by Annie Lyons
Elizabeth shakes her head and is about to open her mouth when Sue takes her firmly by the arm. ‘It’s Elizabeth, isn’t it? I’m Sue. You must come and meet Christa.’ she says, ushering her away. She glances back to see Rachel mouthing the words ‘I love you!’ and grins.
‘Caught you!’ says Emma rounding the corner of their parent’s summer house.
‘Shit, Emma! Do you have to creep up on people like that?’ says Rachel, taking a nerve-calming drag on her cigarette.
‘Sorry, but it wasn’t difficult to work out where you were.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, you’re not in the house and as we’re not electing a new Pope, I assumed the cloud of smoke rising above the summer house was probably you having a crafty fag.’
‘Fair point. Want one?’ says Rachel offering the packet.
‘No thanks and you shouldn’t be either.’
‘Oh spare me. I’ve just buried my Dad today, seen my mother humiliated by Granny and had to endure Rosie doing her “other widow” act.’
‘OK, whatever. How are you feeling, anyway?’
Rachel throws one cigarette to the floor, stamps on it and takes another from the packet. ‘Pretty numb. I keep expecting him to appear at any moment and offer to make us all ridiculously strong gins and tonic.’ Emma nods. ‘How about you?’ asks Rachel.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone. He won’t be there to walk me down the aisle or see my children born. It’s just not fair,’ she says, brushing away the tears. Rachel puts her arm round her sister and they stand in sorrowful silence, staring out at the bare autumn garden.
‘How do you think Mum is?’ asks Rachel after a while.
‘I dunno. OK I guess.’
‘I just saw Granny give her a complete dressing-down. Poor Mum. I think I’m a bit harsh on her sometimes.’
‘Yeah, maybe. Maybe we both are. She can just be so controlling.’ says Emma.
‘Yes, but we all are, aren’t we? And I can see where she gets it from. At least she’s not as bad as Granny.’
‘True,’ says Emma.
‘What about you and Martin then? Is it all off? I saw him leaving.’
‘I don’t know, Rach. Everything seems to be imploding. I don’t know what’s going to happen to be honest. What about you and Steve?’
‘I’m going to sort it this evening,’ says Rachel with confidence. She is determined. One thing she has discovered about grief, is that it has a startling way of putting your life into perspective. She’s going to square everything with Steve – apologise, beg, plead – anything it takes to make him see how sorry she is.
They hear someone walking down the path and Rachel kicks her discarded cigarette under a bush.
‘Oh there you are,’ says Steve. ‘What are you doing out here?’ Rachel and Emma exchange glances like two schoolgirls who’ve just been rumbled.
‘Oh I was just having a fag and Rachel was standing with me,’ says Emma with unconvincing loyalty. ‘I’m going to go back to the house.’
When she has gone Steve says, ‘I thought you’d given up.’
‘Oh yeah sorry. It was just the one, you know. It’s been a horrible day.’
‘I know,’ he says, turning back towards the house.
‘Actually, Steve?’ she says, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. ‘Can we have a talk this evening?’
‘Are you sure today’s the right day?’ he asks.
‘I think we need to,’ she ways with a weak smile.
He nods. ‘OK then. I do have something I need to say.’
‘Rachel!’ shouts Emma from the back door.
‘What is it?’ calls Rachel, walking up to meet her sister on the patio.
‘It’s Mum.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s fine, but she’s just punched Rosie.’
Rachel follows her sister into the dining room, where Rosie is sitting clutching a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel to her injured cheek. There is a crowd of people comforting her as she wails a chorus of self-pity. Rachel ignores her and pushes through to the kitchen. Diana is standing by the sink while Elizabeth is letting fly with a torrent of chastisements.
‘The trouble with you is that you have absolutely no self-control, never have done. I cannot believe that you’re my daughter. I am so ashamed and embarrassed. Poor Rosie. It is completely unacceptable to behave in such a way, Diana. Diana? Diana? Are you listening to me?’
