by Jane Fallon
‘Amazing, yes, just not very … thrilling.’
Abi honestly can’t imagine much that would be more thrilling than having a man who she loved who was prepared to leave work early to wait on her and Phoebe every evening. She’s not going to say that, though, so she tries to make a joke of it. ‘I’m not sure thrilling and having kids can ever go together.’
Cleo takes her at face value, nodding. ‘And, between you and me, his business has never turned out quite like I imagined it would. When we first met, he had all these plans, he was chasing all the big campaigns. Now he seems content to make adverts for small-time compensation lawyers and people who buy up your old gold.’
‘What’s the difference? They all pay, don’t they?’
‘Well, not so much, actually. He’s doing fine financially, though, but that’s not the point …’
Can Cleo really be this shallow? Abi knows she’s self-obsessed and narcissistic and a whole host of other negatives, but she’s always believed that there was still a real person under there somewhere. Maybe not. Maybe Caroline is well and truly dead.
‘Things change,’ Abi says. ‘People’s priorities shift as they get older …’
‘I just feel like my life has become very ordinary,’ Cleo says, lighting up a cigarette. Me me me.
Well, at least she’s opened up. That was what Abi wanted, after all. There was never any guarantee she’d like what was in there. She feels as if she should seize the moment so eventually she says, ‘What we were talking about before … you being too young to go off like that? I always wonder what Mum was thinking.’
Cleo bristles. ‘She wanted to give me the best chance in life. She knew it was what I wanted.’
‘I wouldn’t have let Phoebe, though. I mean sixteen, it’s so young, whatever you think at the time.’
‘Well, it paid off, didn’t it?’
Abi can feel Cleo’s getting irritated, somehow interpreting Abi’s comments as a criticism. She has to backtrack. As always happens when they get onto shaky ground, she has to resort to flattery to placate her sister. ‘You’ve had an amazing life, really. You’ve achieved so much.’
And, as always, when Abi gives a little so does Cleo. ‘It’s not always been easy. You’re right – those early years were tough. Being on my own, away from home …’
Abi refrains from saying that moving out was Cleo’s choice. We all make bad choices at sixteen. Abi’s sure she did, although she can’t think what they were, because she spent most of her time trying to be the perfect daughter to make up for the one who had gone off and pretty much forgotten all about their parents. She blew that, obviously, when she became a single mother and jacked in her degree.
Cleo goes through her well-rehearsed and often repeated monologue about her struggles and sacrifices to make it as a top model and Abi says nothing. She’s heard it all before. It’s a masterpiece in self-justification. In fact, she’s heard it many times before, whenever she’s tried to steer the conversation round to something more fundamental, more real. It’s a revisionist’s attempt to paint herself as as much of a victim as the rest of the family and, every time Abi hears it, it makes her angry. This is not what she’s here for. She interrupts.
‘Cleo, why did you invite me up for the summer? I mean really.’
Cleo stops in her tracks. She is not used to being interrupted. ‘I told you, I thought it would be fun …’
‘What? Me looking after the girls while you run around trying to relaunch your career?’
‘Oh, come on, Abi. Not this again. I thought it would be nice to spend some more time with you and then, when the nanny unfortunately walked out, yes, at that point I did think you might be able to help us out of a crisis. Isn’t that what families do?’
‘Like you’d know anything about family duty,’ Abi says before she can help herself, and then immediately wishes she could take it back. Too far too soon.
‘Ah, the old “you abandoned us” routine. I wondered when we’d get round to that one.’
Abi takes a deep breath. Counts to ten. Twenty. Sod it, goes for twenty-five. ‘No,’ she says evenly, once her pulse has slowed a little. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you say it would be nice to spend some time together, but what time have we spent together since I’ve been here? You’re always out or busy or … something.’
She’s all too aware that she sounds sulky and immature. Here we go, she’s thirteen again.
Cleo gives her a look that could freeze water. ‘We’re spending the evening together now, aren’t we? And look how well it’s going.’
