The Reunion, page 19
Twenty-Six
Now 22.45
75 minutes to go
‘No,’ I lunge for the phone, almost ripping my dress in the process. When I turn it over, there’s a spider’s web of broken glass down the centre and a huge chunk missing from the corner. I stab at the keys. Nothing happens. I keep pressing, trying to access first PowerPoint, then WhatsApp, my email, anything. The whole thing’s frozen.
‘I think it’s broken.’ I feel my face crumpling like the screen. ‘What am I going to do now?’
‘I’m sure I can fix it.’ Nick crouches down next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘Let me have a look.’
I hand him the phone and sit on my haunches while he tries to bring it back to life. I watch his square fingers confidently jab at keys. If anyone can fix it, Nick can. But after a couple of minutes, he shakes his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s dead. This model’s notoriously fragile. I should have upgraded you when I did mine.’
‘There must be a way. Can’t we pull the file off it and send them to your phone? Isn’t that what the cloud is?’
He shakes his head. ‘I can’t even get it to turn on and I can’t get the SIM out. You’d need to be able to log on to iCloud on a Mac. My laptop’s back at the hotel.’ Nick slips the phone in his pocket. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He sounds like he’s pronouncing a dead on arrival.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?’ I can’t bring myself to give up.
‘I really am sorry. I think we’d better go back to the hotel, get a good night’s sleep and see where we are in the morning. There are plenty of other things we can do. If Will committed a crime, we can report it. And I’ll kick the crap out of him on my way out if you like.’
I don’t bother to point out that Will’s twice his size. It’s not about Nick kicking the crap out of Will, even if he could.
‘I could have got a first, you know,’ I say. I need him to understand what I lost. ‘I know it doesn’t matter now and you shouldn’t say you could get a first-class degree unless you actually get one but that’s what my professors said I should aim for. It’s what I got in Part One. Like Helen.’
Nick looks pained. ‘I know you could have done, Em. You can do anything you put your mind to. You still can. But—’
‘Except this.’ I explode. ‘This whole night has been one disaster after another. And now I can’t even do the one thing I set out to. The one thing I promised Helen.’
‘She’d understand.’ Nick holds up his hands. ‘You must know she…’
‘Must know that she what?’ I rage. ‘You can’t speak for her. That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it? We don’t get to know what she’d think. Of any of it. Because she’s dead.’
Each time I say that it feels like dropping a fresh bombshell, even though she’s been dead for months. This is the kind of loss I’m never going to get used to. My words make Nick recoil, as though they’re driving a stake through his heart, not mine. He prefers flowery euphemisms, like ‘slipped away’ or ‘passed on’. Tonight, I don’t want to pretend. ‘Passed on’ sounds like leaving one function in favour of another. And Helen didn’t slip away; she fought tooth and nail. Like she always has. Like she wanted me to. I think of her tired face, imploring me to turn my life around.
‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘This is the one thing I promised her I’d do. And I can’t even manage it.’
I think of my beautiful sister, lying there at the end. Of course, her final wish would be for me. I can’t flake and crumble, like I usually do. Tonight I have to stand tall because she can’t.
‘Emily.’ Nick’s tone has graduated from pity to concern. ‘I know you’re upset about Helen. Of course you are. But I promise you, a file on your phone is not going to fix things, no matter what’s on there.’ He closes his hand around my wrist, tethering me to him. ‘The phone’s totalled. You’re much better off coming back with me. We’ll sleep on it and figure out a plan in the morning.’
‘I don’t want to figure out a plan in the morning.’ I wrench my hand from his grip. ‘I’m so sick of doing the right thing all the time. Being sensible.’ I square my shoulders. ‘Helen was right. I need to stand up for myself more.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘What I always should have done. I’m going to get up there and I’m going to stand on that stage and I’m going to tell everybody exactly what happened. It’s like what you said. It’s not about the stupid file. It’s what happened then. It’s my chance to clear my name.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know it isn’t. But you were right.’
