The Aura (16 page)

I’d already decided not to tell Leo about Rebecca. He didn’t know her, and I had no intention of having the guilt conversation again. I intended to put all of it aside for now, intent on enjoying the weekend with the three favorite men in my life. Well, three of the four, I thought, but Josh had been distant ever since our discussion about the glass panels. On Friday evening, I’d lingered late in the office, hoping he’d come by and suggest a drink or dinner, but he’d left with Ben, Jim, and a few others. A boys’ night out, which wasn’t that unusual, but I thought he would have at least dropped by to say goodnight.

“Why don’t you tell me more about the lady you’ve been seeing?” I said. “What was her name?”

“Olivia.” A smile settled on Leo’s face, tilting the corners of his mouth upward and crinkling his eyes. I felt a burst of happiness. I so wanted him to settle with a new partner, someone who wouldn’t mind sharing the upbringing of the boys.

“I’ll tell you all about her after dinner. She’s planning on coming for lunch tomorrow.”

“Perfect. I’ll look forward to meeting her.”

I stood up, glass in hand to review the status of the sausages on the grill. One of them slid through the grate on to the hot coals, and I grabbed at it instinctively, burning my fingers. I sucked on them, feeling the sting of burned skin.

“Hi Aunt Kate!” Gabe ran out of the kitchen to give me a hug. “Look at what I got in Italy.” He proudly showed off his soccer shirt emblazoned with the number three and the name Chiellini.

“Juventus is rubbish,” called Aidan from the kitchen. “I support Fiorentina like Grandpa.” He walked into the garden in socked feet, carrying a soda bottle.

“Hello Auntie Kate,” he said, with a small wave. At fourteen years old, he’d decided that hugs were strictly off limits.

I felt my knees turn to water. My wine glass slipped from my fingers. A thousand tiny shards of glass glinted on the stone patio, and the red wine flowed into the cracks between the paving stones.

I found myself sitting on a chair, with Gabe holding my hand. Leo was sweeping up the glass with a dustpan and brush.

“Are you all right, Aunt Kate?” asked Gabe, his little fingers closed tightly over mine.

I straightened up and looked for Aidan. “Where’s your brother?” I asked.

“He didn’t have shoes on, so I sent him inside to get some, just in case I miss any pieces,” said Leo. “Gabe, go grab another glass from the kitchen, and tell Aidan to bring the salad and the potatoes from the fridge. Dinner’s ready.”

Gabe released Kate’s hand and sauntered into the house.

“Are you okay?” asked Leo. “Do you feel sick?”

I blinked a few times. Everything was as it had been before. The barbecue grill, the table laid for dinner, the long stretch of green grass strewn with daisies and littered with frisbees, footballs and a broken trampoline. But I saw them as though through a shattered lens, the images distorted and at odd angles.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I forgot to eat lunch, and it made me a bit light-headed. I’m sorry about the glass and the mess.”

“Don’t be daft. It’s nothing. I was just worried about you.”

Both boys reappeared, carrying bowls and a clean glass for me. When Leo’d finished sweeping, they helped themselves to food and sat down. I sat next to Aidan, keeping my eyes on Gabe and Leo on the other side of the table. I didn’t want to see the aura that floated over Aidan’s head. I needed time to absorb the shock of it. My thoughts drifted back to when he was born.

Back then, of course, Leo and Marie had been happily married, struggling on the pitiful salary that Leo was earning as a teaching assistant. I had overheard some talk of Aidan being a mistake, but there was no hint of that in the joyful celebrations of his birth. I still had a photo of the whole family crammed into the small birthing room at the hospital in Harlesden, smiling against a backdrop of flowers, balloons and baby presents, with my father proudly holding his first grandchild.

“Aunt Kate? Can you pass the salad?” Gabe said. Then he went back to relating the details of his week in Italy, mostly focused on the Fiorentina-Juventus game that Grandpa had taken them to. The original reason for their visit, Francesca’s funeral, seemed to be forgotten, and I was glad for that. They’d enjoyed spending time with their grandfather, with dinners at Ricci’s, the local trattoria where they were always sure of a cheery reception and delicious spaghetti bolognese. It made me homesick for the long weekends I had spent with my parents in Italy, always a welcome reprieve from work and the grey London weather. Life had always seemed simpler there, less fraught with everyday problems. But my mother’s sudden death had made me realize that the complexities of the human existence reached everywhere.

