by Nicci French
'It's good to see you, Miranda,' said my father. 'We're seeing a lot of each other, aren't we?'
'So where are the lovebirds?' I asked.
'Miranda,' said my mother in a tone of rebuke.
'I didn't mean anything by that,' I said.
'They should be here any…' my mother said and before she could finish the sentence, the door rang and she smiled at me. 'Why don't you go?' she said to me, pushing me towards the door.
I opened the door and there were Brendan and Kerry on the doorstep, entangled, laughing, in love. They gave me another of their group hugs as they spilled into the house. When I saw them in the light of the living room, they looked startlingly smart. Kerry was wearing a purple satin dress I'd never seen before. It clung to her hips and breasts. When she looked at Brendan, it was with a sort of dazed carnal pleasure. They looked like a couple who had been in bed together about eight seconds earlier. Brendan was wearing an expensive-looking shiny suit and a large colourful tie decorated with some sort of cartoon character I couldn't recognize. He was carrying a shopping bag that clinked. He removed from it two bottles of champagne, glistening with droplets of water. He placed them on the table. There were already six tall glasses there. He picked up one of the glasses and lightly tapped it with his finger so that it rang like a little bell.
'Without further ado,' he said, 'I'm so glad you're all here. Kerry and I wanted you to be the first to know.' I felt a lurch in my stomach. 'Yesterday, I took Kerry out to dinner. And I regret to say that I caused a certain sensation just before the dessert course. I knelt down beside her and asked if she would marry me. And I am very glad to report that she said yes.'
Kerry smiled shyly and held up her hand to reveal a ring. I looked at my mother. Tears were spilling from her eyes. She moved towards them with both arms outstretched and, after they'd hugged, I stepped forwards as well.
'Kerry,' I said, 'I'm so happy for you.'
'Hang on, hang on,' said Brendan. 'That can wait. I just wanted to say one more thing. I spent most of my life moving from foster parent to foster parent. I was a lonely little boy, and I didn't know what it was like to belong to a family, to be loved and welcomed and accepted for what you were.' As he spoke, two huge tears welled up in his eyes and rolled symmetrically down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away. 'When I first came here,' he continued, 'when I met you, Derek and Marcia, I felt I had come home. I felt at home. What more can I say? Thank you. And now I've brought some champagne so that you can toast our happiness.'
It was all chaos. Brendan opened the champagne in between hugs from my mother and handshakes from my father. Troy gave a shrug and said it was really good and wished them luck. My mother hugged Kerry so tightly I thought she would do her damage. When the champagne was poured and distributed, my father gave a cough. Oh God, I thought. Another speech.
'I'm not going to say too much,' he said. 'It's all been rather quick, I must say.' He smiled at my mother, a shy smile that made him look like a boy. 'But then, if I remember rightly, some other people in this room acted rather impulsively when they first met.' My parents met at a wedding of a friend in 1974 and were married two months later. 'Sometimes we should trust our instincts. And one thing I know: I have never seen Kerry look so happy and so beautiful. Brendan, I think you're lucky to have her.'
'I know,' he said, and we all laughed.
'What I really wanted,' said my father, 'is to drink to the happy couple. Can we call them that?'
'The happy couple,' we all said and clinked each other's glasses.
I looked at Kerry. She was almost crying. My mother was definitely crying. Brendan was blowing his nose on a handkerchief and wiping his shiny cheeks. Even my father looked suspiciously near to tears. I made myself a promise. I would make this work. Or, at least, I would let it work. I felt a prod at my elbow.
'A penny for your thoughts,' said Brendan.
'Congratulations,' I said. 'I'm very glad for you.'
'That's important to me.' He looked around. Mum and Dad and Kerry and Troy were in a group at the far end of the room, talking, laughing. Brendan leaned closer to me.
'When I made the announcement, I was looking at you,' he said. 'You looked shocked.'
'Surprised,' I said. 'It's been sudden.'
'I can see it's difficult for you,' he said.
'It's not difficult at all.'
