by Beth Miller
Alex’s family have another tradition, less explicit, of couples who’ve split up staying in touch and being all friendly. So we have his brother Kim, and Kim’s ex-wife Vicky, their kids, and Vicky’s new partner Tony (though he’s not that new, they’ve been together for five years), and their baby. I’m just hoping this divorced-but-friendly tradition isn’t one I’ll soon have first-hand experience of.
I’m peeling potatoes and wanting to talk, while Alex is preparing a chicken and ignoring me. Leah is hiding in her bedroom. She lit the blue touchpaper, and then retired.
‘Al, please can we talk?’
‘They’ll be here in an hour.’ He has a glass of wine on the go, and takes a slug from it. ‘I don’t want to start a big thing and then have to pretend everything’s OK.’
Aren’t we pretending everything’s OK anyway?
Alex shoves a lemon and an onion up the chicken’s behind with more force than necessary. ‘Where’s the garlic?’ he says.
‘We’ve run out.’
‘We always run out of the fucking stuff I need.’
‘How come we’re having chicken, anyway? We always have roast lamb on Easter Sunday.’ I try not to make it sound like a complaint, but he throws me a look.
‘I wanted a change,’ he says.
From the look of the wine bottle, he is already on a second glass. I put down the peeler and wrap my arms round him, as he stands with his back to me, fiddling with the damn chicken. He leans back into my embrace. He doesn’t know how not to. We always lean into each other.
‘It won’t be any good without garlic,’ he says.
‘Are you crying? Alex, what the hell?’ I try and turn him to face me but he is fixed fast. I scoot to the side and say, ‘Don’t cry, honey, don’t cry. I can borrow some from next door.’
‘I’m not crying.’ He wipes his eyes on the apron. ‘It’s the onion.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s the fucking onion, OK?’
I let him go and he puts the chicken in the oven, then blows his nose.
Kim arrives first, with Holly and Freya, his kids with Vicky. Holly’s a couple of years older than Leah, Freya just a few months, and they have always got on well with her. Leah’s all smiles as she finally shows her face downstairs. But Holly has inherited her mother’s judginess about appearance. When I met Vicky, almost the first thing she said to me was something unfavourable about what I was wearing. And the instant Holly claps eyes on Leah, she blurts, ‘Wow, Leah, you look like a Muslim.’
The adults all look puzzled. I suppose Holly means that Leah is uncharacteristically covered up – she’s wearing one of her new long school skirts and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a crew-neck.
‘No she doesn’t,’ Kim says. ‘You look lovely, Leah.’
‘Oh, so Muslims can’t look lovely?’ Holly says.
Kim and I exchange weary smiles. Who’d be the parent of a teenage girl? Seriously, who? The kids go upstairs and we take Kim into the kitchen and give him a glass of wine. I’m slightly shocked, as I pour it, to find it leaves almost nothing in the bottle. How many glasses do you get from a bottle? Is it four? Five?
‘Vicky’s bringing Mum,’ Kim says. He’s comfortable in our house, and he potters about, peering into saucepans and stirring things. He and Alex both fancy themselves as good cooks. ‘Roast potatoes? Excellent, my favourite. Hey, listen, I read a brilliant thing the other day that Jamie Oliver does with them, he gets salt and he…’
‘We’ve done them,’ Alex snaps. ‘They don’t need salt, or anything else.’
‘All right, man! No need to bite my arse off.’
Alex moves him aside, not gently, so he can open the oven. Kim mouths at me, ‘What’s wrong?’ and I shake my head.
The doorbell rings and Kim goes to answer it. I hiss, ‘Alex, pack it in. Kim’s going to wonder what’s going on.’
‘Let him.’
‘Ah please, love. Let’s just get through this, shall we? We can talk after.’
‘You lied to me.’ He slurs slightly, and my heart sinks. Alex doesn’t usually drink, and he doesn’t hold it well.
‘I didn’t! Not really. I—’
‘Welcome back, Miss Fickle,’ he says, this awful nickname another tradition that I thought had lapsed long ago. It stops me in my tracks, and I am still trying to think of a reply when Kim comes back in with Sheila, Vicky and Tony. Tony is carrying George, their baby, who’s fast asleep. Everyone kisses everyone, even Vicky and Kim. I’m impressed by their cordial relationship, though baffled by it as well. How can you love someone so intensely, then break up, and yet still be friendly? It’s the right and sensible thing to do, of course, especially when there are children involved, but I do find it incredible.
