Singled Out (14 page)

Though they had become cousins by marriage, Tom and Denise were fifteen years apart in age. They had almost nothing in common and saw little of each other. As Kent had suggested when Tom was born, there were very few ‘family occasions'. In spite of the changes in their circumstances, Laura and Kent did not belong to that kind of family.

However unlikely Kent's pairing with Viv might look to an outsider, the marriage seemed to work. They stayed together, anyway, in their semi-detached way. There were no suggestions that either of them strayed from the marital bed, and no doubt their relationship was as unfathomably workable as most marriages. They were not particularly sociable, they certainly never made romantic gestures to each other in public, but like most married couples they jogged along.

For Laura, Kent's marriage had been an enormous relief. Not only did it still her fears about his never being able to form a liaison with a member of the opposite sex, it also diminished the claustrophobia of her relationship with her brother. Though she still appreciated his dour concern for her, she sometimes found his company a burden. With Kent, conversation could never lighten up; in his presence the shadow of their shared upbringing always loomed over them. At any moment he might bring the conversation back to the damage wrought on them by their father.

Whether he spilled out these gloomy thoughts to Viv or not – and somehow Laura thought it was unlikely – at least she herself had got less of them since he had married. Laura still saw a lot of her brother – if she was free Kent would take her out for dinner on Wednesday evenings, when Viv had a regular night shift – but their relationship seemed less intense and pressured.

Sometimes she saw the familiar bleak hopelessness in her brother's eyes, and with a slightly guilty relief convinced herself that it was no longer her problem. Marriage always weakens the intimacy between siblings, and the bond between Laura and Kent had never been so much an intimacy as a shared trauma.

Laura and Viv were never going to be soul-mates, but they each respected the other's value to Kent. Viv never made any demur about him spending so much time with his sister, but equally did not volunteer to join them. The two women were not close, though pleasant enough to each other on the rare occasions when they did meet. Each had keys to the other's house and helped with domestic chores like watering plants during holidays. That kind of service – being of use to someone without actually meeting them – seemed an ideal form of communication between two women with so little in common.

Very occasionally Laura, Kent and Viv met up as a threesome – well, foursome actually, because Denise almost always tagged wanly along. Tom never joined them.

These evenings were rarely in their homes. Although they lived relatively close and Kent would frequently come on his own to Laura's house, she almost never went to his. Viv clearly felt ill at ease amidst the middle-class gentility of her sister-in-law's surroundings, and she ‘was buggered if she was going to cook some crapmeal at home when there was a perfectly good Tandoori just round the corner'. So they always went out to eat.

Laura never found these evenings relaxing. Viv drank too much and got noisier; Denise drank too much and got gigglier; Kent drank too much and got increasingly silent. It was always a relief to get back to the calm of the house in Charlotte Street South. But dinner at the Tandoori was a ritual that had to be gone through two or three times a year, the nearest the Fishers would ever get to a ‘family occasion', when four people would spend an evening together trying to pretend they had something in common.

The evening after Kent's call was no different from any of the others. They went of course to the Tandoori. The conversation was jerky until alcohol made it more fluent. Kent and Viv drank lager, Laura and Denise white wine.

‘How's that Tom of yours?' asked Viv through a mouthful of curry.

‘He's fine.'

‘Any girlfriends yet?'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘Working too bloody hard to have a sex life, eh?' Viv suggested slyly. ‘Like his mother …?'

Laura let the gibe go unchallenged. She was certainly not going to give any confidences to her sister-in-law. Viv opened her mouth and blew out, fanning her face with her hand. The curry had brought a film of sweat to her nose and cheeks.

‘Important when you're young,' she went on, ‘to know what kind of sex you want and to go out and bloody get it.' She erupted into a laugh. ‘Not just when you're young either.'

‘Sometimes you don't meet the right person,' said Laura casually.

‘Then you're not bloody looking hard enough! I've always known what I wanted – and I've gone out and got it.' Denise tittered as Viv looked across at her husband. ‘Haven't I, Kent?'

