Secret Smile (11 page)

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.

'What was that about?'

We were walking along the street towards
the underground, having made a hurried exit.

'I don't know. It doesn't matter. It was
just me being stupid.'

'Is that all?'

'I just felt — oh, I don't know. Stifled.'

'Nobody was being nasty to you. You just
flared up.'

'You don't understand, Nick. It's all the
things that lie between the lines. Things that aren't spoken, but I know are
there.'

'That sounds a bit paranoid to me.'

'Yeah? Well, that's because you're not in
my family.'

'Brendan was trying to be kind.'

'Right. That's what he wanted you to
think. He wants to get you on his side.'

'Christ, Miranda, you should listen to
yourself.'

'Oh, forget it.' I rubbed my eyes. 'I made
a fool of myself, I know that. I feel stupid, ridiculous. I don't really want
to have a post-mortem over it.'

'Very well.' His voice was cool.

We reached the underground station. A warm
and dirty wind blew up from below. I felt I could hardly breathe. I took Nick's
hand.

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'Can we let it go
now?'

'I can,' he said. 'Can you?'

CHAPTER 12

'Go on, Miranda,' said Kerry. 'It'd be so
easy for me to set up; you could be on a plane tomorrow evening! Go on.' She
paused, then added almost bossily: 'I think you need a break.'

'I'm fine,' I said snappishly.

'I'm only trying to help you,' she said.
'We're all a bit concerned.' I clenched my fists and told myself to stay calm.

I opened my mouth to say no, but then I
thought, why not? Why not escape for a few days? Long nights, deep baths,
pavement cafes, room service, new sights, new faces, language a babble of
sounds in my ear, sun on the nape of my neck, oysters, carafes of wine... And
when I returned from work, no Brendan. When I staggered into the kitchen in the
morning, no Brendan sitting at the table with his dressing gown flapping open,
chomping vigorously on the last slice of bread. Calling me 'Mirrie'. Whispering
things into my ear. It had only been one night and one day and already I felt
as if I could barely breathe. Just now I had sent him to the shops to buy some
toilet rolls, and for the few minutes he was gone I felt as if a boulder had
been lifted off my chest.

'All right,' I said. 'Just two or three
days. After all, I might as well make use of having a travel agent for a
sister.'

'Good. It's just what you need, and I'm
sure you'll feel much better when you come back.'

'I could do with a few days off' I said.
This was the way we were going to play it then: Miranda has been overworking.

I was busy calculating to myself. If I
left tomorrow evening, or the next day, to be more realistic, and was away for
the rest of the week, then when I returned maybe they'd be gone. Kerry said
that everything seemed to be going smoothly with their house purchase.

'Where do you fancy going, then? It can't
be too far if it's only for a short time.' She stood up and collected her
briefcase from behind the sofa. 'Look, I brought these back on the off-chance.
We do these mini-breaks and there are always spaces at this time of year — I
could get you one for a quarter of the price.' She spilt several brochures on
to the table. 'What about Prague? Or Madrid? Or here's one for a few days in
Normandy, by the sea. It might be a bit cold at the moment. I'd go further
south, if I were you.'

'Italy,' I said, picking up a brochure and
opening it.

'Rome?'

'I've been to Rome. I want to go somewhere
I've never been before.'

'There's Florence, Venice, Siena or
Naples. Four days. Or look, there's a really nice hotel in Sicily, on a cliff
overlooking the sea.'

I looked at the glossy pictures. Pink and
grey churches, canals with gondolas, hotel rooms with large beds.

'Hang on,' I said. I picked up the phone
and dialled.

'Nick, it's Miranda... yes... yes, I feel
much better, thanks. Sorry about it all, I don't know what came over me, tired
I guess ... Listen...'

It rained. It was raining when we arrived
at the airport and queued for the water bus that would take us to the city. The
sky was steel grey. Rain pounded on to the roads like arrows, sending up shoots
of water. Our clothes were drenched after thirty seconds. Rain poured down our
necks. Nick's hair was plastered to his skull. It rained all the way on the
boat, and our first view of the city was a blur — a ghost city rising from the
water. It was a five-minute walk from our stop to the hotel, and we lugged our
bags, full of light clothes and no waterproofs, along a narrow canal where all
the boats were tethered to the side, covered in tarpaulins.

It rained every day. We ran to churches
and art galleries, and in between we sheltered in little cafes drinking double
espressos or hot chocolate. I'd dreamed of long, slow walks through the
labyrinth of canals, leaning together on bridges to watch the boats go by, sex
under thin sheets with the shutters closed against the sunlight. We spent too
much money on lunches, which were meant to have been picnics of bread and
cheese, or slices of pizza, because it was better to sit inside for a couple of
hours with the tourists' three-course menu and a jug of house wine. Nick bought
me a leather wallet and a glass thumb ring. I took photographs of him standing
damply on the Rialto Bridge. At night we ate in tiny restaurants and went to
bed with the sound of rain clattering against the small windows of our room. He
flossed his teeth for five minutes every morning and every evening. He snored
in his sleep. He loved chocolate and ice cream.