I get everyone drinks and, true to form, Vicky mentions my clothes, though this time she is complimentary – I’m wearing a new grey dress which suits me. We all cram round the living room table. There isn’t quite enough space – it seats six and we’re nine, plus the baby on Vicky’s lap, so everyone keeps banging their elbows and being slightly ratty about it. I wonder if they’ve picked up the tension coming off Alex and me.
‘So how is everybody?’ says Sheila, who always wants things to be all right.
She gets a bland chorus of ‘fine’ and seems satisfied. ‘So, Eliza,’ she goes on, politely, ‘it’s normally Passover around now, isn’t it, as well as Easter?’
‘Yes, it is.’ I don’t keep track of the festivals any more, but Sheila always asks me about them, so I check if I know I’m going to see her. ‘It’s late this year, and Easter is early.’
There is a too-long silence following my fascinating fact, which Tony politely breaks by telling me how delicious the chicken is. I thank him, and tell him that actually Alex did the cooking. Alex nods, and drinks some more wine, his face a study in gloom. For god’s sake, Alex! Everyone will think you don’t want them here. I must look desperate, because Kim, who has always been very sweet to me, says, ‘So, who wants to hear my interesting news?’
‘Me!’ I say with relief.
‘You don’t, Aunty Eliza,’ Holly says. ‘It’s gross.’
‘Dad-dy’s-got-a-girl-friend,’ sings Freya.
‘Oh yes?’ Vicky says. ‘And when were you planning to tell us?’
‘Now,’ Kim says, ‘I was planning to tell you now.’
‘Oh, Kim, that’s wonderful,’ I say. ‘Isn’t it, Al?’ I wish I was near enough to Alex to kick him under the table.
‘Yes, great,’ Alex says, pancake flat. I have never ever seen him lose it like this in public. I mustn’t panic. I catch my breath. I wonder how quickly I could get everyone out of the house if I faked an illness.
‘Well, tell us more, Kim, we’re agog,’ Sheila says.
Poor Kim, I don’t think he had any intention of telling us but was trying to save the lunch.
‘It’s very early days, Mum. I wouldn’t call Sarah my girlfriend, not yet, OK, Freya?’
‘Well, Kim, you shouldn’t introduce her to the children until you know she’s going to be a permanent fixture,’ Vicky says primly.
‘I haven’t introduced her to them yet, Victoria,’ Kim says.
‘Where did you meet Sarah, Kim?’ I ask, and watch the embarrassment spread across his face like a blind being pulled up. Oh god, I’m only making the whole thing worse. I pretend I didn’t say that, and start gathering up plates. ‘Er, we have two desserts, everyone: Alex’s famous strawberry cake, or Sheila’s legendary pavlova.’
‘How is pavlova different to strawberry cake? They both have strawberries, right?’ says Holly. I am rapidly going off Holly.
‘Daddy met her online,’ Freya pipes up. ‘And we helped make his profile.’
‘Oh, that’s appropriate,’ Vicky says. ‘Get your kids to pimp you out.’
‘Vicky,’ Tony says, in a warning voice. He’s a man of few words, but he makes them count. She listens to him in a way she never did with Kim. Talking of Kim, the poor man is now hidin
g his face in his hands and groaning.
‘Everyone meets online these days, I believe,’ says good old Sheila. ‘I was reading about it in the Express. There’s no stigma any more. That’s right, isn’t it, Alex?’
Alex is normally the life and soul of family gatherings, and Sheila must be wondering what’s going on. Ordinarily, a tasty titbit like Kim’s new girlfriend would be his idea of a fabulous day of banter, he’d be all over it. But he’s simply sitting there, brooding. Everyone else’s plates are in a pile, waiting for me to take them to the kitchen, but his is still half-full, his knife and fork crossed ambiguously in the middle of a potato.
‘Alex,’ I say gently, ‘are you done?’
