Weird Sister (7 page)

He stands in the middle of the floor and surveys. He is alone, Agnes is downstairs. This is the room where he and Graeme hid the night their mother died. These are the crates, the dustsheets, the boxes they crouched behind while she laboured, folding themselves into smaller and smaller spaces. Robert has been in and out of this room many times since – to retrieve things, to store more junk – but the memory of that night waits for him here, hiding behind a shrouded armchair, inside a half-opened box. Clearing the room will be good, he thinks, good for the soul of the house. He’ll tell Agnes about what happened, he’ll tell her about his mother and that night. She’ll understand, she’ll listen to him.

Appalled by the standard of British bathrooms, Agnes is insistent about the plumbing. She speaks very firmly; she hasn’t made any demands before this so Robert listens carefully. ‘I want a shower – separate from the bath – tiled – with steam and heat and power.’

Robert nods. ‘Okay –’

She’s got her hands on her hips. ‘I want a toilet that flushes at first go, a single tap in the sink capable of mixing hot and cold water, a window that actually opens – not one of those disgusting plastic vents that gets very dirty and spins round and round endlessly. Built-in cupboards – not open shelves. A heated towel rack as well as the radiator. A magazine rack, decent lighting. Mirrors.’

Robert kisses her; the sound of her voice – her accent – entrances him. ‘I promise the nearest approximation of an American bathroom that England can muster.’ Agnes puts her arm around him and passes on the heat of her body. He talks into her hair, ‘I am happy to obey.’

‘How the fuck do you think we’ll pay for that?’ Graeme asks when Robert details his plans. Agnes has gone down to London to shop with Jenny.

‘There is some money. This is work that needs doing.’ Robert is always diligent about keeping Graeme informed, even though they both know full well that what Graeme thinks or says makes no difference to his plans.

‘I increased the rent when the farming lease came up three months ago. I told you what I was doing.’ These conversations usually fill Robert with dread. This time he’s been caught off-guard, his head full of Agnes, he hasn’t thought the argument through properly. Graeme has no role in running the estate, there isn’t enough work for two people, but they play this game nonetheless. When their father fell ill Robert took on the task of running the house and land; he was about to finish school and wasn’t sure what to do next, he hadn’t liked school enough to want to go to university. Graeme was already a police constable, working in Peterborough. He and Karen had married as soon as he finished his training; they’d been together since they were fourteen, although Graeme had always played the field. This is how Robert thinks of his brother: Graeme plays the field. So the task of running the house and the land the family still owned came to Robert. It had been his idea to turn part of the collection of outbuildings into holiday cottages, three all together. In an act of supreme bullishness that made him unpopular in both the Black Hat and the Marquis of Granby for a while, he threw the long-standing tenant farmer off the land when the lease lapsed and sold the tenancy to corporate agribusiness. He’d had other business ventures that were less successful; he invested in a new riding stable one year and lost a fair bit of money on that. But on the whole, he makes it work, generating enough cash to support the entire family. And Graeme makes sure that Robert knows he resents him for it. It had been all right when Graeme was working, he couldn’t care less what Robert did with the land. But when he lost his job and ended up at home all day every day, it became more difficult. His disability pension doesn’t add up to much when it comes to the general cash flow. He is angry – he’s always been angry, but now he is permanently enraged.

‘The work has to be done,’ Robert insists. ‘That part of the house is practically falling down. Agnes and I need somewhere to live. I don’t want her to move into my old bedroom.’ This thought makes him laugh. ‘That room has seen rather too much of me.’ He turns to Graeme. ‘Or would you rather we lived somewhere else?’

Graeme looks away. Robert knows how to shut him up. He can tell that Graeme is pleased that Agnes is moving in; neither of them wants to break up the family, not while Jenny is still in school. That’s what they tell themselves. Not while Jenny is in school. Graeme is unable to admit he is pleased that they are staying. And that means that, as usual, Robert has something over him. The work needs doing. Robert will go ahead with his plans regardless of what Graeme thinks. Before his brother can say anything more he picks up the telephone and rings the builder.

