Secret Smile

by Nicci French

  But then the bell rang, in three assertive bursts. Before I could answer it, I heard the scrape of a key in the lock. I'd given Kerry a spare key already, but I felt a twinge of resentment. I felt they ought to have let me admit them like guests on their arrival. The scraping went on, and I heard muffled swearing and then some giggles. I stuffed the last morsel of custard pie into my mouth, stood up, tightened the belt on my dressing gown and opened the door, pulling Brendan in with it, holding on to the key that was still in the lock. We were about three inches apart. He was wearing a thick coat that belonged to my father, a long, speckled scarf that looked like one I'd given Troy last Christmas. In his left hand he carried a large nylon bag. I could see pyjamas, a dressing gown, bath foam. His eyes were bright, his dark hair glossy. His mouth looked redder than usual.

  'Hi,' I said curtly, standing back to let him in, but he simply took a step towards me, as if he were a partner in some dance, and stood looking down at me. The upturned collar of his coat brushed against my jaw. I felt his breath on my cheek.

  'Hey there, Mirrie,' he said. He lifted a thumb and before I could stop him had tenderly wiped a crumb from my upper lip. Then his head bent down, his red lips were on my cheek. I smelt mint, and underneath it something sour.

  I turned away and wiped the spot where his lips had been, then retreated further into the hall. Brendan followed. Behind him, Kerry stood, in a bright red duffle coat. Her cheeks were flushed, her fair hair was tied in a little girl's pigtails. She carried a box: bran, herbal tea, vitamin tablets, alfalfa beans, organic elderflower cordial. She had to put the box on the floor before she hugged me.

  'Don't close the door,' she said. 'We've got loads more to get out of the car. And Mum and Dad and Troy are bringing the rest over.'

  'Don't worry,' said Brendan. 'Just essentials.'

  'I'll put some clothes on and then I'll help you with them.'

  'Why don't you make us some coffee instead?' said Brendan. 'And we haven't had breakfast yet, have we, Kerry? We were in such a rush.'

  'You were in such a rush. I don't know where you get your energy from.'

  He smirked, then said, 'Just some toast and jam would be fine. Or do you have tahini?'

  'What?'

  'Kerry and I are trying to eat healthily.' He put out his large hand and caressed the top of Kerry's head. 'We want to have a long life together, don't we, sweetie?'

  'We did this questionnaire on the Internet,' said Kerry. 'You had to say how much you exercised and what you ate, and then it told you when you'd die. I'm going to live until I'm ninety-two. Brendan's going to live to ninety-six.'

  'I've only got jam,' I said.

  I took my time getting dressed. I sat on my bed for a few moments, breathing deeply, practising being calm. I dressed, brushed my hair unnecessarily, made my bed. The phone rang, but someone picked it up in the other room before I could get to it.

  The outside door was still open when I came out of my bedroom, and now my parents and Troy were there as well. There was a small television on one of the chairs. On the kitchen table were a computer with its printer, a portable CD player and a pile of CDs beside it, a bedside lamp with its cord trailing on to the floor. Three large and bulging hold-alls stood by the door. For me, the detail that I found almost horribly intimate was the heap of shoes, his and hers, mixed together. Tennis rackets stood against the wall. An exercise bike blocked the entrance to the bathroom. There was a clutter on the kitchen surfaces: two electric toothbrushes, contact-lens cleansing fluid – did Brendan wear contact lenses, and how had I failed to notice that while I was going out with him? – anti-dandruff shampoo, a make-up bag, another toaster, an electric iron, a framed photograph of Brendan and Kerry sitting on a wooden bench with their arms round each other, piles of holiday brochures, a tangled wind chime that Kerry had had since she was a teenager. How had they managed to accumulate so much so quickly?

  I stood for a moment on the threshold of the room and looked at them all. Brendan was grinding coffee beans and Kerry was making toast and jam for everyone, and a comforting burnt smell filled the air. Mum was dressed more casually than I was used to, in an old pair of corduroys and a plaid shirt. Her hair was loose and brushed behind her ears, and for a moment I was taken aback at how carefree she looked. She was carrying a bright bunch of dahlias. Brendan came up to her and put his arm round her and she laughed and leaned against him and held the flowers under his nose. I looked at my father, but he didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He was beaming at the room. He was unshaven and there were circles of sweat under his armpits, jam on his chin.

