The Half Life of Stars (13 page)

Most of all I remember the sound that it made, the click of the front door closing. He didn’t slam it, he just pulled it gently shut. I imagine he did this so he wouldn’t wake us up, but already it was far too late. We had stirred, Daniel and I, an hour earlier, alerted to the sound of our parents’ shouts: my mother’s voice high pitched and shrill as a fish wife’s, by father’s lungs rumbling like a bull’s. The walls were thick enough in the ramshackle house where we lived that we couldn’t quite pick out the words, so we had to make do with just the rhythms. Up and down their voices went, rising and falling as they crisscrossed the room, all good detail soaked up by the heavy curtains. If I closed my eyes it sounded like a rock song about love, alternately soft and pleading, then wild and stern.

‘What are they arguing about?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Shall we fetch a glass?’

‘What for?’

‘We can put it to the wall. If we put it to the wall and lay our ears to it, we’ll be able to hear what they’re saying.’

My brother wouldn’t have it, he wasn’t interested. He switched on his pocket torch, picked out one of his astronomy magazines and began to flick idly through the pages.

‘You’re going to
read
?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now?’

‘Why not?’

‘How can you read at a time like this?’

Daniel didn’t bother to answer. He yawned so wide I could
see the fillings in his teeth, and concentrated harder on his magazine. I watched him squint in the half light but I could tell he wasn’t actually reading it, he was too agitated to absorb the words. His toes tapped back and forth under the covers and his index finger kept returning to the exact same spot on the page. Every so often he’d catch me frowning at him, at which point he’d cough or clear his throat and turn the magazine to a fresh article.

‘Interesting, is it?’

‘It’s OK.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘Black holes.’

‘What are they?’

‘They’re what’s left after a star collapses and dies. If you got caught up inside of one you’d be crushed as thin as a strand of spaghetti. Everything that enters it gets trapped inside.’

I thought about this for a while. A hole you couldn’t get out of. Me as thin as spaghetti.

‘You’re sure I wouldn’t be able to get out again?’

‘No, you wouldn’t. Not ever.’

‘Why not? If I really wanted to I’m sure I could do it. I’m better at climbing than you.’

‘Nope, not a chance. That’s the power of gravity, keeps you exactly where you’re put.’

‘I see.’

‘No, Fats, I don’t think you do.’

Clever clogs. Swot pants. Show off. Taking the piss out of my puppy fat.

‘They’re not bothering you, then? Mum and Dad?’

He gave a shrug.

‘You don’t mind the noise?’

‘No, not really.’

‘You don’t care that they hate each other, then?’

‘They don’t
hate
each other, Claire, it’s complicated. You’re too young, you wouldn’t understand.’

Damn it. I didn’t like it when he did that. When had that started, exactly? When had he got so much bigger than me? The
second he’d reached his teens he’d seemed to roar away from me like a rocket. It happened so fast; it was as much as I could do to keep up with him.

Some quiet now. A moment of stillness. No more raised voices from down the hall. Daniel and I glanced at one another and crossed our fingers, offering up all kinds of secret pacts to God. I promised to do my homework if they would stop shouting for good. I promised to hang up my clothes and brush my teeth and be nice to the girl in my school with the lazy eye. It looked in two directions at once, it was creepy; her eyelashes were always covered in a sticky yellow crust. All of these promises to no avail. A brief slip of silence–a minute, a minute and a half–then they started it up all over again.

The argument crackled on like a bonfire. Every time you thought they’d reached the end of it, the whole thing would spontaneously reignite, as surely as if someone had opened a door and poured oxygen onto the dying embers. I began to feel a little uneasy. It seemed this disagreement had a life of its own and that my parents were losing their battle to control it. It was louder, more intense than it had been, with a deep and forbidding undertow. I closed my eyes tightly, put my fingers in my ears, but still I could hear their vibrations: muffled, woolly and soupy, reaching in and pulling me under.

