by Nicci French
'To the cook,' he said.
'To the cook,' I said, and took a very small sip.
'And to you,' said Kerry, looking at me. 'Our host.'
They both clinked their glasses on mine.
'It's a pleasure,' I said because they seemed to expect me to say something.
'That's good, in the circumstances,' said Brendan.
'What do you mean?'
'There's something we've got to ask you,' said Kerry.
'What?'
'Well, our flat has fallen through.'
Suddenly my face felt like a mask made out of hardened clay.
'What happened? You were about to exchange, for God's sake. You said it would be a matter of days before you could move in.'
'They were pissing us around,' said Brendan.
'In what way?'
'You don't want to hear the details,' he said.
'I do.'
'The main point is that we walked away.'
'You walked away,' said Kerry with sudden sharpness.
'Whatever.' He waved his hand in the air as though that were a trifle. 'I'm afraid that we'll have to trespass on your hospitality for a little more.'
'Why did you walk away?' I persisted.
'Lots of things,' said Brendan.
'Miranda? Is that all right?' said Kerry. 'We feel terrible. We're desperately looking for somewhere else to move to in the meantime.'
'Don't worry about it,' I said drearily.
I didn't say much for the rest of the meal. The food had started to taste like wallpaper paste and it took all my concentration to eat it without vomiting. Kerry made me have a second helping. She had bought a frozen lemon meringue pie for pudding, and I ate half of a small slice and then said I had a headache and I had to go to bed. Was that all right?
When I got to my room I threw the window open and took several deep breaths as if the air in my room were contaminated. I had the most terrible night. I was awake for what seemed like hours making feverish, deranged plans for the future. I could get married to Nick. At around three in the morning, I seriously considered emigrating and started to rank countries according to how far they were from North London. New Zealand seemed especially tempting. This dissolved into a dream in which I was going away and had to catch a train. I had so much to pack that I was never able to escape from my room. Then I was staring into the darkness of my room and wondering if something had woken me up and then I cried out. I couldn't stop myself. I had made out a shape in the semi-darkness and befuddled as I was I could recognize Brendan looking down at me. I fumbled for the light and switched it on.
'What the fuck?' I said.
'Ssshh,' he said.
'Don't "sshh" me,' I hissed, shocked and angry. 'What are you doing?'
'I, er… I was looking for something to read.'
'Get the hell out…'
He sat down on the bed and actually put his hand over my mouth. He leaned down and spoke to me in a whisper.
'Please don't shout,' he said. 'You might wake Kerry. It might look strange.'
I pushed his hand away.
'That's not my problem.'
He smiled and looked around the room as if it were all a bit of a game.
'I think it is, really,' he said.
I pulled the duvet up over my shoulders and forced myself to speak calmly and reasonably.
'Brendan, this is all wrong.'
'You mean about you and me?'
'There is nothing between you and me.'
He shook his head.
'You know, Miranda, I was once looking at you. It was the second time we slept together. I took my clothes off more quickly than you did and got into the bed. This bed. I lay where you're lying now and watched you. When you unclipped your bra, you turned away from me, as if I weren't about to see your naked body, and when you turned round you had a funny little smile on your face. It was beautiful and I wondered if anybody but me had ever noticed it before. You see, I notice things like that and I remember them.'
At that moment in the midst of all the confusion, all my anger and desperation and frustration, I was able to think with an absolute cold clarity. If I had been in love with Brendan, this would have been tender and beautiful. But I wasn't in love with him and I felt physically repulsed. I felt as if he were a parasite that had crawled into my flesh and I couldn't rid myself of him.
'This is quite wrong,' I said. 'You've got to leave.'
'None of this matters,' he said. 'Didn't you hear what I said? There's this secret smile you have. I've seen it. I know you in a way that nobody else does. We share that. Good night, Miranda.'