I leave Nick standing there and march towards the stage before he can stop me. I almost trip on the first step. Falling flat on my face would be one way to get everyone’s attention. I regain my balance and keep going, shaking my shoulders out. This dress is so tight I have to take pigeon steps. My palms are sweating. I hate public speaking. Not that I’ve had much cause to do it in my non-career. I see notice Lyla already snaking her way over to Nick to see what’s wrong and I don’t even care. Will and Henry are talking intently by the window. I didn’t realise Henry was back. It says a lot about him that he hasn’t even gone with his wife to the hospital. I mount the final step like a scaffold. In a room full of about sixty people, I’m going to struggle to find a single friendly face. I pause. I could still back down. Nobody has noticed what I’m doing, except Nick and he’s rooted to the spot. But the second I put one foot on the stage I’m committed. Do or die. I think of Helen and I step forward.
‘Excuse me.’ My voice sounds croaky. A couple of heads turn, but most people ignore me. I’m not deterred. I’m not as nervous as I thought I would be. From this height, I can see bald spots and sweat patches. Nobody down there seems better than me any more.
‘Excuse me,’ I call more loudly. More heads start to turn. Will and Henry’s are not among them. They’re still arguing in the corner. I’m not important enough to warrant their attention. I put my fingers to my lips and let out a wolf whistle, the way my dad taught Helen and me when we were little, before drink tore our family apart. The single note splits the air. At last people start turning around. A few smile when they see it’s me. Some frown. I sneak a glance at Henry and Will. They’ve stopped arguing. Will looks mildly curious at the sight of me up on the stage; Henry looks as furious as he did when Freja left. But it’s not about them any more; it’s about me.
‘Can I have your attention?’ At last my voice comes through for me. Loud, confident and determined. ‘There’s something I need to say.’
Twenty-Seven
Then
I am standing in our kitchen cramming garlic bread into the oven when she tells me. The twins are sitting cross-legged in front of the TV in the family room, Nick is outside doing something complicated with a thermometer on the Weber barbecue and Helen is sitting with her elbows on the kitchen island, one cheek resting on her open palm.
‘So, depending on the biopsy results they’ll go in and lop it off, blast me with a few rounds of chemo and possibly radio and then I’ll be good to go.’ She dips a finger of pitta in my homemade hummus as if she’s delivering a punchline. I stare at her in disbelief.
Her deciding to leave the national newspaper she was editor of to go freelance should have been the first clue. Helen’s always been so driven; it didn’t fit with her personality at all. But I was so delighted at the idea that she wanted to spend some more time with me and the kids that I didn’t stop to question the motivation.
‘Come on, babe. Cheer up. You know I’ve always wanted my boobs done.’ She reaches out a hand to rub my arm. I jerk away.
‘It should be me comforting you, not the other way round.’
‘Plenty of time for that. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Mum, can I have some crisps?’ Xander’s voice precedes him as he comes charging down the hall. He digs his hand into the bowl of crisps before I can respond. ‘Are there any Pringles?’ He waggles his eyebrows hopefully.
‘No.’ I can barely get the words out. I can feel tears behind my eyelids.
He pauses mid-crunch. ‘What’s wrong?’
Helen gives me a warning look.
‘Oh, nothing.’ I make an effort to pull myself together. This isn’t what Helen needs. ‘I’ve been cutting onions for the burgers and you know they make me all weepy.’
Luckily, Xander’s not observant enough to notice the chopping board is completely clear and the onions are in a bowl wrapped in cling film in the fridge. Artie wouldn’t let me get away with such a weak excuse.
‘Is it nearly ready?’ Xander scoops more crisps out of the bowl.
‘Dad will put the burgers on when Nonna gets here. Where’s your sister?’
‘In her room.’
‘I thought she was watching telly with you?’
Xander shrugs. ‘She said she wasn’t in the mood. Told me to leave her alone.’
I frown. That doesn’t sound like Artie. ‘What did… oh never mind.’ Today I don’t have time for adolescence. ‘Just go and tell her she’s got to come down when Nonna gets here.’
