by Luke Brown
‘You were drunk last time you arrived here, weren’t you?’
‘It’s two o’clock on Sunday afternoon.’
‘I never know with you. You might have been out since Thursday.’
‘I’ve been working in the shop for the last two days. I went to the cinema last night with my flatmate.’
‘How disappointing. You mustn’t stay sober this afternoon, Paul. I doubt I’ll manage it.’
‘Is Sophie here yet?’
‘No, she’s on her way. You hit it off, did you, at the launch?’
‘We had a nice time drinking in an ersatz confessional booth.’
‘Sounds sacrilegious.’
‘That’s what I said. And, oh! I read Sophie’s article about shoplifting. Did you see it?’
He gave me a long assessing look before he spoke. ‘I did, and that is a subject I have been advised by Emily not to bring up over lunch. I say advised, but what I mean is commanded.’
In their hallway I stood again at the intersection of two book-lined corridors. Emily stood barefooted at the end of one, wearing an apron; she beckoned me towards her. There was a smell of bread baking. It was a dreamy vision, like one might have before being jolted back into life with a defibrillator. The wooden floorboards looked like they had been recently polished, though that may just have been my heightened sensitivity to our different environments. The carpets in my place had frayed through in patches to show the lack of underlay. I sometimes found myself wandering through streets of Edwardian terraces in Dalston, looking into living-room windows with lustful thoughts about alphabetising my books there.
‘I brought a bottle,’ I said.
‘Thanks very much.’ Without looking at the label, he put it on the floor next to an umbrella stand. Then he ushered me into the kitchen.
*
In the centre of the kitchen there was a round table, where we sat while Emily sliced and whizzed and put things in the oven. Andrew and I shared a bottle of white wine, while he interrogated me about my childhood.
‘That must have been hard,’ he said.
‘Which? When he walked out or when he died?’
‘Both. But I meant when he walked out. And refused to see you. God knows I haven’t lived a perfect life but I’ve always seen Sophie regularly.’
I looked up to see if Emily would look at me, but she kept facing the other way, stirring something in a pot.
‘He still saw me occasionally. It was my sister he stopped talking to for a while.’
‘How was that for her?’
‘I mean, she got over it. Did she? We both grew up quite quickly after it happened. Don’t let me go on about it. It’s nothing remarkable.’
‘And your mother?’ he said.
‘She…’
‘You needn’t go on if you don’t want to.’
‘No, it’s fine. She was a teacher too, like her brother and two sisters. The other two sisters were nurses. They all went for responsible, valuable, realistic careers. Lived in realistic places suitable for raising healthy kids on realistic incomes. It’s embarrassing, really.’
‘It should be the absolute opposite. You should be proud of them.’
‘I am. I’m embarrassed about the contrast I present.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Emily, from the chopping board. ‘Your choices have probably made you much happier than theirs made them.’
‘Even if that were true, I can’t see why that should make me any less embarrassed.’
‘You really did grow up Catholic,’ said Andrew.
‘What time’s Sophie due?’ asked Emily.
‘Soon,’ said Andrew. ‘And what was it like at your school, Paul?’
I told him.
‘You need to be careful, Paul.’
‘Careful?’
‘Of relying too much on stories of hardship to explain your lack of direction.’
‘I didn’t say anything about hardship. It was fine – it just didn’t have very high ambitions for us.’
‘Some people aren’t given advantages. I sympathise. But what can you do with my sympathy?’
‘It was you who brought up my school. I was minding my own business.’
‘I just think you need to think more positively. Act yourself into the right role. I grew up working class.’
‘But don’t you think the era made some practical difference to you? With grammar schools, plausible house prices…’
‘You sound like my daughter.’
‘You don’t,’ said Emily.
Then the doorbell rang and Andrew went to let Sophie in.
*
An hour had passed. The salad was delicious, there was a lentil stew with bright-green beans and basil, and a loaf of sourdough bread from the oven – though these culinary matters were mentioned very little at the table. Emily and I had been silent for a while, moving only to pour ourselves more wine. Andrew and Sophie had barely touched their glasses.
‘But you weren’t researching a novel. You were stealing a dress.’
‘Which proves my point even further.’
‘So why not admit that in the article?’
‘Would you rather I had?’
‘Do I want you to announce to the world you’re a thief? I suppose actually I don’t. You might need a job one day.’
‘I have a career as a journalist already, thank you.’
‘There are circles in which saying someone writes journalism is an insult, you know, Sophie.’
‘Not ones I want to be part of, and that’s rich, considering how much journalism you write. And I was researching an article, as it turned out. Why do you care?’
‘Because this stuff matters.’
‘Why?’
‘Why does truth matter? Really?’
‘The end justifies the means,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Do you not think it’s abhorrent that I can get away with stealing that dress when someone else can’t?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And I’ve drawn attention to that.’
‘So what? What end have you reached by drawing attention to it? What solution to poverty have you proposed? And why did you call me? Why didn’t you just use the lawyer they would have provided? Why didn’t you leave me to eat my dinner that night?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry I put you out, Dad.’