Abi blinks back tears. This always happens. Don’t cry, for god’s sake. ‘That’s low,’ she says.
‘Let’s face it,’ Cleo says, in her stride now. ‘You still can’t move on. You still can’t get over the fact that I made a success of my life and … well, you haven’t, to put it bluntly. It’s easier for you to think you were hard done by somehow than to admit you might have messed up. Is it my fault that you dropped out of college? That you never had a proper job?’
Abi wants to say, ‘Actually, maybe it is, because whatever I had done would never have been impressive enough for Mum and Dad. I would never have lived up to their firstborn’s greatness. I was young when I had Phoebe. I could have gone back to studying or found myself a rung on the bottom ladder of some career or other – I know that. Other single mums manage. But there never really seemed any point. What was I going to do that could possibly have made an impact?’
She bites her tongue, though. She doesn’t want to give Cleo any more ammunition.
‘You were the one with the brains. You could have done anything you wanted, but you chose not to bother. That’s not my fault.’
‘Whereas all you had to do was look pretty and it just all fell into your lap.’
Cleo smiles patronizingly. ‘Yes, aren’t I lucky? Of course, I never had to get out of bed at four a.m. or half starve myself to be thin enough or shoot for seventeen hours in my underwear in the snow? I just sat around looking pretty and everything, as you say, fell into my lap.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Abi can see that this argument is pointless. She should just get up and go to bed. It’s better all round if they go back to how they usually are, burying their grievances in the sand.
‘What? Would you rather I’d said, “No, I can’t take you up on your offer – my little sister might be jealous?”’
‘I wasn’t jealous. It’s not like I ever wanted to do what you were doing …’ She waits for Cleo to say, ‘Just as well,’ but she doesn’t, which, Abi grudgingly supposes, is something. ‘I just … it was hard, that’s all, you going off like that, watching the way Mum boasted about you to everyone …’ She’s run out of steam.
Cleo looks at her pityingly. ‘Don’t blame me for taking an opportunity, for making something of my life.’ She stands up. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to have an early night.’
Abi doesn’t want the evening to end like this. Despite the fact that she has done nothing wrong except to be a bit needy, a bit sorry for herself – which she would be the first to admit is irritating, but it’s hardly a hanging offence – she knows that she has to be the one to try to put things right. She always is.
‘I’m sorry, Cleo,’ Abi says as Cleo moves towards the door. ‘I’m just being stupid. Stay and have another drink. I’ll shut up, honest.’
‘I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning,’ Cleo says, and she goes, no doubt to sleep peacefully, secure in the knowledge that it’s not her who has ruined everything all over again. Abi feels a desperate need to know that it’s all going to be OK or at least to know how bad the damage is. ‘Would you rather I went back to Kent?’ she says rather pitifully to Cleo’s retreating back.
Cleo turns round. ‘For god’s sake, Abigail, stop being so melodramatic.’
She struts off to plant her flag in the middle of the moral high ground and Abi dissolves into predictable but no less real tears. She hardly ever cries and th
en only really when she’s angry – either at someone else or at herself. This time it’s herself. Not because she deserves it more; she’s not blind to Cleo’s faults. Cleo is rude and self-obsessed and mean. She has no hesitation in saying the most hurtful, most cutting thing she can conjure up at any one time. But it’s Abi’s fault they had the conversation at all. She pushed it and then she didn’t like the result. She has the whole summer to try to rebuild her relationship with her sister and she pushed all Cleo’s buttons in one night. Not only that but she made herself look pathetic in the process. Poor old Abi, still envious after twenty-five years. This wasn’t how it was meant to go.
11
She’s still sitting in the living room, in the same spot, only now in the half dark, when she hears the front door open and close, and she realizes that Jon is home. There’s no way she can get to the stairs and out of the way before he spots her so she sits quietly and hopes he’ll go straight through to the kitchen or up to the bedroom without noticing that she’s there. No such luck. He strides right into the room, switching on all the lights, and then jumps when he sees Abi. She dabs at the creases underneath her eyes as if she can rub out the red marks she knows must be there.