‘Hey, fat-face. Come on, let’s get up.’

Daniel had climbed out of his bed. He was standing right next to me in his pyjamas, shining his torch under his chin so he looked like a ghost. In ordinary circumstances this might have made me jump, but I knew he wasn’t doing it to scare me.

‘You’ve got bum fluff,’ I said.

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘You have, on your cheeks. Mum said what it was and it’s bum fluff.’

He should have given me a dead leg or dead arm at that point–he usually would have–but this time he decided not to bother.

‘We’ll go downstairs,’ he said. ‘To the back room. We won’t be able to hear them down there, not if we put the TV on.’

This seemed to me to be a mixed blessing. I liked the idea of not being able to hear them, but I was a little afraid to leave them both alone. What if something happened? What if they set about one another with a hair brush or a torn-off chair leg? One of them might need us; they might need the two of us to intervene. On top of all that, most worrying of all, if we went downstairs we’d have to negotiate the haunted landing. There was no light on out there, not even from the bathroom, and we couldn’t risk the chance of putting one on in case my parents saw us.

‘Claire, are you coming down, or not?’

Decisions, decisions. Daniel was already on his way. I had no option but to follow him.

I held on tight to my big brother’s hand as he guided me across the landing, then on past Sylvie’s room and down the stairs. Astonishingly, no ghosts appeared from the shadows and even though Daniel had said I ought to expect it, we didn’t come across any giant spiders with teeth like knives. There was a moment with a rogue moth that might have caused us some problems, but even then I managed not to cry out.

‘Phew.’

‘Phew.’

‘We made it.’

‘Yes, we did.’

It was only then that I realised Daniel had been scared, too.

The house seemed larger in the darkness. It was sprawling, ill kempt and ill cared for and we’d only moved there because my father had promised to do it up. We’d been here two years already but he’d never seemed to get round to finishing it. It struck me, sitting there on the sofa in the dark, that it must have been a struggle to take care of–the dusty floors without carpets, the walls with no plaster, the half-built kitchen and the rusty, dripping taps. Dad often had to work weekends or late into the night
and I imagined my mother sitting here on her own, long after we’d all gone to bed: watching the TV, reading a book; smoking a secretive and strange-smelling cigarette.

‘Shall we put on the TV?’ I said, to the quiet.

‘Yes,’ Daniel said, ‘I think we should.’

Mum had told us that the TV stations stopped broadcasting at midnight, but Daniel and I had long since decided this was a lie, an elaborate ruse drummed up by our parents to make sure we stayed in our beds. When we were fast asleep we knew full well that it came back on again; all kinds of programmes, all manner of adventures: war films and weirdness and nakedness.

‘It’s blank.’

‘Really, is it? Try tuning it to a different station, then.’

Daniel had been hoping for a Dracula film or an episode of
The Sky at Night
, I’d been hoping for an episode of Dallas. Instead there was the low shush of white noise and a screen of fizzing black and white pixels.

‘It’s true, then?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Shall we try listening to the radio instead?’

I nodded but we never switched it on. The sounds in the house had begun to warp and change shape. Upstairs, Sylvie had started bawling, they had finally woken her up. We crept to the door and listened as hard as we could, but we sensed all the shouting had stopped. Mum was comforting Sylvie now and Dad was thumping about in his wardrobe.

‘Shit, be careful. He’s coming down.’

My father walked towards us in his weekend clothes and we spied on him from exactly where we stood. He turned the light on in the hallway and turned it straight off again, once he could see where he was going. And then he opened the front door, so quietly, so carefully, as if this one gentle act could erase all the anguish of the night. He closed it so precisely it barely made a sound, it just sort of clicked shut and sighed. Daniel and I stood there, motionless and alert, listening to the beat of our own breathing. Had he seen us? It seemed impossible that he hadn’t.
Was he cross with us for coming down? Would he punish us in some small way in the morning?