Diana is standing motionless, staring straight ahead, unmoved by her mother’s speech. It is as if the words are washing over her and she cannot hear them. Emma and Rachel move towards them, ready to defend their mother, but it is Diana who speaks as if a button has been pressed in her head. She looks at her mother, unsmiling, speaking on a low, soft tone. ‘And your trouble, Mother, is that you are utterly devoid of human emotion and feeling and always have been. You gave me the most miserable childhood possible and never supported or loved me. I cannot believe that you are my mother and I am glad that I have finally given Rosie exactly what she deserves. Now if you will excuse me, I have just buried my husband today and would like to be alone. I am going upstairs to lie down. I’m sure Rachel or Emma will phone for a taxi to take you home. Goodbye, Mother.’
Diana sweeps from the room leaving Elizabeth opening and closing her mouth like a stuck pig. Rachel and Emma exchange looks of admiration as Christa comes into the kitchen.
‘Wow! Your mum has good punch, nicht wahr. I was sehr impressed. Ah, hallo again Lisbeth. Are you OK?’
Elizabeth tries to answer but it still too shocked to speak. Much to Rachel and Emma’s amusement, Christa puts her arm around her. Elizabeth looks horrified as Christa pats her arm. ‘Ja I know Schatz, it’s been a scheisse day but at least that bitch Rosie got her comeuppance. Und now, I have to go. I will give you a lift, Elizabeth. Come.’
Emma and Rachel watch them go. ‘She is amazing,’ says Emma at last.
‘Isn’t she?’ says Rachel smirking. Suddenly, the two sisters are laughing hysterically, tears rolling down their cheeks.
‘This is certainly the happiest funeral I’ve ever been to,’ says Sue, joining them in the kitchen.
‘I know,’ says Rachel through her laughter. ‘Dad would have loved it!’
Emma sees Richard’s car before he sees her and sighs. She hasn’t spoken to him since he dropped her off at the hospital and has felt some relief at this, unable to find the emotional strength to deal with both her grief and her ailing relationships. She taps on the window causing him to jump. He smiles at the sight of her.
‘Emma, darling, how are you?’ he asks following her down the garden path, reaching out an arm to stroke her shoulder.
‘Not too bad,’ she lies.
‘I’m so sorry about your dad,’ he says.
‘Thank you.’
He follows her into the house and down to the kitchen. ‘No Martin then?’ he asks looking around.
‘No, he’s gone.’
‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ says Richard, sounding anything but.
‘Richard, why are you here?’ asks Emma suddenly angry.
‘Darling, I’ve been desperate to see you,’ he says trying to take her in his arms. She pushes him away. ‘Emma, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m not sure. You tell me.’
‘Why are you so angry?’ he ask, his tone edged with irritation.
‘Hmm, I don’t know, maybe I’m a little pissed off because, my dad has just died and the only emotional support I’ve had this week is from my ex!’
‘Well, like I told you, I’m not very good at the family stuff,’ he shrugs.
‘“The family stuff”?’ says Emma, her anger rising. ‘Sorry, but I thought you were in love with me and I hate to tell you this but I come with a family in tow!’
‘I know, I know, Emma, and I’m sorry about your dad, truly I am. It’s just that I never really had a proper family per se, so I struggle a little with it, you know?’ He looks off
into the distance. ‘I guess you losing your dad bring back the pain of family life for me. I should have called.’ He holds out his hands, palms upwards in a conciliatory gesture.
Emma looks at him and recalls a time when this kind of talk would have made her feel compassion. Now, all she feels is anger.
‘How dare you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean it! How dare you come round here and pretend you’re sorry. It’s all an act with you, isn’t it? You weren’t falling in love with me. You liked the idea of me, like a character in a novel. In fact, you’re a character in a novel. You don’t have a genuine feeling in your body.’
Richard looks hurt. ‘Emma, that’s a terrible thing to say.’
But Emma is in her stride now. ‘And you do this hurt act so well, don’t you? God, I have been such an idiot, such a fool. I let some lame attempt at a Byronic hero turn my head with his flattery. But I can see through you now. It’s all an act. Go on, admit it.’