He looks at me as if only just noticing I’m there. ‘Yes, I’m done,’ he says, and pushes his plate over. To my ears it sounds like an awful portent.
‘Isn’t it, Alex?’ Sheila continues gamely. ‘Online dating is all the rage?’
‘It’s weird,’ Alex says, and it must be obvious to everyone how drunk he is. His words run into each other. ‘Because I always assumed Kim was too much in unrequited love to go round dating anyone.’
‘Is that so?’ Kim says. ‘Well, mate, you couldn’t be more wrong. Vicky and I came to a natural end.’
‘We totally did, Ally,’ Vicky said. ‘I admit that he was a bit less into separating at the time than me, but you know, it’s been eight years, he has really come a long way, we both have, and now we…’
‘I wasn’t referring to you, Vicky,’ Alex slurs. ‘I was referring to Kim’s longstanding and until now unacknowledged love for my wife.’
‘Oh, Alex!’ I say this in chorus with Sheila and Vicky. It’s possible that Tony and the kids say it too, I can’t be sure.
‘That’s utter bullshit,’ Kim says, his face ablaze.
I’m so tempted to point out that the only time there was the slightest hint of impropriety between us two couples, it was a certain incident on Brighton pier, and Kim and I were not involved. But I sense I’m not going to do myself any favours by bringing that up now.
‘I’m so sorry, Kim,’ I say. ‘Sorry, Sheila. He’s had way too much to drink. Alex, you need to apologise and you need to stop drinking.’ I reach over to take his glass away, but he grabs my hand, so I’m stuck, stretched across the table, across Kim’s plate.
‘In vino veritas, though, don’t you think, my sexy Yiddisher Mama?’ Alex says, kissing my hand. ‘My Bathsheba? In vino veritas.’
Baby George starts wailing. I know how he feels. With a yank, I pull my hand out of Alex’s and turn to Leah, Holly and Freya, who are variously looking appalled, delighted and puzzled. ‘Girls, please can you take the dirty plates in for me, and then go watch a movie. We’ll have a little break before dessert.’
I say it so authoritatively that no one argues; they jump up, grab the dishes and scuttle out.
‘What’s going on?’ Sheila asks. She is close to tears. She looks from me to Alex, and back again.
‘Everything’s fine, Sheila,’ I reassure her.
Tony stands up and says he’ll take George for a nappy change. Whether the baby needs it or not, I am grateful for Tony’s tact. The door closes behind him.
Kim says, ‘It’s one thing to take the piss out of me, man. You’ve done it all your life. But don’t you go dissing your wife in public. It’s not cool. I don’t give a shit how pissed you are, you don’t do it.’
Alex laughs. ‘Good to know, little brother. Good to know the etiquette. What does your manual say about mooning round after someone else’s wife in public, eh?’
‘Please stop it, Alex,’ Sheila says.
‘Alex, for your mother’s sake, if not mine and Kim’s, please pack it in.’
‘See how easily she says “me and Kim”,’ Alex grins. ‘It trips off her lying tongue.’
Kim stays admirably calm. ‘Alex, when you have sobered up we will have a proper conversation about this.’
‘Christ, Alex,’ Vicky says, and I hope she’s going to offer something useful. The triumph of hope over experience, I know. But she says, ‘Never seen you like this. You’ve always been such a pushover when it comes to Eliza.’
‘Not any more, brash little ex-sister-in-law of mine,’ Alex says, showing his teeth. ‘No more Mister Nice Guy.’
‘I think maybe we should head home,’ Sheila says, dabbing her eyes with her napkin.
‘Al, just because you’re angry with me, that’s no reason to be so nasty to your family,’ I say.
‘No, you’re right.’ He smiles. ‘How about they all stay, and you go?’
I stand up. I don’t have any idea what to do.
Kim says, ‘Why don’t you come back with me, Al? The girls are going with Vicky, so after I’ve dropped Mum home, you and me can have a nice brotherly chat, you can shout at me for whatever it is you think I’ve done, and in the morning I’ll give you a lot of coffee and send you back to apologise to Eliza.’
‘Fuck off, Kim.’
‘That really is the giddy limit, Alexander,’ Sheila says, and pushes her chair back. ‘Kim, I would like to go now, thank you.’