‘Quick,’ said Daniel, pulling me to the window, ‘he’s getting into the car.’

My father was sat in the front seat. He had something in his hand, he was reading. He’d turned the light on to see it better and if we peered hard enough we could just make out his face. It didn’t look like my father’s face any more; the stuffing had gone out of it, all the firmness. It was deflated, loose, without support. His shoulders moved up and down like he was dancing, but his chin sat heavy on his chest.

‘What’s he doing?’ I said.

I knew the answer to this question, but I needed to have it confirmed. It was the moment I realised he was fallible; the moment I knew he wasn’t strong. This man that could pick up all three of us–Daniel, Sylvie and I–in one arm. This man that smelt of brick dust and concrete.

‘What’s he doing?’ I said, again. ‘What is he doing?’

I thought I knew exactly what my brother would say but I wasn’t prepared for the dreadfulness of his answer.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? he said, quietly. ‘He’s crying. Dad’s crying again.’

Huey is more agitated than I would have liked. When we get back to the apartment–tired, hot and laid low with jet-lag–he’s tearing about the kitchen in a rage. His teeth are chattering like castanets and he’s repeatedly slapping his leg. The snake is on the move again, it’s escaped from its tank. He has to find it in the next ten minutes (before Tess arrives home from her teeth whitening appointment) or he’s a dead man.

‘Jee-
suz
. Harvey, come on, man. I was only trying to stroke you. I wasn’t trying to kill you or nothin’. Harvey, little
Haaaarvey
. I got some nice mice babies for you, right here. You want some mice babies? They’re extra soft. Come on now, stop dickin’ me around!’

A sound at the door. A click of a key. Tess is back already, she’s early.

‘Fuck, man,
no
. She’s going to kill me. You have to do something, you
have
to help.’

‘What can we do?’ says Michael, looking anxious. ‘None of us knows where he is.’

‘He’s under there.’

‘The
cooker
?’

‘I think so. He slithered in here a couple hours ago and I totally forgot all about him. I switched on the oven to bake some mini-pizzas just before you guys turned up, and I noticed smoke coming out from underneath it. I think I must have cooked him. Fuck, man. Oh
fuck
…I cooked the snake.’

Tess goes from placid to hysterical in under a second, it’s the most incongruous thing. Her teeth, white as snow, smiling all by themselves; her lips all snarling and twisted. And Huey, tearing
frantically at his smooth, bald head; motioning the pulling out of hair where there is none.

‘I leave you alone for a second…
this
is what you do, you freakin’ idiot. Huey, you stupid freakin’
idiot
.’

‘Tess, don’t get mad now…come on, don’t get all crazy. That snake just won’t stay in his friggin’ tank.’

‘That’s because he’s
afraid
of you.’

‘He’s a boa constrictor…what the fuck has he got to be afraid of?’

‘He knows you hate him, he’s not stupid. He’s aware that you’re trying to kill him.’

‘I’m not trying to kill him, I
like
him. Why would he think that I hate him?’

‘Why else would you give him a name like that? Why else would you name him Harvey Weinstein?’

‘It suits him.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s a
snake
.’

‘No Huey, that’s not good enough. He’s a happy reptile, he’s sweet. He and I, we’ve got a special bond. He’s intuitive, you know, he’s very intuitive. He knows
exactly
what you think of him…he does.’

‘I like him.’

‘
No
, no you don’t. Only last year you tried to kidnap his namesake and kill him. You were going to force feed him poison.’

‘It wasn’t poison, Tess. It was Rogaine.’

‘What’s the difference? He would have grown hair on his gullet and choked. You think that’s a nice way to die?’

‘He wasn’t going to die, come
on
now. I was never going to kill him, not really. I was just going to scare him a little bit.’

‘Only because they stopped you just in
time
. Only because they took out a
restraining
order against you.’

‘Well…’

‘And had you arrested.’