Richard is watching Emma carefully. ‘All right, there were times when it was a bit like a game but then life’s a game isn’t it?’
‘Not for me,’ says Emma.
‘But as time went on, I did start to fall for you. You’re so different.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m so different. So different, you saw fit to turn my world upside down and destroy my life with Martin. Thanks a bunch. You must really love me.’
‘I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry you feel like this. I thought we had a connection. I thought you felt the same,’ says Richard quietly.
‘I did for a while, until I realised what a fool I’d been.’
‘I do love you, you know. That’s the truth,’ says Richard.
Emma throws up her hands. ‘And so the lies continue. What am I? A Cathy to your Heathcliff? How romantic. No Richard, it’s over. You no more love me than you love Stella!’
Richard looks at her sharply. ‘Who told you about that?’ he says.
‘About what?’
‘About Stella and me.’
Emma stares blankly at him and then the penny drops. Richard similarly realises the mistake he has made.
‘Oh you mean Stella from The Red Orchid,’ he says, his voice small like a little boy whose misdemeanours have just been uncovered.
‘Well I did,’ says Emma, ‘but I think we both know what we’re talking about now, don’t we? Why don’t you run back to the real Stella? You deserve one another.’
Richard gives her a pained look but Emma has had enough. ‘Get out!’
Even Richard sees when he’s defeated. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘So am I,’ says Emma ushering him to the door and closing it firmly behind him.
‘All quiet on the western front?’ asks Steve, as Rachel plods into the kitchen.
‘Yep. Were Alfie and Lily OK?’
‘A bit tired and teary but fine. It’s been a long and emotional day for all of us.’
Rachel nods and goes to the fridge to retrieve a beer. ‘Want one?’
‘Please.’
She hands it to him, sitting at the kitchen table and gesturing for him to do the same. He looks a little reluctant but plonks himself down opposite his wife.
Rachel takes a large gulp of beer. ‘So,’ she begins.
‘So.’
‘Steve, I want us to start again.’
‘Rachel, I’m leaving.’
‘What?’ Rachel looks as if she’s been shot.
Steve fiddles with the label on his beer, avoiding her gaze. ‘I didn’t want to talk about this on the day we buried Edward but as you’re insisting, I think it best you know.’
‘What are you saying?’ says Rachel panicked.
‘I’m going to go and stay with Mum for a while, give us both some space so we can work out what we want.’
‘But I know what I want!’ cries Rachel, the tears springing readily into her eyes.
Steve looks at her, his blue eyes full of sorrow. ‘But I don’t, Rach. I don’t know what I want any more,’ he says. ‘You and I were such a great team, us against the world but now –’ His words trail off as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence.
‘And now?’
Steve shakes his head. ‘I just keep thinking what would have happened if Tom hadn’t called a halt to things.’
Rachel looks at the floor ashamed at the memory. ‘It was just a moment, Steve. I thought you were having an affair!’ she cries in desperation.
‘How could you think that, Rach? How could you think that of me.’
‘I know, I’m sorry but you weren’t being upfront about that thing with Sam. I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
‘Yes. but I can’t live like that with you not trusting me and then practically jumping into bed with someone else at the slightest doubt. That’s not a marriage.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I’m just telling you how I feel. Look, we’re not going to resolve this tonight. I’m going to go to Mum’s tomorrow and then we’ll see.’
‘But you’re not giving up on me?’ says Rachel half-joking, half-panicking.
‘No more talking tonight,’ says Steve. He picks up his beer bottle and goes into the living room. Rachel wants to follow him but she can’t seem to haul herself into a standing position. She feels so tired. Her head is swimming and her body is heavy as if she’s being dragged down by life. She hears fat drops of rain beating against the window behind her and stares out into the darkness feeling utterly alone.
Chapter 26
Emma stares at the manuscript next to her. It is decorated with only a scattering of red-pen strikes. She sighs and looks back to her laptop, allowing the internet to claim her once again. She has been grateful to Miranda for allowing her this time away from the office, but is starting to wonder if it’s such a good thing. The trouble with the internet is that there is always something more exciting happening somewhere else and it is your job as the browser to find it. She checks her e-mails. There are several from Ella and Miranda, a couple from Rosie and one from Joel. She clicks on it: ‘I am sorry for your loss. Joel.’