'When I was talking, I was looking at your mouth,' he said.
'What?'
'You've got a beautiful mouth,' Brendan said. He moved closer still. I could smell his breath, sour against my face. 'And I was thinking that I've come into that mouth.'
'What?'
'It's funny,' he said, in a low voice. 'I'm marrying your sister and I was thinking of my semen in your mouth.'
'What?' I said again, too loudly.
The others stopped talking and looked round. I felt something on my skin, hot, feverish.
'Excuse me,' I said, my mouth feeling clammy. I put my glass down and walked out of the room quickly. I heard Brendan saying something. I went into the lavatory. Just in time I pushed my head towards the bowl and vomited in spasms, again and again, until there was nothing left but hot fluid that burned my mouth and throat.
CHAPTER 8
'Are you sure you're all right to do this? Miranda?'
'What? Yes, quite sure. It'll be fun.'
My mind was elsewhere entirely. In bed with Nick the night before, all night. Sleeping at last, then waking in the hours before dawn, dazed with tiredness, and feeling for each other in the darkness. And in the morning he was still there, a stranger's face on the pillow. Miraculous. I blinked and smiled at Kerry. My lips were sore, my body tingled.
'There are four of them I've arranged to see,' she was saying, 'and I've worked out how to do it most efficiently. It'll only take an hour or so. Maybe less. You can't tell from the estate agents' details, can you?'
'I can take you out for lunch after, if you like.'
'That would be lovely. I said I'd meet Brendan. We can just call him and he'll join us wherever we decide to go. He wanted to come this morning, except he'd promised Dad to help him with moving all their furniture before the workmen arrive tomorrow morning and tear the house to bits. He couldn't do it this afternoon because we've got this man coming to look at my flat for the second time.'
'Let's see what time we're through with this,' I said, backpedalling. 'Maybe I'll just have to dash off anyway, come to think of it. I've got a loft extension waiting.'
'It's Sunday,' she protested. 'You work too hard.' Happiness had made her generous. She wanted everyone else to be happy too. 'You look tired.'
'Do I?' I reached up and touched my face gently, the way Nick had done. 'I'm fine, Kerry. Just a bit of a late night, that's all.'
We'd gone to see a film. It wasn't much good, but that didn't matter. We'd leaned into each other, his hand on my thigh, my head pressed against his shoulder. Every so often we'd turned our faces to each other and kissed, just lightly: a promise. He'd bought a tub of salty popcorn, but neither of us ate much of it. We'd both known it was tonight, and the film was just about waiting in the dark, emptying our minds of the other things. For me that meant trying to forget what Brendan had said to me the evening before. The way he'd leaned forwards and whispered it. Smiling and saying that thing. I mustn't think of it; I had to get it out of my mind, where it was buzzing like a fat, unclean fly. So I gazed at the images flickering across the screen, glanced at Nick. Every so often closed my eyes.
When we wandered into the foyer, it was dark outside. Nick lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. 'Where now?'
'My flat's nearer than yours,' I said.
We got a bus there and sat on the top, right at the front. I pressed my forehead against the window and felt the vibrations and looked at the people on the streets beneath me, walking with their heads bent against the gusts of wind. I felt nervous. Soon, I would be making love with this man who was sitting beside me now, not speaking, whom I'd only
met twice. What then? Sometimes sex can feel casual and easy, but sometimes it seems momentous and full of problems; almost impossible. Two people with all their hopes and expectations and neuroses and desires, like two worlds colliding.
'This is our stop,' I said.
He stood up and then pulled me to my feet. His hand was warm and firm. He smiled down at me. 'All right?'
It was all right. Just fine. And then, after we'd made ourselves a sandwich out of one of those half-baked baguettes which I had in my cupboard, with goat's cheese and tomatoes, and drunk a glass of wine each, we went back into the bedroom and this time it was better than all right. It was lovely. Just thinking about it now, in Kerry's car, made me feel liquid with desire. Then we had a bath together, legs tangled up in the small tub, my foot pressed against the inside of his thigh, grinning like idiots at each other.