‘Sure, Mum.’ Kim stands up, and says, ‘Sorry, Eliza.’
Alex gets up and, swaying slightly, says, ‘I will come with you actually, Kimbo.’
‘You certainly will not,’ Sheila says. ‘You can’t speak to us like this and then expect favours. You are out of line.’
Alex starts to say, ‘Mum, I—’ but Sheila leaves the room. Kim scurries after her, giving me an apologetic look as he goes.
Eventually it’s agreed that Alex will go with Kim after all, and Vicky will take Sheila home. I have never seen Alex’s mother looking so stony-faced.
Vicky calls the girls, and shoots me an intrigued look as she and Tony round them up. For the first time in sixteen years, I am of interest to her. She even kisses me goodbye.
‘But I didn’t get any pavlova,’ I hear Holly complain as they’re outside.
Kim gets his mum into the car – she moves slowly and with difficulty these days – and Alex and I face off at the door.
‘I fucked up, right?’ he says, smiling.
‘We’ll tell them you have a brain tumour,’ I say.
He leans in to me, bends down a little so I get the full force of his boozy breath in my face. ‘Tell me, honestly, Liza. Just tell me. Did you like fucking Nathan?’
‘Al, let’s talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober.’
‘Was he better than me? Please,’ he says, putting his hands on my shoulders, I think mainly to help him balance. ‘Please tell me. It’s killing me.’
I take a breath. ‘No, he was not. Alex, I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t done anything with him, and if I could turn back the clock, I would.’
He reels away. ‘You loved it. You wish you’d stayed with him.’
‘Of course I don’t! It didn’t mean anything. It was only one time, and a terrible mistake. And you know what?’ I’m starting to get fed up with being placating, and with Sheila’s quietly furious comment ‘you are out of line’ in my head, I go on, ‘I can’t believe you ruined lunch for this, that you thought it was OK to humiliate me in front of your family over one insignificant f-fuck from so long ago.’
‘Ac-tu-all-y, it’s not the fucking,’ he says. I feel like both he and I have said the f-word more in the last five minutes than in the last five years. ‘It’s the fucking lying. It’s always the fucking lying with you.’
Kim comes back to the front door to ease Alex away. Kim says, ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything’s going to be all right.’ I nod, then realise he’s not addressing me. Alex and I turn to where he is looking, behind us, and see that Leah is sitting on the stairs, her face a picture of misery.
‘Darling,’ I say, and hold out my arms to her. She comes over and tries to hug both Alex and me at once, like she used to when she was little. But Alex pulls away.
‘You know what, Leah,’ he says, ‘I think you might be right. I think maybe I’m no
t your daddy after all.’
He weaves out into the street, and Kim, ashen-faced, follows him. I shut the front door, and sit on the stairs. Leah comes back over and sits next to me. I put my arm round her, smooth her hair, and tell her over and over another lie, Kim’s lie. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right.’
Twenty-Two
September 2000
It felt completely wrong being in the annex without Zaida there. Even though Mum had asked me to fill in for her, it felt like trespassing. I quietly laid out breakfast things, glancing uneasily every few minutes at the closed bedroom door. The bedroom led right off the kitchen, something Zaida often joked about (‘I like to be as near food as possible, even when I’m asleep’).
I sliced bagels and poppy seed platzels, spreading some with cream cheese and leaving others blank. I made both tea and coffee, to be on the safe side. I chopped up strawberries, raspberries and watermelon, and put Greek yoghurt in a bowl. I poured a glass of orange juice and stood back, admiring my work.
It was 8.30 a.m. I sat down at the table to wait. Waiting patiently was very much not my strong suit. My thoughts crowded in like ants, thousands of them, crawling towards the centre of my brain. I brushed them away over and over, but they started up again, undeterred, more numerous than ever. My head felt incredibly heavy under the wig.
My heart felt heavy too. Zaida should still be here. Sure, Beis Israel was pleasant enough, but this was where he belonged. He’d lived here my whole life, first with his wife, my Booba. She died when I was two, and I barely remember her. She died in the room that Nathan was sleeping in now. I didn’t expect Nathan knew that. I probably wouldn’t mention it.