‘Jesus, Abi. You scared me. What are you doing sitting here in the dark?’
Abi tries to say something, but it just comes out as a grunt and then she feels the traitorous tears welling up again. She doesn’t know what to do to stop them.
Jon looks at her. ‘Are you all right? What’s wrong? There isn’t … Something hasn’t happened to Phoebe?’
She actually manages a laugh, which, as she’s now crying again for real, she’s all too aware must look a bit insane. ‘No. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.’
He sits down on the sofa, near her but thankfully not too close. She’s not sure she could handle that at the moment at all.
‘Well, clearly you’re not. Or is this what passes for fine in Kent these days?’
She sniffs pitifully. Even if she wanted to she doesn’t know how she could explain what has happened without it sounding like she was having a go at Cleo. She can’t do it. ‘I just miss her, that’s all. I worry about her.’
He looks relieved. He was clearly worried that it might be something closer to home. ‘Of course you do. I can’t imagine what I’ll feel like when the girls leave home.’
‘I should just go to bed. I’ll be OK in the morning.’ Abi feels as if she should just get out of there. Jon being nice to her is more than she can take right now.
‘It’s not even ten o’clock,’ he says. ‘I’ll make some tea and then I want you to tell me all about her trip. I want all the details – who she’s going with, what her itinerary is. I always think of Phoebe as being such an individual, so independent. I’ve got no doubts she can look after herself. I’m sure she must be having a great time.’
Abi never really thought Jon had taken any notice of Phoebe at all the few times he’s met her, but he’s hit the nail right on the head. She’s an individual. A strong-minded, independent one-off. If it really was Phoebe she was upset about, then hearing him say this would have made her feel so much better. ‘I know,’ she says.
‘Wait here. I’ll put the kettle on.’
She feels like such a fraud. This kind man is putting himself out for her on entirely false pretences. There’s no way she can tell him that actually the reason she is crying is because his wife is such an insensitive cow. She’ll have to keep up the myth that it’s thinking about Phoebe that’s got her upset, although, to be honest, she does miss Phoebe desperately, so it won’t be too much of a stretch.
A few minutes later Jon brings the tea in and sits back down. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Start at the beginning. When did she leave?’
Abi doesn’t need much of an excuse to talk about Phoebe, so she does as she’s told and he asks questions and actually seems to be genuinely interested. The whole thing is quite cathartic, because by the time she has bored him to death with every detail of her teenager’s life she’s entirely forgotten to be upset about her fight with Cleo.
‘It must have been hard,’ Jon says, ‘bringing her up on your own.’
‘We’re used to it,’ Abi says, a little defensively. ‘I had no choice.’
‘No. I know. I wasn’t criticizing. God, no. Please don’t think that. I just mean it’s hard enough with two of us. I can’t imagine …’
‘And now she’s gone I have literally no idea what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’ She doesn’t know where that came from, but as she says it she realizes it’s true. Phoebe will be going to the London College of Fashion once her gap year is over. Working in a library three days a week and then going home to feed the not-yet-existent cat is not going to be enough to keep Abi fully occupied for the next twenty-five years.
‘She’ll be home. There’s the holidays …’
She nods. He really must think she’s a pitiful specimen. She thinks that and she’s her own biggest fan.
‘Anyway, there’s loads of things you could do. You’re still young. You could retrain. Or finish your degree. Or you could go backpacking round the world yourself. Or, I don’t know, take up … carpentry. The world’s your oyster. You’ll only have yourself to please and you can do whatever you like.’ He says it like it’s a positive, a great opportunity, but it just sounds sad to Abi. She doesn’t want to be on her own. Even with Phoebe, she’s been on her own in one way or another for most of her adult life.
‘You could move to London. Cleo would love that.’
Abi can’t help it. She snorts.
‘What?’ Jon says.
She says nothing. This, in itself, seems to be enough of a giveaway.