  Troy was sitting on the floor on a folded-up duvet, with his back against the sofa. He was fiddling with a puzzle I'd given him last Thursday, a set of polystyrene shapes which – so it said on the box – fitted together into a cube. I looked at his face as he concentrated. He looked thin and pale and tired. There were bruises under his eyes, as if he'd been crying. But he seemed peaceful as well. Troy is the only person that I know who can be happy and sad at the same time, carrying two kinds of weather round inside him. He slotted in the final shape – yes, it really did make a cube – and gave a smile of satisfaction before taking it apart again. Tenderness rose in my throat and I suddenly wanted to burst into tears.

  'Hello, everyone,' I said. I kissed my parents on the cheek and ruffled Troy 's hair.

  'Coffee's up,' said Brendan cheerily. 'Afraid I've finished the beans, though.'

  'Where do you want to put everything?' I asked Kerry. 'There's nowhere really to hang your clothes.'

  'Dad's giving us one of those rails,' she said. 'Just for the smarter stuff and my work clothes. We can stand it behind the sofa. The rest we can just keep in the bags.'

  I couldn't manage anything more than a weak, acquiescent shrug. I watched Mum stuffing the dahlias into a tumbler and tried to swallow back a spasm of self-pity. She hadn't given me flowers when she last came round.

  'Here we are,' said Brendan. 'Milk, no sugar, right?' He gave a sort of wink, as if he had answered a quiz question correctly.

  I sat down next to Troy and watched Kerry put cereal boxes into cupboards. Brendan lifted a heap of books off a wide shelf and inserted the tiny television. 'We can watch it in bed,' he said. 'Is your sofa bed comfy, Mirrie? I've never slept in it.'

  'How are you?' I asked Troy. I could see how he was: subdued, all the energy gone, so his face looked blanched and his body limp.

  A burst of music filled the room.

  'Mozart,' said Brendan, stepping back from the CD player. 'We love Mozart, don't we, Kerry?'

  'All right,' Troy said. 'Fine.' He picked up the polystyrene pieces again and started fiddling.

  'Here we are, mate.' Brendan squatted down beside him. 'You need blood sugar.' He put his hand under Troy 's chin and lifted up his face. 'You're tired, aren't you. Couldn't sleep?'

  'Not much,' said Troy.

  'That's no good. Have some toast and jam. Later we can all go for a brisk walk. That'll help with insomnia. Mmm?'

  'I don't know,' said Troy. He looked away from Brendan and bit into the toast. 'I don't know if I feel like a walk.'

  'I ought to warn you,' I said. 'I've got to go out quite soon. Sorry. It was an arrangement I made before I knew when you were coming.'

  'What a pity,' my mother said. 'You can't cancel?'

  'Who are you meeting?' asked Brendan.

  'No one you know.'

  'Miranda,' said my mother. 'I know you don't mean to, but that sounded a bit rude.'

  It took an effort not to say something back to my mother that really was rude.

  'He's called Nick,' I said.

  'Nick?' Brendan raised his eyebrows.

  'Yes.'

  'How very strange. I just spoke to him on the phone. When you were getting dressed. Sorry – I should have said at once. He rang and I said you'd ring him back – but he didn't seem to know about your prior arrangement. Mmm? On the spur of the moment, I invited him over to supper here. With all of us. I
knew you wouldn't mind. We thought we could make a party of it, like a mini house-warming, and Derek and Marcia's kitchen's only got three walls now, so we can't go there, can we?'

  I closed my eyes and then opened them again. He was still there, smiling at me.

  'I can't…' I said. I didn't know what to say next. I clenched my fists so that my nails dug into my palms.

  'He said he'd love to come.'

  'We've got to meet him sometime,' said Mum. She was placing Kerry and Brendan's shoes in pairs against the wall.

  ' Troy can cook,' said Brendan.

  'I don't know if I feel like cooking,' was Troy 's response.

  'You seem to have got it all sorted,' I said.

  'You don't need to do a thing,' said Brendan. 'We're going to spoil you. Our treat, Mirrie.'