'What are you grinning at?'
'Mmm? Oh, nothing.'
'Here. This is the first one.' Kerry pulled up and squinted at the sheet of paper dubiously. 'It says it's a two-bedroom maisonette, retaining many period features.'
'Does it say it's next to a pub?'
'No, it doesn't.'
'Let's go and see, anyway.'
It's dangerous buying houses. You know before you set foot inside whether you like them. It's almost like a relationship, when they say it's the first few seconds that count, that instant, pre-rational impression. You have to fall in love with the house you buy. Everything else – whether the roof's sound, the plumbing good, the rooms numerous enough – is almost irrelevant at the start. You can knock down walls and install a damp-proof course, but you can't make yourself fall in love. I was here as the expert; as the voice of caution.
Kerry knocked and the door flew open as if the woman had been standing with her eye pressed to the spyhole, looking for our approach.
'Hello, come in, mind the step, shall I show you round or do you want to do it yourself, except there are a few details that you might miss, here, come in here first, this is the living room, sorry about the mess…' She was large and breathless and spoke in a headlong rush, words spilling over each other. She careered us from room to tidied room, over frantically patterned carpets. The walls were covered with plates they'd collected, from Venice, Amsterdam, Scarborough, Cardiff, Stockholm, and for some reason the sight of them made me feel sorry for her. She pulled open doors with a flourish, showed us the airing cupboard and the new boiler, the second toilet that was crammed into a space that had been carved out of the kitchen, the dimmer switches in the tiny master bedroom, and the spare bedroom that looked more like a broom cupboard and had clearly been built by cowboys. I pushed the wall surreptitiously and saw it shake. Kerry made polite murmurs and looked around her with bright eyes that transformed everything into her beatific future. She was probably already putting a cot in the spare bedroom.
'Does the pub bother you?' I asked the woman.
'The pub?' She acted surprised, wrinkled her brow. 'Oh, that. No. You hardly hear it. Maybe on a Saturday night…'
As if on cue, the first burst of music thumped through the wall, the bass notes shaking in the air. She flushed, but then carried on talking as if she hadn't heard anything. I glanced at my watch: it was eleven-thirty on a Sunday morning. We did the rest of the tour anyway, making vaguely enthusiastic remarks about the view from the bathroom window, the wedge-shaped garden. The more you don't like a place, the more you have to pretend you do. But I don't think the woman was fooled.
'What do you think?' asked Kerry as we left. 'If we
'Definitely not. Not for half the price.'
'It's falling down,' I said as we left the second house.
'But…'
'That's why it's so cheap. That's why the sale fell through. You might be able to afford to buy it, but you'd have to spend the same again. I'm not even sure you could get it insured.'
'It's such a nice house.'
'It's a wreck. She's got someone in to plaster and paint over the worst bits in the hall, but there's damp everywhere, probably subsidence. You'd need a structural engineer to check it over. The window frames are rotting. The wiring is primeval. Do you have the capital to do it up?'
'Maybe when Bren, you know, finds a job…'
'Is he looking?'
'Oh, yes. And thinking hard about what he really thinks is right for him. He says it's a chance to begin again and make the life he really wants for himself.' She blushed. 'For us,' she added.
'In the meantime, he's got nowhere to sell, and it's just what you get from your flat and your income.'
'Mum and Dad have been very generous.'
'Have they?' I tried to suppress the stab of resentment I felt when I heard that. 'No more than you deserve. But don't blow it on that house.'
You have to be able to imagine what isn't there, and imagine away what is, see underneath things, impose your own taste on top of them. The third place was filthy and smelled of cigarettes and years of unopened windows. The walls were brown and stained, or had faded flowery wallpaper covering them. The carpets were an unlovely purple. The living room needed to be knocked into the kitchen-dining room, to create a huge open space downstairs. The plasterboard needed to be ripped away from the fireplace.
'You could have a huge sunroof over the kitchen, and maybe open it out even further into a conservatory. It'd be fantastic'
'Do you think so?'