‘Sure.’ Xander lopes out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him. Normally I’d be itching to sweep them up before they hit the floor but right now I turn straight back to Helen.
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I don’t want them treating me any differently.’
‘They wouldn’t,’ I say, though I don’t know that for sure. My two have been starved of life’s tragedies. Cancer’s never been in their orbit before.
‘I still want to be their cool aunt.’
‘You’ll always be their cool aunt.’
I try to smile at her, but she looks away. Her evasiveness sharpens the situation. No matter how bright a face she puts on, I’m terrified. She’s already had the biopsy done. She makes out like it’s because she’s so efficient, but I know Helen. She’s the type of person who would avoid the doctor unless some part of her was practically falling off. She’ll have left this to the last minute. She’s had the biopsy done because it’s serious.
I’m trying to find a way to ask the hard questions, the ones that I don’t want answers to, when my mother-in-law bustles into the kitchen.
‘I used my key.’ Despite being told she need bring nothing to a small, family barbecue, she starts unloading bread, crisps, dips, a punnet of strawberries and two more of blackberries out of her recyclable hemp Waitrose bag.
‘Now I know you said not to bring anything, dear, but I couldn’t resist. You know my Nico loves my crumble so I whipped one up before we came. It needs forty mins at one sixty.’
Luci’s grandfather was Italian, a heritage she never tires of drawing attention to. In addition to insisting on being known as Nonna and having the waistline of someone who enjoys pasta a little too much, she’s the only person who ever calls Nick ‘Nico’.
‘That’s so kind of you, Luci. Thank you.’ I feign a smile. On the surface, Luci and I get on well but I know she’s never forgiven me for getting pregnant so early in our relationship. She doesn’t even know I don’t have a degree; Nick thought it would be too much for her.
‘Helen.’ She gives the name an Italian pronunciation, elongating the vowels. It makes me want to punch her. ‘It’s lovely to see you. How are you?’
‘I’m doing well,’ Helen lies, but Luci isn’t listening. She’s already turned back to me.
‘Now, where’s that handsome husband of yours? Have you set him to work already?’
‘He’s in the garden.’ I wave vaguely towards the French doors, not taking my eyes off Helen.
‘And the children?’
‘In the TV room.’ Normally at this point, I’d call them in to greet her. But right now I can’t bear her presence and I know if I don’t, Luci will bustle out to Nick.
‘I suppose I’d better not interrupt their screen time,’ she says after a pregnant pause. ‘I’ll go along and see to Nico, shall I? Give him a hand. He must be tired after a long week.’
‘That was a bit rude,’ Helen says after Luci’s safely ensconced on the patio with Nick. ‘You didn’t even offer her a drink.’
‘There’s a wine cooler and glasses out there. Nick will sort her out. Since when did you care about her feelings, anyway?’
‘I don’t. But you should.’
There’s something final in the way she says it that makes me want to cry. I latch my tongue to the top of my mouth and blink hard.
‘Sorry,’ I say, as if I’ve dropped a glass or said the wrong thing. ‘I’m being stupid.’
Helen gets off her bar stool, comes around the kitchen island and folds me into a hug. I can smell the mint of her shampoo and the Ponds face cream she always uses. I bury my head into her shoulder and she winces slightly. ‘Bit sore.’
I rear away. ‘Sorry.’
‘You can stop saying sorry, babe.’ Helen strokes my cheek. ‘What are you like? First thing you can’t apologise to your mother-in-law, now you can’t stop apologising to me.’
‘The old bat’s never liked me anyway.’ I see what Helen’s trying to do. If she wants to keep things light, I’ll keep them light. I’ll google the answers to my questions later. ‘Do you remember when I first went round there, there were pictures of Nick and Liz still up?’
‘I wonder if she and Luci are in touch.’
‘ ’Spect so.’ I take the conversation and run with it. ‘The photos would probably still be up if Nick hadn’t specifically asked her to take them down.’