‘Hey, don’t side with the law, Tess. You know that was a total…like…overreaction.’

‘Huey, it was
not
an overreaction. You tried to poison the biggest film producer in Hollywood. You’re barred from California for the rest of your
life
.’

‘He ruined my
career
,’ says Huey, slapping at his head. ‘You think that’s fair, Tess? That he totally
ruined
my career.’

‘How is that the snake’s fault, Huey…
how!
’

Tess is hitting Huey with her shopping bag, a blue and white carrier from Gap.

‘If he’s cooked it’s your fault,’ she says, laying into him. ‘If he’s dead, then
you’re
dead too. If you’ve damaged a single shiny scale on his cute albino head, if any harm has come to my…
look!
There he is…Harvey
Weinstein
, behind the fridge. Come here to Mommy. Come here to Mommy, Harvey Weinstein.’

The snake sticks it’s head out from behind the fridge, slowly, tentatively; it’s bright red tongue darting back and forth. Nobody moves, we don’t want to scare it. Tess is sobbing with joy.

‘Quick, Huey. Tell him that you love him.’

‘Fuck that, no. No way.’

‘Get down on your knees here, and
tell
my damn snake that you love him.’

‘Tess, you’ve gone, like, totally AWOL. There’s no way in the world I’m going to do this.’

‘You get down there and apologise to him, Huey. Right
now
. Or so help me God, I’ll never let you near my ass again as long as you live.’

A sharp intake of breath from me and Michael. Huey sighs and gets down on his knees.

‘Closer.’

Huey gets closer.

‘Say it, we don’t have all day.’

Huey looks at the snake. The snake looks at Huey.

‘I, uh…hey, man. I uh…love you…’

‘No, no, that’s not right. Say the whole thing. Say it properly. Say–I love you, Harvey Weinstein.’

‘You’ve got to be
kidding
me.’

She’s not.

Huey gives Tess a pleading look but she just won’t budge. She nudges his shoulder with the heel of her shoe and tells him to hurry up and be quick. Huey lets out a moan. His face contorts, his lips can barely stand to form the words.

‘I love you,’ he says, finally, tears of resignation in his eyes. ‘I love…I love you, Harvey Weinstein.’

It works like a charm. The snake crawls out from underneath the fridge and sidles straight over to Tess. Huey collapses in a heap, overcome by what he’s just done.

‘Thanks baby,’ she says, brightly, bending down to pick up the snake. ‘I know how hard that must have been for you to do.’

Huey can only manage a grunt.

‘I’ll fix us all something to drink, how ’bout that? Soon as Harvey Weinstein’s safely back in his tank. I’ll fix us all a pitcher of frozen margaritas? I’ll use my extra special recipe, what do you say?’

‘Thanks,’ says Michael. ‘That would be nice.’

Tess sets the jug of lime-green liquid on the table and pours each of us a generous glass. We down the first batch pretty quickly and mix up another just as fast. Huey is recovering from his ordeal, slowly; it’s taken him a while to find the strength to speak. Neither of them refer directly to what’s just happened. They don’t apologise or say something to the effect of,
Well, Claire, well Michael, you must think we’re pretty strange, am I right? You must think we’re both pretty highly strung?
This, it seems, is another regular day for them; just another raucous South Beach evening.

‘So, Huey,’ I say, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, why exactly did you…’

‘Try to kill Harvey Weinstein?’

‘Yes…I mean it’s fine, if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘No, that’s OK. It’s a pretty simple story, as a matter of fact. It happened just after I lost all my hair. I wore a wig for a while, you know, to go to auditions and stuff, but I still wasn’t getting any work. Then, out of nowhere, when I’d just about given up
hope, I landed this once-in-a-lifetime role. Would have been a total comeback for me. Would have set up my entire career.’