Robert

It was a lot of fun, that week before the wedding. We were really excited or, at least, I was. I had a lot to do, what with getting the house ready, making arrangements for the party we were going to have after the ceremony. There was work to catch up on, work I had neglected while I spent my days in bed with Agnes. We still spent a good part of our day in bed, there was no way either of us was going to sacrifice that. I’d go over to the Black Hat at lunch time, or in the evening, say a quick hello to Jim and Lolita, then rush up the stairs to her room. Everyone knew where I was headed, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t like anything I’d experienced before, with Agnes it was as though all the other women I’d been with didn’t count, I had no history, no preconceptions, no idea about how things should or shouldn’t be. My life was full of passion. It had never been like that before. Sometimes when Agnes wasn’t with me and I was working I’d have to stop what I was doing and press my palms hard against either side of my head, to prevent myself from exploding with happiness.

It was Karen who brought me part way back down to earth. Karen was a quiet woman, a little shy. She and Graeme had been together so long I’d got used to her, she was part of the scenery. She ran the domestic side of the household with incredible efficiency; she took all that work – the boys, Martin, Jenny, the cooking, the cleaning – and rendered it entirely invisible. Later, when it was too late, I realized that all that work had rendered Karen herself invisible as well. But at the time, in the drama of our family, she didn’t register much of a presence.

I was helping her with the washing-up. I hadn’t talked to Karen about the wedding; I’d assumed she was as excited as everyone else seemed to be. I was drying the dishes and thinking about what I wanted the builder to do upstairs, relieved to have got over the obstacle of telling Graeme about my plans.

‘Have you spoken to Elizabeth lately?’ Karen asked suddenly.

‘Elizabeth,’ I said, ‘no. Why?’ thinking she might have rung with some kind of problem in her cottage. I often helped her out with that kind of thing. I had felt a little uneasy since Elizabeth came back to Warboys. I guess it was a weakness on my behalf, but I didn’t like to see her unhappy. I didn’t want to be around her if she was unhappy. We weren’t as close as we had once been, but I liked to think we had the kind of friendship that could endure long absences and differences of opinion. I hadn’t seen as much of her as I should have. I don’t know why, but she made me feel guilty.

‘Have you told her you’re getting married?’

I put away the plate I was drying.

‘I just think you should tell her yourself. She’s probably heard through the grapevine already. But I think she’d want to hear it from you directly.’

‘But I –’

‘It’s only polite, that’s all,’ Karen said, as though she was talking to little Andrew. ‘I know if I was her I’d want to hear it from you.’

I couldn’t really see Karen’s point. I knew that if I was happy Elizabeth would be happy for me.

‘Just tell her Robert, it’s a simple thing.’

So I agreed. Karen didn’t often express opinions and I was willing to take her word on this. And now that she had mentioned it, I could hardly wait.

I rang that afternoon. ‘Lizzie,’ I said.

‘Hello Robert.’ She sounded cheerful.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see you.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘How are things?’ Usually on the telephone we talked easily, but today I felt awkward. Well, it was the first time I’d ever rung her up to announce I was getting married, so I suppose that explained my difficulty.

Ticking over. Things are ticking over. I’m looking for a job.’

I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t make small talk. ‘Lizzie, I’m getting married.’

There was a small pause. ‘Oh, that’s great. Who to?’

Her voice was disappointingly flat. I thought she’d be beside herself with excitement. We’d always taken great pleasure in each other’s news before. I thought she’d feel like I felt when she got her degree – almost as though I’d done it myself. I know it sounds naive, but it hadn’t occurred to me that Lizzie might be jealous. She’s admitted as much to me since, but at the time I was surprised.

‘Agnes Samuel. I want you to meet her.’ This felt important now. ‘Before the wedding. You’ll love her, Lizzie, she’s amazing.’

‘That’s great, Robert, just great.’ Another pause. ‘I’m really happy for you.’

Oh come on, I thought, can’t you even fake a little excitement? ‘Listen –’ and this was spur of the moment, I swear that I did not intend to hurt Lizzie – ‘will you be my best man or maid of honour or whatever? Please? You’re my oldest friend. It’s important to me.’ The phone was quiet. ‘Elizabeth?’

She cleared her throat. I heard her sniff. ‘Ahh – no. No, Robert. But thank you.’

‘No?’

‘I can’t. I . . . I’m in mourning. For my father. Still in mourning. I’m sorry. I – it wouldn’t feel right. I couldn’t stand up in church with you. I couldn’t be relied upon. To . . .’