I look out of the window to where my husband is pouring his mother a glass of wine. Standing side by side, you can see the similarities in the aquiline nose, the dark, chocolate-button eyes (though Luci’s aren’t nearly as twinkly) and of course the hair. Helen and I don’t look at all alike. I wish we did.
‘It was almost worse when she did finally take them down,’ I babble. Anything to drive the silence out. ‘She could have put pictures up to replace them, but no, she left the walls bare so you could see the patches where they’d been.’
‘Be kind. You’re going to be a mother-in-law one day, god help you.’ She doubles back. ‘Do you ever think of people like that? People like Liz. From university, I mean?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ I don’t look at her. ‘Nick goes back for the opening of an envelope, but I tend to avoid those things. Why?’
‘I see my year all the time.’ Helen says it so casually that I know she’s planned this conversation. ‘We’re a fairly well-scattered lot but most people are travelling all the time and there’s a big bunch in London. It’s not fair you missed out on all that.’
‘We had very different university experiences.’ To think I once thought she might be jealous of mine. I go over to the fridge and take out a bottle of rosé. Then I head to the cabinet above the sink and pull out two fresh wine glasses. I fill both to the top. ‘Cheers.’
‘Steady on,’ Helen says. ‘Since when did you start drinking again?’
‘Since right now.’ I tilt my glass against hers but she takes a sip before our eyes can meet.
‘Fair enough.’
* * *
Helen picks up the topic again when Nick’s walking Luci home. She lives two roads away but tonight I’m grateful he’s such a devoted son. The twins are sprawled upon a sofa each in the family room, their earlier disagreement forgotten, and we’re back in the kitchen. I’m stacking the dishwasher. Helen tries to help but I won’t let her.
‘There’s no point in treating me like an invalid yet.’
‘That’s exactly what you… fine, forget it.’ I know better than to argue with Helen. ‘Rinse these.’ I hand her a set of glasses and angle the tap at them for her.
‘About what we were saying earlier…’
‘Which bit?’ I stiffen. Is now going to be the time I can ask the difficult questions? I start shuffling through them.
‘About university.’
‘Oh. I’d rather not go into all that. Why don’t we talk about—’
‘It’s not only my year group I’ve run into.’
I start putting the glasses I’ve already rinsed in the dishwasher.
‘I’ve run into some of your contemporaries once or twice.’
I take two bowls out that are lying flush and rearrange them so there’s enough space between. Helen waits for me to ask. I don’t say anything.
‘You know exactly who I’m talking about. I’ve seen that delightful ex-boyfriend of yours strutting around as if he’s some sort of demigod. He can’t wait to stand up after dinner and make speeches about the law. As if he didn’t break it at university.’
One of the bowls slips through my fingers to land on the floor, where it smashes.
‘Oh shoot.’ I stoop down to pick up the shards of china, shutting out Helen’s words. ‘I said I didn’t want to—’
‘It’s called revenge porn now, just so you know.’
One of the fragments of bowl embeds itself in the end of my finger. ‘Crap. Keep your voice down.’ I put my finger in my mouth and start sucking the wound.
‘From shoot to crap in one fell swoop.’ Helen arches an eyebrow. ‘I’ll have you swearing by the end of the evening. As I was saying, it’s called revenge porn and it carries a custodial sentence.’
‘Keep your voice down. The kids are next door.’
‘They’re watching Hollyoaks. They can’t hear a word I’m saying and you know it. It’s you who doesn’t want to hear it.’
‘Because I’ve moved on.’ I get up and close the dishwasher more forcefully than necessary. Then I set upon the kitchen surfaces with a wet cloth.
‘Have you?’ Helen snorts. ‘Yet you’ve never been back.’
‘I’ve got a different life now.’ I concentrate on sweeping stray crisp crumbs into the palm of my hand.
‘Yes, I can see how fulfilling you find being class mum, year rep, volunteer numero uno, parent representative and whatever the fuck else you do.’
‘Why are you being so horrid?’ I flip the lid of the Brabantia and pour the crumbs in. I reach for my glass of rosé and take a large gulp. ‘I don’t understand why you’re attacking me.’