The next morning I woke and it was like an awful dream I'd emerged from, and then with a lurch I remembered him standing over me and what he had said and that it hadn't been a dream. My mouth felt as if it were full of dry fluff. I had a headache and there was a stabbing sensation behind my eyes. I had a shower, dressed and drank a black coffee. Nobody else was up. Before I left for work, I returned to my bedroom. I looked at the bookshelves, trying to determine by sheer force of concentration whether anything had been moved. I reached for an old novel I had been given as a girl. It's my special emergency hiding place. Tucked inside the book was some money. I counted it out. Seventy-five pounds. I replaced it. I tried to think of something to do. I remembered something I had seen in a film once. I tore a small strip of paper an inch long and maybe a quarter of an inch wide. When I closed the door I wedged the piece of paper in the crack, exactly at the height of the lower hinge. As I left, I asked myself: how can I be living in such a way that I have to do things like that?
It kept coming into my mind all day and I tried and failed to push it away. Partly I regretted having done it because it felt as if I had poured corrosive liquid on to my body and was watching it bubble and steam as it ate away at me. And what good would it do me, whatever I found out? If I found the paper still in place, would that reassure me? If I found it lying on the floor, what would that prove? Kerry might have popped in to borrow my deodorant or run the vacuum cleaner over the floor. But was that what I wanted? Was I looking for ways to become even more angry and suspicious?
When 1 got back to my empty flat and ran to my room, I found something I hadn't even considered. The slip of paper was held fast in the door, but now it was fully a foot higher than where I had left it that morning.
CHAPTER 14
'Nick,' I began.
'Mmm?'
We were walking across the Heath, our feet kicking up crackly amber leaves. The trees were almost bare now, the sun pale and low in the sky. It wasn't yet four o'clock, but the clocks had just been turned back and it was dark early. My cold hand was in his warm one, my breath steamed in the air. We'd met in a bistro near his flat for lunch – a bowl of pumpkin soup with crusty bread, a glass of wine each – and later on that evening we were going to a party thrown by a friend of his whom I hadn't met before. Then I was going to stay the night at his place, though he didn't know it yet. I had my toothbrush and a spare pair of knickers stuffed into my bag.
'I was wondering
'Yes?'
I slowed down.
'Well. You know Kerry and Brendan need to stay with me a bit longer?'
'You want to come back to my flat rather than the other way round? Is that it?'
'There's that, yes, but…'
'I was going to say the very same thing. We need a bit of privacy, don't we?' His hand tightened on mine.
'What if I came and stayed with you? Just until they move out.'
I looked up at him just in time to see the smallest frown, a momentary tightening of his mouth.
'Forget it, it was a bad idea,' I said, at the same time as he said, 'If you're really desperate…'
'I shouldn't have asked.'
'Of course you should ask,' he said, too heartily. 'You know how small my flat is, and it's a bit early days, isn't it, but I was going to say that if…'
'No. Forget I ever asked.'
He wouldn't for
get. And I wouldn't forget either – that flicker of dismay and disapproval, that small pause into which all our doubts flooded. I knew then what I'd known anyway, since Venice at least, that it wasn't going to last. It wasn't going to be a big affair after all, but a nice interim fling. We'd fallen for each other, with that lovely rush of happiness that almost feels like coming down with flu. We'd spent sleepless nights together, and days apart thinking of each other, remembering what the other had said, had done, longing for the next time we could hold each other. For a week or so, we'd maybe thought that the other might be the one for us. But no: it would be over. Not today, not this week, but soon enough, because the tide that had rushed in on us was ebbing again, leaving only a few odd items of debris behind.
Tears stung my eyes and I started walking more briskly again, tugging Nick after me. I knew it wasn't really him I was going to miss, so much as being with someone. Rushing home from work, full of anticipation. Planning things together. Waking up and feeling energetic and light-footed. Being wanted. Being beautiful. Being in love. That's what I didn't want to end. I blinked fiercely, trying to ward off self-pity.
'Come on,' I said. 'It's getting too cold.'