‘You’re better than this, Sophie. This bratty sarcasm.’
‘I rang you because I was scared and I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t expect a get-out-of-jail-free card.’
‘Do you believe what you’re saying?’
‘Don’t you see it’s wrong that your friend could arrive and just get me out of there?’
‘You better hope the Americans don’t read your column.’
‘What? Why?’
‘They could stick your name on a list of UK citizens convicted of crimes of moral turpitude. And you would be turned away.’
‘What? Then why did Sandra say I’d be OK with a caution?’
‘She didn’t know you were going to write a fucking column about it. For such an educated person you really can be quite stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid to speak out about injustice!’
Andrew’s face twisted with derision. ‘You’re in serious danger of taking this useful, simplistic persona you’ve created for publishing your popular polemics and turning it into your actual personality. Which would be a shame, because you have a good mind beneath this bullshit. You wanted some material for a column, that’s all. Of course it’s wrong that you can get away with stealing a dress when someone else can’t. That’s your moral failure, not the system’s. The system is like it is because people with your advantages don’t tend to steal dresses, unless they’re suffering a mental breakdown. So it was easy to convince them what you did was a result of a mental breakdown, and that you weren’t on your way to steal another one. You’ve proven nothing of worth at all.’
This was an interesting lesson in how to
argue. By now Amy and I would have got personal and started screaming at each other.
‘People like me do steal dresses. Dad. And don’t talk about my moral failings. I don’t see why some of us are allowed to display outrageous morals and others aren’t.’
And now it began to resemble the arguments I knew well.
Andrew slapped his hand down on the table. ‘I am trying to stay calm here, Sophie. Which outrageous morals of mine are we talking about? Why don’t you state it clearly rather than make these petty allusions?’
He pushed his chair back and strode from the room. We heard his sandals slapping on the floorboards as he walked the length of the corridors.
Emily topped up all of our glasses of wine, looking down at the table as she did, and opened her mouth in a yawn.
‘Were we boring you, Emily?’ asked Sophie, who was looking a bit shaken.
‘Occasionally,’ said Emily. ‘Shall we try to change the subject before he’s back?’
‘What was it that was so boring to you?’
‘I’m just not really into such muscular sports. It’s like watching two thugs play tennis. Just whack whack whack.’
‘We like to have debate over dinner in our family, Emily,’ she said.
‘We did not,’ said Emily. ‘And I’m willing to learn new things, but only up to a point.’ She picked up her glass, took an infinitesimal sip, holding eye contact with Sophie, then lowered the glass back down.
Sophie turned to me. ‘And were you bored too, Paul?’
I tried to think of something to change the subject. ‘And how is your writing going?’ had been a disastrous question.
Sophie carried on. ‘Dad mentioned you two were going to go on holiday to the seaside together without him.’
We had made a plan to go there in a week’s time. I was coming along for two nights, to let her in, and to check in with the estate agent. I could have spoken to the agent on the phone though Amy was taking care of that, and I didn’t really need to check the house was all right, which Alan was still doing for us. But my reasons for being there sounded convincing. And after all, it was my home. I wanted to go there with her.
‘It’s not a holiday,’ said Emily. ‘Paul’s just letting me in and doing some things he needs to do there, then he’s leaving me to get some work done.’
‘Yes, that’s what Dad said too. But you can’t go to the seaside and not have some fun. You’ll want Paul to take you for a go on the Big One, surely?’
Sophie looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I made an awkward grin at her.
Emily noticed and scowled. ‘I’ll be doing nothing an old-age pensioner wouldn’t do. Fifty-p cups of tea, blustery walks on the beach, and trying to write my book.’
‘Do you miss Rochi?’ Sophie asked me suddenly. ‘You were spending a lot of time with her. And now you’re not.’
‘I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on us,’ I said.
‘Who’s Rochi?’ said Emily.
‘My friend. She was at the launch. Tall, Indian heritage. Attractive. She is attractive, isn’t she, Paul?’
‘I know who you mean,’ said Emily. ‘Of course she is. She’s striking.’
I couldn’t work out if the smile she was giving me was patronising or admiring.
‘We had a nice time,’ I said.
‘Who had a nice time?’ said Andrew, striding back into the room. ‘Why’s Paul gone red?’
‘Rochi and Paul had a nice time,’ said Emily.
‘Rochi your friend?’ asked Andrew.
‘Rochi’s great,’ I said quickly. ‘We went out a couple of times. We’re buddies.’
‘Buddies?’ asked Sophie. ‘English people don’t say “buddies” unless they’re silently pronouncing the word “fuck” before it.’
‘Jesus, Sophie. Can we try to keep things civilised?’ said Andrew.
‘It’s a vile phrase, I know, Dad,’ said Sophie. ‘But it’s la parlance du jour. What else can you say? Lovers? You’d have to be at least your age to get away with that, and what’s love got to do with it?’
‘What’s love but a second-hand emotion?’ sang Emily.
Sophie glared at her.
‘They do use the word “buddy” where I’m from,’ I said.