Irritated by his cursory attempt at compassion, she turns back to the manuscript. Emma rereads the lines, casting her pen over every word. Somehow the characters no longer exude the life and passion of before. They all feel slightly one-dimensional and the only emotion she can conjure up for Stella is abject loathing.
‘Consider killing off Stella?’ she writes on a note pad next to her. That would show the bitch, she thinks, and then laughs at how ridiculous it is to want to punish a character in a novel. She hears a noise downstairs and freezes. She listens, willing her brain to be wrong, and is alarmed to hear someone climbing the stairs. She rummages in the cupboard for a suitable weapon, approaches the door and leaps out when she hears the intruder reach the landing.
‘Haaaaaaaaaaaa!’ she cries, and is mortified to notice that she is holding a broom, but relieved to see that the intruder is Martin.
‘What’s this then?’ he asks with a wry smile. ‘Death by sweeping?’
‘Shit, Martin! What are you doing creeping around like that?’
‘Sorry, I just came back to get a few things. I didn’t think you’d be here,’ he says.
‘Oh, right, of course,’ says Emma feeling chastened. ‘Well, don’t mind me. Help yourself.’
‘Thanks,’ he says disappearing into the bedroom. Emma loiters on the landing, unsure of what to do next. ‘Do you want a coffee, Mart?’ she says in a matter of fact way.
‘What was that?’ he asks, poking his head round the door.
‘Coffee? I’m just going to make one,’ she says.
It might be the look of desperation on her face that causes him to answer. ‘Oh all right, just a quick one though.’
‘Yeah. And a coffee, eh?’ says Emma in a lame attempt at humour. Martin looks at her with mild amusement, shaking his head. ‘Sorry,’ she says, disappearing downstairs.
When he appears in the kitchen ten minutes
later, he is carrying a large bin-bag and Emma notices he’s holding a framed photo of their first Valentine’s trip to Brighton.
‘Are you taking that?’ she asks, trying to sound disinterested.
‘I thought I would, if it’s OK with you?’
‘Sure. Let’s have a look.’ They stand side-by-side, smiling at the memory; a snapshot in time. They both look so young and hopeful. Emma feels a pang of sadness.
‘Of course, we may have to go to court.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Over who gets custody of Robert,’ says Martin pointing at the gigantic boggle-eyed frog nestling between them in the picture. ‘I did win him after all.’
Emma smacks him on the arm. ‘You so did not! It was me who knocked down those cans, love, and you know it.’
‘Whatever.’ They laugh and Emma is momentarily transported back to how things used to be. She moves to the table with their coffee mugs.
‘Biscuit?’
‘Thanks,’ he says standing in the middle of the kitchen looking awkward.
‘Don’t make the place look untidy – sit!’ cries Emma. She knows she’s trying too hard but somehow she wants to keep Martin here for as long as possible.
He perches on the edge of the chair and sips his coffee. ‘How’s your mum?’ he asks after a pause.
‘She’s struggling a bit, I think. She doesn’t say much.’
‘I’m not surprised. She and your dad were made for each other.’
Emma takes a sip of her coffee unsure if this is a dig. ‘And how are you?’ she asks.
He nods. ‘I’m OK. Work’s busy. Charlie’s sofa’s getting a bit uncomfortable. I need to find a flat soon.’ He says this in such a matter of fact way that Emma feels irrationally hurt. ‘Actually, sorry to bring this up but we probably need to talk about what to do with this place at some stage.’
‘Oh right. Well, if that’s what you want?’
‘There’s no point in prolonging things, is there?’
The question hangs there like a judgement on their relationship. Yes there is! Emma wants to cry. We could try again – things would be different this time! I would be different this time! But she sees Martin’s face and can tell that he’s shut himself off to her. She knows she’s hurt him and she doesn’t know if he will ever forgive her. ‘I guess not,’ is all she can say.