'Miranda, listen, if you need to stay…'
'No.'
'… then it would be fine…'
'No, Nick.'
'I don't know why you've suddenly got all offended, just because I didn't immediately…'
'Oh, don't,' I said. 'Please, don't.'
'What?'
'You know.'
'I don't.' He pursed his lips.
I was filled with a sudden foreboding that if we went on pulling at each other's words like this then everything was going to unravel right now and I'd be alone by nightfall.
'Let's go and have a bath together,' I said. 'All right?'
'Yes.'
'Can I stay the night?'
'Of course. I want you to. And if you need…'
I put a hand across his mouth. 'Ssssh.'
'Laura?'
'Miranda? Hi.' There was music in the background and Tony's voice calling something. It made me feel homesick for my flat where Kerry and Brendan were now sitting, eating supper in front of a video. I'd told them I was going out to see friends, but it hadn't been true, and instead I was crouched in a chilly little cafe down the road, drinking my second bitter cup of coffee, wishing I'd put on warmer clothes.
'Is this a bad time?'
'Not at all. We were about to eat, but that's fine.'
'I've got a favour to ask.'
'Tell me.'
'It's quite a big favour. Can I come and stay at your place?'
'Stay?' There was a violent crunching sound, as if she'd stuck a piece of carrot or apple in her mouth. 'Sure. Tonight you mean? Is everything all right?'
'Yes. No. I mean, everything's all right. Kind of all right. And not necessarily tonight, maybe tomorrow or the next day. But just for a few days
'Hang on, you're not making sense, I can hardly hear you anyway, and the pan's boiling over. Wait there.' There was a pause, then the music was turned down. 'Right.'
I took a breath. 'Kerry and Brendan's flat has fallen through, God knows why, as a result of which they can't move out, so I've got to.' I heard my voice rise. 'I've got to, Laura, or I'll do something violent. Stab him with a kitchen knife. Pour scalding
'I get the picture,' said Laura.
'It sounds mad, I know.'
'A bit. How long for?'
'Just a few days.' I swallowed and clutched my mobile. A young woman with a shaved head came and wiped my table, lifting the two coffee cups and then putting them back down again. 'I hope. I've no idea. Days or a week or so. Not more.' That was what Brendan and Kerry had said to me. Now the flat was filling up with all their things and I was leaving instead of them. A small howl of rage rose in my chest. 'Will Tony mind?' I asked.
'It's got nothing to do with him,' said Laura defiantly. 'But of course you can come. Tomorrow, you say?'
'If it's all right.'
'Really, fine. You'd do the same for me.'
'I would,' I said fervently. 'And I'll keep out of your way. And Tony's.'
'It's all a bit drastic, Miranda.'
'It's like an allergy,' I said. 'I just have to avoid him and then I'll be all right.'
'Hmmm,' said Laura.
I didn't want another cup of coffee and it was too early to go back home. I wandered up the high street until I came to the all-night bagel place. I bought one filled with salmon and cream cheese, still warm in its paper bag, and ate it on the pavement, while people milled past me. Sunday evening and probably they were on their way home, a hot bath and something cooking in the oven, their own bed waiting.
'I thought it would be better this way,' I said to Brendan and Kerry. 'You need to have time on your own.'
Kerry sat down at the kitchen table and propped her chin in her hands and stared at me. She didn't seem so radiantly happy any more. Her face had a pinched, anxious look to it, the way it used to have in her bad old days, before Brendan came along and made her feel loved.
'It's not possible, Miranda,' she said. 'Don't you see. We can't let you leave your own home.'
'I've arranged it already.'
'If it's what Miranda wants,' said Brendan softly.
'Is it so terrible for you, having us here, then?'
'It's not that. I just thought it was the obvious solution.'
'Have it your own way,' she said. 'You always do anyway.' Then she stood up and left the room, banging the door shut behind her. We heard the front door slam.
'What are you playing at?' said Brendan, in a horribly amiable tone of voice. He came and stood over me.