When the boys had finished eating, they started clearing plates away. I stood up to help, but Leo put his hand on my arm and told me to sit. “They’re good at cleaning up, and I want you to rest. Considering you missed lunch, you haven’t eaten much. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

For a fleeting moment, I considered telling Leo about the aura over Aidan, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. It would be devastating. I needed time to think through how to handle it, and how to protect my nephew.

Was he sick with some yet undiagnosed disease? Would there be an accident; a driver not yet drunk, but who would soon down a few beers, get in his car and plough across a pedestrian crossing just as Aidan walked on to it? Would he be an innocent victim of violence, from a bomb, or a random mugging?

I shivered. The catalog of ways to die seemed infinite in its scope. It was incredible that anyone survived long enough to die peacefully of old age, content with a life well-lived. A picture of Toby flashed through my mind. I remembered his chubby arms and plump pink toes, his carnation-colored lips and long dark eyelashes. I recalled with great clarity these individual parts of my little brother, but my only image of him as a small human being was taken from the many photos of him in frames and albums at my parents’ house. He would be eighteen years old now, but he had lived for just thirty-eight months. Leo was waving a hand in front of my face.

“Hello, Katie? Are you feeling all right?”

I settled for one of the many lies that had been coming to my lips so readily in the past two weeks.

“Yes, really, I’m okay. Maybe I’m coming down with a bug, but I feel good now, honestly.”

We sat in the gathering darkness, Leo relaxed and talkative, relating stories about his students and the work he was doing on his latest math textbook. When he talked about Olivia, his voice softening, I realized he truly liked her, maybe even loved her. At any other time, I would have interrupted him, asking for more details, but I found it hard to talk. Instead, I concentrated on what he was saying, refusing to let my mind stray from the well-lit path of his words into the tangled shrubs and shadows of fear that lay in wait for me.

The darkness hid the aura when Aidan came out to tell us he and Gabe were going to bed. I was grateful not to see it. I said goodnight as calmly as I could, hoping Leo couldn’t see the tears on my cheeks.

It was impossible to sleep that night. I lay on my back on the daybed in Leo’s study, watching the flickering shadows cast on the ceiling by a streetlamp outside the window. Alone in the room, all my fears and forebodings crowded in on me like a multitude of nightmarish figures pawing at me for attention. Pulling the sheet up to my throat, I closed my eyes, desperately trying to go to sleep. Eventually, giving up, I got out of bed and tiptoed across the hallway to the bedroom the two boys shared. Gabe would only sleep with a nightlight on; its soft reassuring glow fell across the boys’ sleeping figures. Aidan sprawled across his bed with his arms wrapped around a pillow and one leg dangling over the side. He was snoring gently. Gabe, as usual, slept on his stomach. I wondered how he managed to breath with his face squashed into his pillow.

Leaning over Aidan, I put a hand on his forehead. It was cool and dry. I passed my hand through the space over his head, wondering if I could feel the aura in some way, but sensed nothing. He stirred and I pulled my hand back, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t want to scare him. Turning back towards the door, I stepped on something hard and pointed that pricked the sole of my foot and made me gasp. I picked up a piece of Lego, as Aidan shot up in bed, his eyes open, but not really seeing yet.

“What?” he said, his voice thick with sleep. Gabe stirred, but didn’t wake up. I headed for the door.

“Aunt Kate?”

I turned back. “Sshh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” I whispered.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Don’t worry. See you in the morning.”

I left the room and pulled the door almost closed behind me. My heart pounded in my chest while I lay back on the narrow bed, thinking sleep wouldn’t come that night. But exhaustion must have won the battle because I woke up to the fragrances of coffee and bacon and the murmur of voices in the kitchen. I pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt and ran a brush through my hair.

“Morning!” I tried to keep my voice light, although the aura hung ominously over Aidan’s head. Was it my imagination or did it look more distinct? I poured some coffee while I watched Leo frying bacon and making toast.

“Are you feeling better this morning, Aunt Kate?” Aidan asked through a mouthful of cereal.

“Yes, good, thank you.”

“Were you sleepwalking when you came into our room?”

I sensed Leo turning away from the stove to look at me.

“Sleepwalking?” he asked.