‘But Lizzie you –’

‘No Robert. Thank you for asking.’

She’d said no. I didn’t believe the line about her father. I couldn’t understand why she would begrudge me happiness. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Neither did she. ‘What kind of a job?’ I asked, pushing the conversation on.

‘Oh, anything. Something in the village.’

‘I’ll keep an eye out for you. Let you know if I hear of anything.’

‘Good idea.’

‘And I’ll bring Agnes round to meet you.’

‘You do that.’

‘Bye Lizzie.’

‘Good-bye.’

I felt let down. Later – much later, after everything had happened and there was no going back – Elizabeth told me that when she hung up she cried so hard she thought her lungs were going to collapse. She cried for the rest of the day. I didn’t know that at the time. I don’t know how I would have reacted if I had known, if I had been privy to Elizabeth’s misery. I was so happy with Agnes, my love for her had such a grip on me, that I probably couldn’t have cared less. I probably would have done nothing. I’m not proud of that, but I’m not ashamed to admit it. It just shows how much I loved Agnes, how by then I would have done anything to be with her.

Elizabeth was my great friend. But the fact is, I did not fancy her. Yes, we slept together occasionally over the years. Yes, she knew most of my secrets and I hers. Yes, her opinion mattered to me. And yes, I probably did rely on the fact that she was always there to fall back on – and I probably would have been disappointed myself if she’d got married before me. But I never assumed that we’d end up together. I was very surprised when she came back to Warboys, despite the obvious logic of the move, given her circumstances. She shouldn’t have blamed herself so completely for what happened with her client. And she blames herself now for some of the things that have happened here in Warboys. But she shouldn’t. What happened was my fault. I take the blame.

Agnes and Jenny go shopping

In London, in Knightsbridge, Agnes is luminescent. Jenny watches her, admiring. They move down the crowded high street and it is as though she flies along the pavement, hovering outside the window displays, darting into shops. Jenny can feel her excitement as the clouds move quickly overhead. It is one of those days when Britain shows its island nature; the weather changes every few minutes, sunshine, rain, wind, hail, warm sunshine again. ‘I can’t believe it,’ Agnes says each time they emerge from a shop and are faced with a new weather front. ‘It makes me feel like we’ve been shopping for days.’ She laughs and steps up the pace.

When they go into Harvey Nichols department store, all the women, all the painted ladies, emerge from within their cosmetic flytraps to watch Agnes float by. They beckon to her with their long dark nails, they try to get that lovely face – eyes shining, skin radiant, unmarked by worry or fatigue – to look their way. Jenny and Agnes stop at Clarins, L’Oréal, Lancôme, and MAC as Agnes, credit card flashing, equips Jenny. ‘They don’t call it a “beauty regime” for nothing,’ she says sternly.

Upstairs, they try on clothes. Wedding outfits. Jenny has never been shopping in London before; Elizabeth and Karen usually take her shopping a couple of times a year, and on those trips they go to Peterborough or Cambridge. Jenny has been to London a couple of times on school outings, but those trips were rushed and ordered and she found the city too busy, too quick. Graeme once took her to the theatre in the West End as a birthday treat, but neither of them enjoyed it, they found the play, and the actors, embarrassing. So this, shopping in Knightsbridge with Agnes – this is really something. People – shop assistants, other women – pay attention to them. It is as though they recognize Agnes, as though they know her somehow, except they can’t quite place her. It is as though when she smiles at people their hearts melt, even cold London hearts accustomed to beauty and taste and Americans with deep pockets.

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Agnes says to Jenny, ‘don’t even think about the money.’

When Jenny finds an outfit, the perfect outfit, she and Agnes exchange a glance in the mirror, there is no need to speak. A soft green shot silk dress with matching swing coat, light with simple lines. Shoes to match, stockings – Jenny can’t get over the stockings – the right kind of underwear as well. A hat with a single feather, very chic. It is like an outfit from a dream, a young girl’s dream of what she might look like one day. As she stands at the cash desk watching while the dress is packed between careful layers of tissue paper, Jenny realizes that when she was little her Barbie doll had a similar ensemble. She knows she doesn’t look like Barbie, she doesn’t have the hard boobs or the tanned legs or the tiny swivel waist, but for once, this time, she will do. She will look all right. Jenny is unable to stop grinning.