'What do you mean?'
'You don't get it, do you?' he went on. 'You can't win. Look.' He picked up a tumbler still half full of lime juice and banged it hard on the table so the liquid splattered across and shards of glass spun on to the floor.
'Oh shit,' I said. 'What do you think you're doing now?'
'Look,' he repeated and sat down and started squeezing the broken glass in his hand. 'I'll always win. I can stand things you can't.'
'What the fuck…?'
'Mmm?' He smiled at me, though his face had gone rather pale.
'You're mad! Jesus!'
I grabbed hold of his fist and started to pull it loose. Blood seeped out between his fingers, ran down my wrist.
'You have to ask me to stop.'
'You're a fucking lunatic'
'Ask me to stop.'
I looked at the blood gushing from his hand. I heard the front door open again, Kerry's footsteps coming towards us. She started to say she was sorry that she'd stormed out like that and then she stopped and began to scream wildly. Brendan was smiling at me still. Sweat ran down from his forehead.
'Stop,' I said. 'Stop!'
He opened up his hand and shook the glass out on to the table. Blood puddled into his outstretched palm and overflowed on to the table.
'There you are,' he said before he passed out.
At the hospital they gave Brendan twelve stitches and a tetanus jab. They wrapped his hand in a bandage and told him to take paracetamol every four hours.
'What happened?' asked Kerry for about the tenth time.
'An accident,' said Brendan. 'Stupid, eh? It really wasn't Mirrie's fault. If anyone was to blame it was me.'
I opened my mouth to speak. 'It wasn't…' I began. 'It didn't…' Then I ground to a halt, choked by all the things I couldn't say because no one would believe me and I didn't even know any more if I believed myself. 'Fuck it,' I said, mostly to myself.
Brendan was smiling in a drowsy and contented way. His head was on Kerry's shoulder and his bandaged hand lay in her lap. His shirt was covered in splashes of blood.
'You two girls should make up,' he said. 'It was a stupid argument anyway. It's very nice of Mirrie to give us her flat for a while you know, Kerry.'
Kerry stroked his hair off his forehead. 'I know,' she said
softly. She looked up at me. 'OK,' she said. 'Thanks.' Then she looked back at Brendan as if he were a war hero or something.
'These things happen in families,' said Brendan and closed his eyes. 'Tiffs. I just want everyone to be happy.'
I left Kerry with him, holding his unwounded hand, and went home to pack.
CHAPTER 15
Moving out had seemed like an essential response to an emergency, like pulling the communication cord on a train. But like so much in my life, it hadn't been properly thought out. I remembered a friend of mine who had been at a dinner party. He'd got into a flaming row with someone and finally shouted 'Fuck off!' at the other person and stormed out. As he slammed the outside door behind him and walked down the steps to the pavement, he realized that he had just stormed out of his own flat. He had to turn round and ring humbly at his door to be readmitted.
Now I was outside and feeling foolish. I had exited at high speed without a plan. On my second evening at Laura's I sat up late with her, drinking a bottle of whisky that I had brought home with me, along with half a dozen bottles of wine, some fresh ravioli and sauce from the deli along from where I was working and a couple of bags of prepared salad. Tony was spending the evening doing something laddish, so I made a meal for just the two of us. It was good spending time with her like that. It took me back to when we were at university, staying up all night. But we weren't at university any more and we both had lives to lead. I wondered how long it would take before her patience started to wear thin. I poured some more of the whisky for both of us.
'You know,' I said, 'I associate whisky with moments like this.' I was starting to slur my words a bit, but then so was Laura. 'When I think of whisky and me and you, I think of very late nights and one of us would be crying and then the other one would start crying as well and we'd probably be smoking too. Like that time when I was on my bike and a taxi ran into me, remember?'
'Sure,' said Laura taking a sip, and flinching with the expression of pain that people display when they have taken a bigger gulp of whisky than they meant to. "Why was it always whisky?'
