wolf is really good at making things. He did the tiling in the kitchen on his own. And he’s been building the oven at the end of the garden,’ interrupted Ben, sensing he was losing their attention. He unzipped his coat, pulled out a notebook from his inside pocket and switched on his torch.

  ‘The parents lock themselves in their bedroom the same time every weekend. At exactly two o’clock Wolf comes to the window. He opens it, even if it’s snowing, and breathes in and out really fast for fifteen counts. Then he holds his breath for around five seconds and puts his hands in the air and chants.’

  ‘What does he say?’ asked Harry.

  Ben had regained their attention.

  ‘I can’t hear. I can only lip-read. And I think he says, “Messi is a god.” ’

  Everyone laughed. Ben snapped shut his notebook in irritation. No one ever took him seriously.

  ‘Messi?’ questioned Adam. ‘As in the Barcelona footballer?’

  ‘Yes, Grandpa.’

  ‘Why would he know about Messi? Isn’t he American?’ questioned Adam.

  ‘Messi is Argentinian,’ said Luke.

  ‘I mean the neighbour,’ said Adam. ‘Isn’t the neighbour American?’

  ‘I would say from somewhere in the south, like Texas,’ said Harry. ‘But I only met him for five minutes.’

  ‘He would say it because it’s true,’ said Ben, starting to get frustrated. ‘Messi is a god. He’s one of the greatest footballers ever to have lived.’ He paused for a moment for maximum impact to deliver his killer piece of information. ‘And when he says it, he’s completely naked. Out of respect. I think.’

  ‘Then what?’ questioned Romy.

  ‘He gets down on all fours and sometimes Loveday joins him.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Ailsa.

  ‘What are they doing?’ persisted Luke.

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t see any more,’ said Ben.

  ‘They do downward dog,’ said Romy triumphantly. ‘He’s saying downward dog, not Messi is a god. They’re doing yoga together. Simples.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to get angry with him, Mum?’ asked Luke, who was the most disappointed by this explanation. ‘You’re always going on about how the Facebook generation doesn’t value privacy. Ben’s been spying on our new neighbours. That’s worse than anything Mark Zuckerberg has done.’

  ‘It’s harmless,’ said Ailsa. ‘He’s bored.’ She ruffled Ben’s hair and pulled him towards her even though his jacket was soaking wet. ‘It’s good to have someone watching over us, making sure that everyone is safe.’

  ‘Did you see Mark Zuckerberg has bought all the houses surrounding his own to prevent anyone from taking pictures of him?’ said Harry. ‘I sense a double standard when it comes to his own privacy.’

  ‘I’ve only been a couple of times,’ said Ben, realizing he was losing their attention again. Ailsa looked at the trail between the two gardens. Unlike the rest of the flower bed there were no weeds or plucky daffodil stems poking up through the snow. This was a well-trodden route.

  ‘Let’s go to the front of the house so we don’t need to tell them about the fence,’ suggested Ailsa. They walked in silence. Ben rang the bell.

  ‘The most interesting thing about Wolf is that he wears his wedding ring on his penis,’ he said suddenly. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because it’s less likely to get stolen?’ suggested Ailsa just as Loveday opened the front door. Everyone giggled helplessly. And so Loveday’s first impression of the Fields was that they were the perfect nuclear family.

  The house was the mirror image of their own. The floor plan must be identical down to the last square foot, thought Ailsa as she stared from the huge window of Wolf and Loveday’s sitting room into her own. She had left a light on in the kitchen and could see that Lucifer was taking advantage of their absence to finish off a mug of milk that Ben had left on the table. Beside the mug was her Christmas present from Harry, a new iPhone, still in its packaging.

  Whereas Ailsa had embraced the simple lines and stark 1960s design because it was so different from the unruly chaos of their Victorian London terrace, the Fairports had softened the hard-edged modernism with throws in geometric prints, brightly painted wooden furniture and ethnic rugs.

  It looked as though they’d lived there for several generations. It was a good quality, decided Ailsa as she turned her back on the window to scrutinize the rest of the room while Wolf went to fetch drinks and Loveday installed Adam in a wooden rocking chair with a cosy sheepskin cushion.