'With that garden, definitely. It must be about sixty feet long.'
'It's big for London, isn't it? But it's just nettles.'
'Think what it could be like!'
'Did you see the state of the kitchen?'
'He lived there for years without doing anything at all to it. But that's the joy of it – it's ready for you to do whatever you want.'
'It's more spacious than I thought we could afford. And all the cornices and mouldings and proper sash windows
'It looks pretty solid to me, as far as I could tell. I'll help you with it.'
'Really? You'd do that?'
'Of course.'
'And you think it's the right place for us?'
'It's your choice. You've got to want it and what I think doesn't matter. But you could make it really lovely.'
Kerry squeezed my arm. 'I can't wait to tell Brendan.'
I pressed the button on the answering machine.
'Hello, Mirrie. I hear you've just chosen our new home for us. That's very sweet. But a bit strange as well, don't you think? I guess we've just got to get used to that, though, haven't we?'
I pressed the erase button. My hands were shaking.
Tony and Laura and Nick and I went to the pub together. That was the stage we'd jumped to, going out as a. couple, in a foursome. Everyone was very friendly to each other, wanting to get along. Nick bought us all a round and then Laura did, and then, out of the blue, just when things were going so well, I found myself talking about Brendan.
'I should be happy,' I said. 'I mean, Kerry's over the moon.'
'Who are we talking about?' asked Nick amiably, putting a crisp into his mouth and crunching it.
'Brendan. Kerry's boyfriend,' I said. 'Or rather, her fiancé. They've only known each other a couple of weeks and they've got engaged.'
'That's romantic'
'It makes me and Laura seem a bit staid and dull,' said Tony cheerfully, and Laura shot him an angry look that he blithely did not notice.
'But there's something really really wrong about him,' I said. 'He gives me the creeps.'
'That's all right. You don't have to marry him.'
'Didn't you go out with him, though?' asked Tony. Laura shot him another look. I think she may even have jabbed him under the table.
'Not really,' I said.
'How do you go out with someone not-really?'
'Not for long, I meant. It wasn't anything.' Most of me knew that I shouldn't be having this conversation, so I don't know why I then said: 'I finished it with him. It wasn't the other way round whatever he goes around sayin
g.'
Nick looked puzzled and seemed about to speak, but Tony got there first.
'So what's the problem?'
'Well, for an example, he said this thing to me, when they announced they were going to get married.'
'What thing?'
'It was sick. He said…' I stopped dead. I could feel a flush burning its way up my body. Sweat broke out on my brow. 'He said something gross.'
'What? Go on!' Only Tony didn't seem to be feeling any discomfort. Laura was glaring at me, and Nick was looking down at the table, fiddling with his beer mat.
'It was stupid. I don't know why I mentioned it.'
'Come on, Miranda. Otherwise I'll just have to imagine it!'
'I don't want to say.' How prissy did that sound? 'Let's drop it.'
'It was you who started it.'
'I know. I shouldn't have done. It's just stupid family stuff.'
'Gross, as in sexually suggestive?' Tony persisted.
'He just said I had…' I hesitated, then said, 'He said I had a nice mouth.'
'Oh.' There was a pause. Nick put another crisp into his mouth. Tony stared at me. 'Well, that's not so bad, is it?'
'No,' I said weakly. 'Just leave it now. Forget it.'
'So before me, it was this guy Brendan.'
'Yes. Not really. It just lasted a couple of weeks or so. I drifted into it. It was a mistake, really. Not even a big mistake, just a small one. It's just weird that he's turned up again like this…' Why the fuck were we lying in bed talking about Brendan? 'Who was before me, then?'
'A woman called Frieda, but that was quite a long time ago…' And so we were off into safer dangers, telling each other about past loves, giving each other our secrets the way new lovers do. This one adored me, this one meant nothing, and this one broke my heart… I once heard a discussion on the radio, where a man said you could only fall in love three or four times in your life. I lay there with Nick's arms around me and wondered how many times I'd been in love. I wondered, was I in love now? How do you know when you're in love?