He nodded awkwardly, embarrassed. ‘Oh yes.'

‘That's what you've got to do – know what you bloody want and go out and get it,' Viv repeated. She took a long swallow of lager to cool her down, then grinned at her daughter. ‘That's what you do, don't you, Denise?'

The girl giggled again. ‘Oh yes. I get what I want.'

It seemed strange to Laura to think of this mouse having any kind of sex life, but the knowing wink to her mother implied Denise knew what she was talking about. The girl was nearly thirty-five, after all, and in spite of her self-effacement, did not seem to lack confidence. No doubt she could find men when she wanted to.

Laura felt a momentary pang of jealousy for the idea of normal sexual development, growing up with the opposite sex, experimenting, having good experiences and bad, feeling that sexuality was normal. But it soon passed. She had done all right. Tom was her achievement. Tom and her career. And balancing the demands of both. There should be no higher human ambition than to bring up a child surrounded by love.

‘Tell you what,' said Viv, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after a long draught of lager, ‘I really fancy a bit of sex tonight.' She looked up at the waiter who had just arrived to deliver some extra poppadoms they had ordered. ‘Said I fancied a bit of sex tonight.'

The waiter smiled nervously and Viv guffawed as he moved apologetically away. Denise snickered a little laugh. Her mother grinned and repeated, ‘No, really fancy a bit …' She looked across at Kent ‘… if that's all right with you, husband dear …?'

‘Oh yes, that's all right with me.'

As he said the words, Kent looked at his sister, and there was a kind of schoolboy defiance in his eyes, as if to say, ‘There – be shocked if you want to.'

Laura didn't want to. The exchange had not shocked her, just revived her surprise at the way Kent's life had turned out. Viv was so overt, so up-front, so … no, the word ‘common' could not be avoided … and yet there was no doubt she was exactly what Kent needed.

Never mind, thought Laura. It would have been an undeserved bonus for him to have married someone whom I felt to be a soul-mate. The growing gulf between brother and sister was a small price to pay if it offered Kent some hope of happiness.

‘This is Emily.'

The girl was about Tom's age, with pale blue eyes and dark brown hair, centre-parted and hanging loose on to her shoulders. She was pretty in a sort of sixties-revival way. A little cluster of silver hung from one pierced ear. She wore the student uniform of heavy boots, black Levis and a grey sweatshirt a few sizes too big. Its sleeves dangled long and she seemed to have pulled them longer to make them cover her hands. This gave her a waiflike appearance, and Laura felt sure the effect was deliberate.

It was strange how instinctive her distrust – or even dislike – of the girl was. Laura tried to control the reaction. God knew, she had wished enough times for Tom to find a girlfriend, and now he'd done so she was immediately finding fault. She wondered if it was just her maternal hackles rising at any threat to the exclusivity of her relationship with her son, but quickly decided it wasn't. There was something about Emily, a kind of serene smugness, that positively antagonized Laura. The proprietorial way the girl looked at Tom seemed calculated, a cocky challenge to his mother.

But Tom had at last brought a girlfriend home, and that had to be good news. It was also a mild surprise. Rob always joked heavily about his ‘godson' being gay, saying how much fun he would have as soon as he came clean and recognized the fact. Tom never failed to be deeply embarrassed by such talk, but he liked Rob and, though hotly denying the allegation, submitted to the joshing with good humour.

While Laura didn't really believe that her son was gay, something of Rob's insinuation rubbed off on her and she wouldn't have been totally surprised to discover it was true. The presence of Emily at least seemed to put paid to that speculation.

Anyway, whatever her instinctive antipathy to the girl, Laura knew that the appropriate courtesies had to be exchanged. She extended her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.'

Emily rolled back a sleeve and shook hands limply. ‘And you.' When she withdrew her hand, the sleeve slipped down to cover it again. Her voice had a slight Welsh whine to it, which also, unreasonably, prejudiced Laura against her.

‘Are you at the university too?'