  A wooden floor-to-ceiling shelving system now created a wall between the open-plan hallway and the sitting room. Hundreds of books were organized according to the colour of their covers. One shelf contained dozens of tiny glass eggs that Wolf said were hand-painted in the Ukraine. There was a collection of what looked like carved wooden magic wands, apparently used by Latin American shamans during ayahuasca ceremonies. An entire shelf was devoted to semi-precious stones gathered during their travels. A few minutes were spent discussing this collection, and it soon became clear that there was hardly a country in the world that the Fairports hadn’t visited. Lapiz lazuli from Afghanistan. Amethyst from Brazil. Blue topaz from Mexico.

  ‘Topaz is the symbol of love and fidelity,’ said Wolf as he offered Ailsa a margarita from a tray that he was carrying around the room. ‘I gave it to Loveday on our tenth anniversary.’ Ailsa hated tequila. But it seemed rude to refuse and instead of grappling for an adequate response to his topaz comment, she took the glass and admired the way he had successfully encrusted salt around the rim.

  It would take longer to empty this one room than to pack up the entire contents of next door. Ailsa thought about Harry’s basement office, still full of sealed boxes piled as high as the ceiling, containing their entire family history: photo albums, Luke’s football medals, envelopes with locks of hair from first haircuts, Romy’s collection of Roman mystery books, Luke’s first paintings. The further you got from the past, the more it was diluted. At least that was Rachel’s advice. The key was to keep moving forward and not look backwards. Rachel was good at moving forward, although the fact that she always went out with inappropriate men would suggest she hadn’t entirely left her past behind.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ Adam interrupted her thoughts. He spoke a little too forcefully so that the skin under his chin wobbled like a turkey’s wattle.

  ‘Incense,’ whispered Ailsa. She paused for a moment. ‘Try and take it easy, Dad.’ Since Georgia had died, Adam had resumed drinking red wine for the first time in years. Adam understood and saluted. She was assuming the role of enforcer.

  ‘Don’t honour Mum’s memory by turning into her,’ Rachel whispered and left the room before Ailsa could explain that if her sister shared the burden a bit more she might not feel so responsible.

  Ailsa left Adam in the chair, walked across a huge faded Moroccan kilim that covered the whole floor, and stood at the fireplace in between the wooden giraffes, who haughtily eyed the guests as though protecting ancient territory.

  Harry was talking to Loveday. She was as tall as him and stood erect, like a dancer. She must be younger than her husband. She had a feline face with slightly slanting eyes and wore her breasts like a woman who had received a compliment about them many years earlier and had never forgotten. A display cabinet couldn’t have shown them off any better. Well-engineered bra or cosmetic surgery? wondered Ai
lsa as Loveday threw back her head and laughed at something Harry had said, her breasts pointing straight in the air. Harry carefully maintained eye contact. She wasn’t his type. You knew that kind of thing straight away.

  ‘Communication in a relationship is everything,’ said Loveday.

  ‘Marriages wouldn’t last more than a week if you always said how you felt,’ countered Harry. Loveday laughed. It was a version of what Ailsa thought but it still rankled.

  She took a deep breath and braced herself for the evening ahead, holding on to the mantelpiece for ballast. A tiny clay figure fell on its side. She picked it up and held it between her fingers. She looked at it more closely: it was a seal playing a bassoon, part of a miniature orchestra of animals, each holding a tiny instrument. Her mother would have loved it.

  She closed her eyes and pressed the onyx stone of her engagement ring hard into her right knuckle to put off the tears pricking at her eyelids. Death threw you off course. Each day something happened that she wanted to share with her mother. And every time Ailsa remembered that she couldn’t, she tumbled back into the black hole of grief. At least now, almost six months on, the route out was familiar.

  ‘I hope you’re not worrying about the car,’ said a voice beside her, removing the bassoon-playing seal from between her fingers and putting it back on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s really not important.’ Wolf saw the red mark on her knuckles but didn’t say anything. He urged Ailsa towards the sofa next to the fireplace. It was an L-shaped modular unit on which you could find yourself stranded in a corner with your knees touching the person cramped up on the short end. Ailsa opted for the middle of the long side of the sofa. Wolf sat down in the space next to her.

  ‘More haste, less speed. I spend my life trying to get my children to think of the repercussions of their actions and then I ignore my own advice,’ said Ailsa, putting the red-knuckled hand firmly in a pocket. He was being kind, and she should respond with something more than platitudes.