  CHAPTER 11

  I went out anyway. I couldn't stay in the flat. My flat, though it didn't feel like mine any more, with Brendan's shaving cream in the bathroom, Kerry's television on my bookshelf, their music playing, their soya milk in the fridge, their night things slung over the back of the sofa.

  I strode over the Heath, feet scuffling up leaves, breath curling in the clear air. A beautiful day and I'd met someone I liked and I should be happy – and all I could feel was this sensation eating into my stomach lining like acid. I couldn't stop myself thinking of Brendan sitting on my lavatory, lying in my bath, eating food a few feet away from me, nuzzling up to Kerry, to my mother… His hair in my brush, his hand on my shoulder, his breath on my cheek. I shuddered, and walked even faster, trying to burn off the anger and disgust.

  I must be polite and friendly, for Kerry's sake, I told myself, kicking a little heap of conkers out of my path and watching them roll bumpily away from me. Just a few days, a week or two, then they'd be in their own house, busy decorating it and planning their wedding, and I'd hardly have to see them. Even as I persuaded myself this was true, I heard his voice telling me about my beautiful mouth, remembered his damp lips on my cheek, and felt instantly nauseous.

  My mobile rang in my pocket.

  'Hello.'

  'Miranda, it's me.'

  'Nick. I was going to call you.'

  'I'm round at Greg's just now. I'm looking forward to this evening, though it's a bit daunting meeting your whole family at once. Shall I bring anything?'

  'You don't have to come, you know.'

  'Don't you want me to?'

  'It's not that. It'll just be a bit oppressive, you know, all the family, and Kerry and Brendan have just moved in with half of their belongings and it's chaos.'

  'Brendan sounded very friendly.'

  'Oh, did he?'

  'No, really. I think he was making a big effort with me.'

  'It might be better to meet my family another time…'

  'What are you so worried about?'

  'Nothing.'

  'It's Brendan, isn't it? You don't want me to meet him.'

  'I was just thinking about you.'

  'I said I'd come and I'm coming.' There was a pause, and he added stiffly, 'If that's all right with you, that is.'

  'Why wouldn't it be?'

  'Good. Seven o'clock, then?'

  'All right.'

  Troy and I went shopping for the supper. Mum had said she would bring the pudding, so we only needed to buy stuff for the main course. Troy couldn't make up his mind what to cook, so we drifted up and down the aisles. He picked up bags of lentils and beans and weird kinds of exotic rice and stared at them and put them back. His brain seemed flooded by all the choice, the colours and the bright lights.

  'Pasta,' I said. 'Let's cook something with pasta.'

  'Maybe.'

  'Or something with rice.'

  'Rice?'

  'Rice, yes. Good idea?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Or we could cheat. Let's buy a ready-made meal and pretend we've cooked it ourselves.'

  I randomly picked out a pack of cod-in-cheese-sauce from the freezer and held it up. 'A couple of these,' I said. 'We could put them into a bowl and nobody would know. Anyway, who cares if they do know? It's not a big deal.'

  'That looks disgusting.'

  I tossed it back into the freezer. 'You decide, then.'

  He gazed around him, at all the shelves, at the overloaded trolleys. 'I don't feel like cooking, really. I'm not in the mood.'

  'We've been here for half a fucking hour,' I said, slewing the trolley viciously round on its wheels. 'All I've put in the trolley are some coffee beans and a bunch of bananas. I'm just going to buy something, right? Anything.'

  'Right,' he said, staring at me so helplessly that all the heat went out of me.

  I put my hands on his thin shoulders and squeezed them. 'It's OK, Troy,' I said. 'Everything's fine. Leave it to me.'

  Kerry and Brendan had stayed behind to tidy up the flat, but when Troy and I returned in the late afternoon, the light fading and the rind of a moon already on the horizon, the mess had hardly been touched. For a blessed moment I thought they'd gone out, but then I heard the rumbling pipes and voices coming from behind the closed bathroom door. They were having a bath together. A very long bath, which continued as I helped Troy crush the garlic, chop the vegetables. We worked in comfortable silence. Every so often the pipes would rumble again as more water was used, or there would be a squeal of pleasure. I glanced across at Troy. It sounded to me as if sex were going on, sporadically and splashily, in there. I put on some music, quite loud, and returned to the sink. My shoulders ached and I felt sweaty and lumpy. I wanted to have a bath too before Nick arrived, wash my hair and put on different clothes and some make-up. I looked at my watch and considered banging on the door, but restrained myself.