‘Anyway,’ he says, miserably, ‘it was all worked out. My agent said I had the part, the director said I had the part, and I’m just about to sign the contract in front of them both–I have the pen in my actual hand–when there’s a glitch. Producer calls up before I’ve had time to write my name, says he doesn’t want me for the role any more. Says the romantic lead in a movie of this stature has got to have all his own hair. What about Bruce Willis, I say. Not important, he says. People still remember Willis with hair.’

‘And then his wig starts to slip,’ says Tess, bleakly.

‘Yeah. And then the wig, it starts slipping. I don’t notice it at first, I can’t feel it. By the time I realise what’s going on, the rug’s slipped so far back they can all see exactly how bald I am. And, ’cos I’m so wound up–I’m practically begging for the job by now–my forehead, it’s all slicked up with sweat. Then my teeth, they start chattering and the director, he says, “What the fuck is that? Is that
you?
” Up until that point I think he would have fought for me, you know? You should have seen my audition tape, man, it was immense.’

‘It was awesome, you really ought to see it.’

‘They ripped the part right out from under me. All because of that phone call. All because the producer had seen me in some crappy science fiction pilot playing a hairless Venetian.’

‘Venutian.’

‘Whatever. But it was all down to that one guy. Har…
Har
…well, you both know his name. You both know exactly who I mean.’

Tess hugs Huey and gives him a kiss and we nod and sip our margaritas. They’re excellent, they’re beginning to work. Slowly, quietly, ever so gently, everyone’s starting to relax.

‘So how was your day?’ says Tess, brightly. ‘You get any lead on your brother?’

‘No, I didn’t, not really.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Claire went to her old building,’ Michael says, licking salt off the rim of his glass. ‘She got a little upset.’

‘Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry,’ says Tess, stroking my arm. ‘I know exactly how you feel. I feel like that every time I drive past the women’s penitentiary. Even though my mum isn’t in there any more, it still brings the whole thing right back to me.’

‘What did she…’

‘Get imprisoned for? Cheque-book fraud. And arson, a little bit.’

‘I see.’

‘I guess that was the last time you were all together as a complete family, am I right? Must have been pretty hard for you to go back there. Especially with your brother missing and everything?’

She really is the strangest kind of woman; just when you think she’s as mad as a fish she says something generous and perceptive.

‘Huey and Harvey are my family now,’ she says. ‘You have to make your family where you can. I have a sister called Rita, she lives in Wyoming, farms emus, so I don’t really see her all that much. Still, at least I know where she’s at, right?’

Huey smiles. Michael licks up more salt.

‘Hey,’ says Tess, eagerly. ‘I know what we should do. Let’s all four of us make a list. Claire is on a mission here, we ought to get busy. We should write down everything we know, everything we can think of that might help her. Huey and I know Miami like the back of our hand, we must be able to come up with some ideas of where to look, right?’

I can feel my limbs going soft. I like the idea of everybody helping; I like the idea of everybody joining in. My cheeks ache, I’m smiling like a fool. Michael is…Michael is drooling.

‘Everybody feeling a bit better now, huh?’

It’s true, we’re all feeling much better.

‘Must be the jet-lag wearing off,’ I say, contentedly.

‘That’s probably got something to do with it,’ Tess says. ‘But more likely it’s my special recipe margaritas. Secret is to crush a
little Valium in with the salt. Makes a whole heap of difference. The cocktail can taste bitter if you mix it in direct, so it’s better if you just crush the pick-me-up into the salt.’

‘You spiked our drinks?’

Why don’t I sound angry when I say this. Why do I sound so blasé?

‘Sure, but it’s only a little bit. You get a mild hit every time you take a sip. Won’t effect you all that much, not unless you suck up every grain.’

We take a moment. Everyone turns to look at Michael. His own glass is licked clean, and he’s already making short work of mine and Huey’s; his tongue is coated in granules.

‘Great drinks, Tessa. Superb. Without doubt the finest, meanest, most delicious tequila based cocktail I’ve ever, ever tasted in my entire
life
.’