‘It’s American,’ said Sophie.
‘“All right, buddy”, “All right, bud”. That’s how men greet each other.’
‘How strange,’ said Sophie.
‘You and Rochi, hey?’ said Andrew.
‘Jesus, you’re not going to start some male perv club, are you?’ said Sophie.
‘Sophie,’ said Andrew.
‘No. Not me and Rochi,’ I said.
Emily was looking at me and I still couldn’t read her face. I saw Andrew notice she was studying me. ‘Let’s move on,’ he said.
The speculation about my sex life had lightened the mood. Emily and Sophie began to chat about novels they’d read recently, while Andrew encouraged me to follow up on my conversation with Susannah. ‘She likes you,’ he said. ‘She’s keen to help you.’
‘It’s very good, your new novel,’ Sophie was saying to Emily.
And perhaps Sophie’s aggression towards her was tributary, a failed attempt to show respect, like a boy pulling the ponytail of a girl as a way of trying to tell her, and himself, that he liked her.
‘Thank you,’ said Emily.
‘Very good indeed!’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve been telling everyone to read it. Apart from my mum. It’s very intelligent! Funny, too!’
I could see Emily struggling to lower her eyebrows. It was hard to tell whether Sophie was being unwittingly condescending, or whether she was being as condescending as she could possibly be.
‘And are you still planning to write fiction?’ asked Emily.
‘It’s on the back burner while I finish my essay book. English fiction just seems so moribund? So defeated? There hasn’t been a good political novelist since…’
She directed her speech to Emily first, then turned to her father. After a minute Emily stood up and walked from the room. Sophie turned to watch her leave. Andrew topped up our glasses again.
*
At about six I could tell it was time to leave, and I said I would be on my way.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Sophie.
‘Just back east. Home.’
‘Are you going out?’
‘Not planning to.’
‘Hmm. Walk me to the Tube, will you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Actually, Sophie, we did want to talk to you about something first,’ said Andrew. He looked at me and round towards the door.
‘Well, can Paul stay while you do?’ she said.
‘Um,’ said Andrew. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter.’
‘And actually there’re some books I wanted to borrow – can I take them?’ Sophie said, leaving the room and pacing up and down the hallway.
‘Yes, just show them to me first in case I need them for a course or a piece.’
Emily stood up. She ran a sink full of water and started putting pans into it.
‘I’ll do that later, darling,’ said Andrew.
‘Do you want me to wait in your living room?’ I asked. ‘While you talk about whatever you’re talking about.’
‘No, stay,’ said Andrew. ‘Right, Emily?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ she said, sitting down again, before getting back up and putting the kettle on.
We sat there waiting for Sophie, whose company I was beginning to look forward to having to myself. I was curious about the type of alliance we were going to form.
‘So what was this thing you wanted to tell me?’ she asked when she came back in with a pile of books, and her bag on her shoulder.
‘Sit down, Sophie,’ said Andrew.
‘I’ll hear you whether I’m standing up or sitting down,’ she said, leaning against the kitchen counter.
‘Fine. I’ve asked Emily to—’
‘I’ve asked Emily to—’
‘We’ve decided together to,’ said Emily.
‘Yes, we’ve decided together to… that we’d like to get married.’
‘Oh,’ said Sophie.
No one had looked at me once during this exchange except Sophie, a quick glance of panic. I didn’t say congratulations or anything at all.
Sophie coughed. ‘Just to be clear: you are going to get married? When?’
‘We won’t wait long,’ said Andrew. ‘The end of the summer, perhaps early September.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said, to break the silence.
The engaged couple looked in my direction and smiled with their mouths shut. While they were looking away from her, Sophie pretended to vomit, composed herself and said, ‘Yes, very well done. Now I presume it’s my job to tell Mum about this. Have you thought about Mum at all in this?’
‘I’ll call her this evening,’ said Andrew.
‘Don’t call her this evening. If you call her this evening I’ll have to go home and pick up the pieces, and I might have other plans this evening.’
‘There won’t be any pieces to pick up, Sophie. We’ve been divorced for eight years.’
‘Eight years is nothing. Eight years is eight weeks.’
‘That’s startlingly mature and nihilistic of you, Sophie, but in this case eight years is eight years. I do still speak to Jean as you know, and she’s fully aware of my relationship with Emily.’
‘That’s what you think. You don’t live with her.’
‘No. I live with Emily, and I will be marrying her this summer.’
‘Well… congratulations. Congratulations, Dad. Congratulations, Emily.’
‘Thank you,’ said Emily, as flatly as Sophie.
‘And you’re getting married this summer?’ I said, wishing I wasn’t there.
Emily had carefully avoided looking at me until she couldn’t any more. ‘It won’t be a big thing,’ she said. ‘The smallest room in the registry office. A handful of people.’
‘So not as big a deal as your wedding to Carole, Dad?’
‘Oh, Sophie…’
‘Are you even inviting me?’
‘Of course we’re inviting you,’ said Andrew. ‘You will come?’
‘Depends if I’m free,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m very busy this summer.’