‘Ah. I get it. You and Cleo have had a fight. That’s what the tears were really all about.’
Abi gives him ten out of ten for observation. She doesn’t want him to be pissed off that she let him think it was all about Phoebe, though, so she just shrugs and says, ‘No. Having a fight with Cleo just made me realize how much I was missing Phoebe, that’s all.’
‘Nice try,’ he says. Abi looks up and he’s looking straight at her. She suddenly realizes that lying to him is not as easy as it should be.
‘OK. Yes. I had a row with Cleo. But I do miss Phoebe too. I mean it could just as well have been that. I wouldn’t want you to think I was making it up …’
Jon laughs. ‘Calm down. I appreciate that you were trying not to put me in an awkward position by telling me about Cleo. I also know you genuinely miss Phoebe. So let’s start from the beginning. Pretend I just came in. Hi, Abi. Oh no, you’re crying. What’s the matter?’
She can’t help but smile. ‘I’ve had a fight with Cleo.’
‘Good. Right. What was it about?’
This is the bit she doesn’t really want to share. Besides the fact that it will make her sound like a pathetic sap, she really doesn’t think it’s fair on Jon for her to moan on about Cleo. It’s not like he can join in. ‘Oh, you know, the usual …’
And, of course, she knows it’s his sworn duty to defend his wife. ‘She’s got a lot on her plate at the moment.’
‘None of it food probably,’ Abi says, and he’s polite enough to laugh. She knows he doesn’t want the details and she doesn’t want to tell him them, so she just says, ‘I don’t know why she invited me up, really. I don’t feel like she wants me here.’
‘She does. She’s just not very good at showing it.’
If you can’t say something nice then don’t say anything, Philippa used to say. ‘Mmm …’
‘She really does care about you, Abi. I know she has a funny way of demonstrating it. And you’re good for her. You remind her of … I don’t know. She’s been in her own world since she was sixteen and I guess you remind her that it wasn’t always all about her.’
‘Except that it was, though. Everything was always about her. What Caroline wanted, what would make her happy. Or at least what wouldn’t put her in a strop.’
‘Yes,
well, she’s good at that, I grant you. But it does mean a lot to her that you’re here.’
He’s bluffing, she can tell. To give him credit, he’s trying to say things that he thinks will cheer her up. ‘What I’m attempting to say, I think, is that even if Cleo doesn’t know it yet having you here will still be good for her.’
Abi grunts. ‘Beyond me having solved the nanny crisis, I’m not sure she cares if I’m here or not.’
‘Even if she didn’t invite you for all the right reasons in the first place …’
Ah, so she is the unpaid babysitter. She lets it pass.
‘… she’ll soon start to appreciate what she’s been missing. Just give her time.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I should go home … or somewhere,’ she adds, remembering that technically speaking she doesn’t really have a home at the moment.
‘No. It’s great having you here.’
He’s trying so hard to make her feel wanted that she feels bad. She’d like to be able to tell him that everything is going to be OK, but she just doesn’t believe it herself. Not for the first time she finds herself wondering how Cleo can fail to appreciate what a lovely man she’s married to. ‘It’s nice of you to say so, Jon. I appreciate it, I really do, but I’m not sure it’s going to work.’
‘Give it a chance,’ he says. ‘I really want you to stay.’
Abi feels a hollow in the pit of her stomach. She knows that the reason Jon wants her to stay so much is because he thinks that somehow a reconciliation with Abi might help keep Cleo grounded if her career takes off again, and might help cushion the fall if – the more likely scenario, let’s face it – it doesn’t. But just for a moment she allows herself to believe that he’s saying those words to her because of her, because he wants her to stay for him.
She looks at him and he’s looking at her hopefully. There’s nothing flirtatious or inappropriate about his look – of course not, she thinks, this is Jon we’re talking about – it’s just open and warm and friendly. She notices he has a little patch of freckles underneath his right eye that she’s never seen before. They look unbearably cute and it’s all Abi can do to stop herself reaching out her hand and tracing them with her finger.