Every so often, the rain momentarily
stopped and the sun half appeared through a gauze of clouds. The puddles
glistened and the swollen canals rippled in the light, and the stones steamed.
It was the most silent, beautiful city I had ever been in, and I found myself
wishing, once or twice, that I was here alone, not worrying about our
relationship, not having to make an effort. I would have walked and walked
along the deserted paths, not speaking, storing everything up. I wouldn't have
minded the rain.

They were still there when I got back on
Sunday afternoon. Indeed, they seemed more firmly installed than ever, their
belongings spreading along shelves, their laundry in the washing machine,
toothbrushes in my London Underground mug. In two thick piles on the table were
wedding invitations: Saturday, 13 December, at 4 p.m. They were making lists of
who to invite, of decisions to make, tasks to be done. There was an air of
bustle and excitement about them.

I unpacked and went to see Laura, but a
couple of Tony's friends were there so after half an hour or so I came back. I
said to Brendan and Kerry that I had a headache. I made myself scrambled eggs
and a cup of tea and took them into my room, shutting the door behind me. I sat
in bed, hearing the television next door, the phone ringing and being answered,
water running, laughter, the springs on the sofa bed creaking. I poked at my
scrambled eggs until they were cold and unappetizing, and stared at my
bookshelves and the piles of paper on my desk. Was I imagining it, or did it
all look a bit different, as if someone had been tampering with things? I
turned off my light and lay in the dark. Brendan laughed very loudly, as if he
wanted to be heard. As if he wanted me to hear him.

The next morning, though, they left early
to go to the house they were buying. They said they wanted to measure up for
curtains and bookshelves, before Kerry went to her office at ten. I decided to
arrive at work later than usual, so that I could spend some time alone in my
flat.

Later on, I went over and over it in my
mind, everything I did in that lovely, quiet, empty hour before leaving. I
tidied the kitchen-living room, pushing the duvet and sheets into the tall
corner cupboard, folding up the sofa bed, cramming scattered garments into
bags, washing plates and glasses from the night before. I opened the windows
wide to air the room and rid it of its unfamiliar smell, swept the tiles,
vacuumed the carpet. Then I had a long bath and washed my hair. I pulled the
plug and cleaned the bath out before sitting down to breakfast in my dressing
gown, a towel wrapped like a turban round my head. I ate the remains of the
muesli with yoghurt; a big cup of coffee. I even heated the milk for the
coffee. Then I got dressed, cleaned my teeth, picked up my overalls and left,
locking the door behind me. I know I did all of that. I clearly remember.

I was still working on the big house in
Hampstead. Bill dropped in at lunchtime and took me out for a salad. I finished
at half past five, cleaned my brushes and drove home. I wasn't seeing Nick that
evening, and Kerry had said something about going to a movie, so I thought
maybe I would be able to spend time on my own, which I was craving. I could get
a takeaway and listen to music, perhaps. Read a book. Mooch.

It was nearly six-thirty when I pulled up
outside my flat. There were no lights on, and the curtains were still open. My
heart lifted. I ran up the stairs and even as I pushed the door open I heard
it. The sound of dripping, tinkling. A tap running. Except it wasn't the same
sound as a tap running; it was bigger, more complicated. Then I stepped inside.

There was water everywhere. The kitchen
floor was an inch deep in it and the carpet was sodden when I stepped on it.
There was water pouring from beneath the bathroom door. I opened it and stepped
into the flood; the remnants of the book I'd been reading in the bath that
morning floated by the toilet bowl, along with a mushy roll of toilet paper.
There was a steady waterfall cascading over the rim of the tub. The hot tap was
half-on. I waded across the room and turned off the tap, then plunged my arm,
still in its jacket sleeve, into the water to find the plug. I felt ill and
sick and consumed with anguish, and then I thought about the flat below and I
felt worse. I found a dustpan and started sloshing water off the floor, into
the emptying bath.

It took forty-five minutes to get the
worst of the water off the bathroom floor. I laid newspapers everywhere to soak
up the rest and started on the kitchen. Then the bell rang.

He was yelling before I'd even got the
door open. He sploshed across the carpet, still shouting at me. His face was
quite purple. I thought he might have a heart attack or a stroke, or he might
just die from his head exploding.

'I'm so sorry,' I kept saying. I couldn't
even remember his name. 'So sorry. I don't know how...'

'You'll sort this out, do you hear? Every
last thing.'

'Of course. If you give me the details of
your in —'

At that moment Brendan and Kerry appeared,
arms wrapped round each other, faces glowing from the night air.

'What on earth...?' began Kerry.

'You may well ask.' I whirled on Brendan,
'Look at what you've fucking gone and done. You stay here, you clean out my
fridge, you drink my coffee and my wine, you take up every inch of space so I
can't move without bumping into you. You have bloody baths in the middle of the
day and then...' I was spluttering with rage. 'Then you go and leave the plug
in and the water running. Look! Look!'