“Aunt Kate scared me to death,” said Aidan, but he was smiling. “I woke up and there she was, looming over me like a ghost or something. Lucky Gabe didn’t wake up or he’d have screamed the place down.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said, dreading Leo’s next question.

“What were you doing in their room?”

“I thought I heard one of them call out,” I said, shocked at how adept I was becoming at lying. “I just went in to check on them.”

“Oh.” Leo started forking bacon from the frying pan on to a plate.

Over breakfast, the boys decided to go to the park to try out the rocket launcher I had given them. “We can skateboard over there,” said Gabe, jumping up from the table to go find his board.

I felt my heart rate go up. So many dangers lay in wait for Aidan. “I’ll come with you.” Leo raised his eyebrows at me.

“Are you going to skateboard too?” he asked with a grin.

“No, I’ll jog,” I answered. I glanced at Aidan. “If it’s all right for me to come? I’d like to see you launch a rocket or two.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, carrying his plate to the sink and heading up the stairs.

“Well, I intend to sit here, read the paper and drink coffee,” said Leo. “Ah, peace and quiet. Wonderful. Off you go then. You’d better be ready quickly because they won’t wait for you.”

Several hours later, I got back to the house, cold and wet. The skies had opened up just minutes after we arrived at the park, but that did nothing to deter Aidan and Gabe. The rocket launcher had attracted a small group of boys who all wanted to have a turn while I’d sat on a wall to watch, feeling the rain creep in through every seam of my clothes.

I had planned to return to London late on Saturday afternoon, but the situation with Aidan changed my mind. I asked Leo If I could stay another night. He seemed happy, if a little perplexed.

“I can’t think why you want to hang out here in the suburbs with me and the boys. You must have an exciting Saturday night lined up in the glamorous city, surely?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Why don’t we cook a big Italian feast for dinner tonight? I can go shopping and get what we need. Or we could go out for curry?”

Leo opted for Italian. I checked that Aidan was planning to stay in and watch television before I set off for the supermarket. I knew I couldn’t stay forever to keep an eye on him, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him alone, exposed to whatever danger lay in wait. While I chopped vegetables, I sounded out Leo on Aidan’s health.

“Everything okay?” I asked. “He looks a little pale.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed, but he’s always pale. He inherited his mother’s coloring.”

“Maybe a check-up would be a good idea anyway,” I suggested. “Just to be sure.”

Leo grunted. I knew he wouldn’t do it. A few minutes later, Aidan came in. “Ryan just texted me and wants me to go over to his house to do our Latin homework together. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Ok,” said Leo. “Labor omnia vincit.”

“Huh?”

“Hard work conquers all,” replied Leo. “So hop to it.”

“Are you going by yourself? How far is it?” I asked.

“Just a ten-minute walk, over by Merton College.” Aidan pulled on his shoes and tied the laces.

“You have to cross Iffley Road?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but I do that to go to school every day. No big deal.” He gave me a funny look.

“Be careful. Look both ways,” I said. I wished I’d been able to restrain myself.

When the front door had slammed behind him, Leo put down his knife and looked at me.

“What’s going on? You’re acting like some over-protective mother hen. Aidan’s a good kid and he’s sensible. I don’t want to smother him. He’s learning independence, and that’s the way it should be.”

“I know. It’s just hard to see them growing up so fast. And hard not to worry about them, don’t you think?”

“I’m obviously finding it less difficult than you are. This all seems a bit sudden on your part too. You’ve always cared about the boys, I know that, but you’ve never worried about them before. I think it’s misplaced concern, to be honest, and I’d rather you stick to the fun-to-be-with aunt role. We’re doing just fine as we are.”

A wave of anger rolled over me, quickly followed by a more temperate swell of compassion for Leo. I resented the comment about my role in the boys’ life; I had tried hard to visit as often as possible after their mother had walked out, and always spent Christmas with them. Both boys emailed to let me know what they were doing at school or called me with a good result on an exam. But Leo had shouldered the burden of single parent without complaint and with obvious success. I knew that he fed the boys, did the laundry, helped with their homework, went to as many soccer games and school concerts as he could and still managed to hold a prestigious position at Oxford. He was working on a textbook in the evenings. It made my life seem shallow by comparison. My old life, at least. This new existence, with the ability to see disaster before it struck its victims, was complex and messy. I felt like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on my back.