  When they finally emerged, wrapped in towels, they were pink and damp. Fragrant steam billowed out behind them.

  'I'm just going to take a quick bath myself,' I said, laying down the sharp knife, and leaving them rummaging in their bags for clothes.

  There was no hot water. An unreasonable anger rose up in me. I washed my face in the sink and cleaned my teeth, but just as I was about to go into my bedroom to find something to wear the doorbell rang. Shit. Brendan flung the door open on Nick and my parents, smiling awkwardly at each other on the threshold.

  'Nick,' said Brendan holding out his hand. 'Come in. We've all been wanting to meet you.'

  'Hi,' I said to him. I thought about going over and giving him a kiss, but instead hovered by the cooker. 'You've probably worked it out already, but the chef here is my brother, Troy.' Troy turned from the hob and lifted a wooden spoon in the air. 'And my parents, Marcia and Derek. My sister, Kerry.' Who, I now saw, was looking gorgeous, in a red velvet dress with a choker that made her neck long and slender. 'And Brendan.'

  Everyone said hello and shook hands, I pulled the duvet and the coats off the sofa, but nobody sat down. I cleared my throat.

  'Good day?' I said brightly to Nick across the room.

  'Fine,' he said.

  'It was lovely weather, wasn't it?'

  We stared at each other, appalled.

  'Drinks,' cried Brendan. He took the two bottles of wine I'd bought out of the fridge and opened them both, with a flourish. 'Get those crisps, Kerry. It's always nerve-racking, meeting the parents, isn't it?' he said. 'When I first met Marcia and Derek I was petrified.' He gave a happy shout of laughter.

  'Were you?' asked my father. 'We certainly didn't notice that.' He turned to Nick. 'Miranda tells me you're in advertising.'

  'Yes,' said Nick. 'And you're in packaging.'

  'Yes.'

  'I once thought about advertising as a career,' said Brendan into the pause. 'But then I worried about having to advertise things I didn't agree with.'

  'Well…' began Nick.

  'Like one of those multinational petrol companies, for instance,' said Brendan. Nick gave me a sharp glance, obviously suspecting I'd told Brendan about his commission. 'That would be impossible. Mmm? I want to work with people. That's where my real interests lie.
Here's your wine.'

  'It's a bit like being a lawyer,' said Nick. 'You can't just pick the things that you agree with.'

  'You mean that even bad companies deserve good advertising,' said Brendan, taking a sip, no, a large gulp, of wine. 'That's an interesting thought.'

  Sitting round the small table, everyone pressed against their neighbour, forks scraping against unmatching plates, the third bottle of wine opened and poured. Nick ate slowly and was quiet, but Brendan wolfed down his helping and asked for more.

  'You'll have to teach me how to cook it,' he said to Troy. He turned companionably to Nick, 'Has Mirrie ever cooked for you?'

  'Once.'

  Brendan grinned. 'Let me guess. Chicken breasts with garlic and olive oil?'

  'In fact, I mentioned it to Kerry,' I said.

  'Right,' said Nick. He smiled at me affectionately.

  And I'd said, when I produced it…

  'And when she put it down in front of you, she went like this.' Brendan's voice climbed higher. He raised his eyebrows. 'Da-daaa! Make the most of this, mister.' Even I could hear that it sounded a bit like me.

  He laughed. I looked across the table at Nick. He was smiling, a bit. And Kerry. Everybody. I stared down at my plate. I thought that Brendan was being repulsive, but I wondered if – for Nick – Brendan's repulsiveness would rub off on me as well. In which case, should I hope that Nick would be charmed by him?

  'You OK?' It was Kerry, next to me, laying her cool hand over my sweaty one. Her smell of soap and perfume in my nostrils.

  'Fine.' I took my hand away.

  'Mirrie?'

  Suddenly they were all looking at me.

  'I'm fine,' I repeated.

  'We're family,' said Brendan gently. 'Family. It's all right.'

  I turned on him. 'I finished it with you,' I heard myself say. 'I was the one who finished it.'

  The room was silent, except for the sound of Nick's fork, scraping on the plate.