A languid nod. ‘Doing French and German.'

‘Have you known each other long?' She addressed this question to Tom, but he, with an infuriating grin, deflected it, nodding towards Emily.

‘Met at a disco couple of weeks back,' she drawled.

‘I didn't know discos were your thing, Tom.'

‘Lots you don't know about me, “Mummy”.'

The girl's smugness was contagious. Laura didn't like the effect Emily was having on Tom, and she didn't like herself for not liking it. On the occasions when her imagination had supplied this scene, the girl her son brought home had been more open, more approachable, less sly than this real one.

‘I thought we should meet up,' said Emily, ‘now Tom and I are an “item”.' The hands came out of their sleeves for the fingers to mime quotation marks round the word ‘item'. It was a mannerism which Laura particularly disliked. ‘Tom wasn't keen,' Emily went on, ‘wanted to keep “us” a secret, but I thought it was best for you and me to meet.'

Tom looked sheepish, embarrassed at the way this young woman had taken over his will, but at the same time almost proud of his subjugation. He seemed to be watching Laura for her reaction, and she felt paradoxically that the reaction he wanted was disapproval. It was as if that would set the seal on the validity of his new relationship.

‘Can I get you a drink or something, Emily?' asked Laura, over-compensating with charm for her real feelings.

‘I don't drink alcohol.'

No, you bloody wouldn't. ‘Tea then … or coffee?'

‘Do you have any herbal tea?'

‘No, I don't, actually.'

‘Oh, well then, I won't bother, thanks.'

Laura picked up the bag put down when she had come in and been introduced to Emily. ‘You will excuse me? I've got to get the train up to London – visit a friend in hospital …' She stopped herself from adding ‘… and I thought Tom said he was going to come with me, but clearly he has
other plans
for the evening.'

To her surprise, though, Tom announced, ‘Oh, we're coming too.'

‘We?' Laura echoed.

‘Mm. Emily and me.'

‘Really?'

‘To London. To see Rob.'

Laura evidently couldn't keep the amazement out of her face, because Emily felt called upon to explain, ‘I think it's very important when you get to know someone to meet all the people around them. None of us exists in a vacuum simply as an individual; we're all made up of our reactions to the other people we know.'

Laura was rapidly coming round to the view that a little of Emily's pontificating might go a long way. She respected confidence in a woman, but she was riled by the girl's habit of making statements as though no alternative opinion was possible.

‘Mm. Don't you think we should check with Rob? He's very ill. He may not feel up to meeting new people.'

‘Be fine,' said Tom, picking up the casualness of Emily's tone. ‘He keeps saying how boring we are whenever we go and see him, keeps saying he's dying for “new blood”.' He put a slight campness, an echo of Rob's manner, into the last two words.

What he said was true. Laura remembered Rob using that exact phrase.

‘Besides, if there's any problem,' Emily interposed humbly, ‘I don't mind just sitting in a waiting room or somewhere. I've got a book with me.'

‘Fine,' said Laura through tight lips. ‘I'll just go and get my coat and we'll be off.'

The journey to London did not raise Laura's opinion of her son's choice. Actually, the evidence seemed to build that he had been Emily's choice rather than the other way round. Tom, passive as ever, had just fallen in with her plans. Laura wondered yet again whether it was her own energy that had made her son so spineless.

There was no demur from either of them when Laura bought all the tickets. Though Emily had indeed got a book with her, unfortunately she did not read it. She preferred to talk.

It turned out on that journey that Emily was a feminist. This might perhaps have given her something in common with Laura, whose life had been a practical demonstration of one brand of feminism. But no, Emily's views made for greater distance rather than any rapprochement between them. Her version of feminism was predicated on ‘political correctness', and seemed to Laura enmired in linguistics rather than having any application to real life.

Emily pontificated at length about the ‘political incorrectness' of one of her lecturers, a Scot who insisted on referring to female students as ‘wee girlies'. She said she had been forced to make a complaint about this to her tutor and then paused, as if expecting applause for her action.