‘Does that mean you’re always going to be grumpy?’
‘I’m not grumpy, Hen, I’m exasperated.’ Henry leaned back in his chair.
‘You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t let me dictate how you feel.’
‘How can I help it when you’re dragging me out of work, offering me this – OK, fine, delicious – gruel, under the pretext of sibling bonding, when you actually want to pump me for funds?’
‘Not pump – request.’
‘Fine, sweet brother, request away.’ Henry wiped the corners of his mouth with one of the scratchy serviettes and cleared his throat.
‘I would like for you to consider gifting me a couple of hundred pounds for some of my essentials.’
‘Which are?’
‘Food, shelter and a very modest amount of marijuana.’
‘No.’
‘Well, thank you for your consideration. May I ask why?’
‘Because you’re an adult, you should be taking care of your own basic needs, and aren’t you living with Dad?’ By Dad I meant Eddie, Henry’s father, whom he generously allowed me to claim too.
‘We had a falling out. He didn’t appreciate some of my acquaintances.’
‘He’s sick, Henry, you shouldn’t be bringing stress to his door right now.’ I felt a flush of regret then. What my stepfather hadn’t provided in chromosomes he more than made up for in affection. I understood from other people with absent parents that they felt a sense of loss, but I believed I was fortunate because I had a father who’d chosen me. Eddie always told me how lucky he was. A buy-one-get-one-free was what he said of his union with my mother. And even though they broke each other’s hearts, he didn’t allow it to diminish the care he offered to me. I made a silent promise to visit him. ‘At least you’re not asking him for money.’ I took another mouthful of food. Henry burped.
‘I did, but he didn’t want to give me any.’
‘Good. I don’t want to either.’
‘You never want to, but you do. You having money troubles?’ I took some food from Henry’s bowl. It was also delicious.
‘It’s not polite to ask people about their finances.’
‘You’re not people, you’re family.’
‘Family are people too, Henry.’
‘We’re only as sick as our secrets.’ I did sort of want to unload.
‘Things feel precarious at work. I think I’ve got a target on my back. I thought I’d be looking at a promotion by now and I’m worried about getting pushed out. I’m so paranoid after the redundancy.’ I felt the rush of anxiety that had been visiting more and more frequently; it was accompanied by a fog descending on my brain and sharp stomach cramps.
‘What you gonna do about it?’
‘What can I do?’
‘I don’t know, do I? You’re the woman who always has a plan.’ I suppose to him it seemed like that. I was at university before he hit adolescence; saving for a house before he finished school; he got stoned at my wedding. To Henry I had everything in order.
‘I don’t know.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t believe that.’ I wanted him to think of me as capable, someone he could still look up to, but also I needed to tell – it was ready to lurch from my mouth like a hiccup.
‘I met this guy …’ Henry nodded. ‘On a night out.’ He stopped nodding and regarded me intently. ‘No, not like that. Well, kind of like that. Oh, shit. It was weird.’ Henry grinned again.
‘Weird I can do.’ So, I told him. I told him almost everything. In fact, it spilled out of me. I explained how Carter had blindsided me and that I was feeling insecure and overwhelmed, and that Frank rescued me and it felt like I was in a movie or a dream. I told him about my bathroom encounter with the model; that her designer camisole was still in my laundry basket; and that we ended up held hostage but that I had enjoyed being forced not to acknowledge my responsibilities. He looked amused and shocked and in awe at all the right places. Even though I was the older sibling, Henry had always been the one with the exciting stories.
‘Very cool,’ he said, which from Henry was high praise indeed. ‘So, this guy says he can hook you up with someone to work with?’
‘He did … but the thing is, we kissed.’ I closed my eyes so that I couldn’t see his reaction. ‘And I don’t think I can see him again now.’ I opened my right eye first, still fearful of what it might show me. It seemed that Henry was trying not to laugh, although, as with everything in life, he wasn’t trying very hard.
‘This isn’t funny,’ I said, which made him lose control and openly convulse.
‘It’s a bit funny. Watching you freak out over a snog.’
‘I’m married, Henry!’
‘I know. I was there. Thousands of pounds on the driest chicken I’ve ever eaten.’ I looked for something to throw at him, settling on his serviette, which floated down ineffectually between us.
‘My marriage is important to me. My family. I don’t know why but I made a stupid mistake.’
‘You fancied someone. It happens; marriage doesn’t cut off your desires.’ I swallowed because I wanted to tell him it felt like so much more than that, and even though it was true to me that would be laughable.
‘It should.’
‘Well, that is very weird. I never knew that getting married would mean a castration.’ I covered my eyes with my hands.
‘I’m not about to start taking relationship advice from you.’ Henry had had a series of girlfriends that he met at festivals. The relationship was always over by the end of the summer.
‘Career advice then,’ he said with an impish smile. ‘This guy sounds like he can help you out, which will help me out. So, you should get in touch with him.’
‘I don’t know—’
‘Alison, you’re gonna call him, not blow him.’ I groaned. ‘Be selfish for once. Feel better now? Thinking any differently about giving me some cash?’
‘No, Henry.’
‘OK,’ he said, leaning forward as though it were a business meeting. ‘You do this. You take this opportunity that has been put before you and if I’m wrong, if this guy can’t help you out, I’ll never ask you for money again.’
‘Never?’
‘For the rest of your natural life.’ I held out my hand and he grasped it firmly.
‘You’re so gonna die before me,’ I said, grabbing my fork. Henry nodded amiably, his mouth already full again.
I emailed Frank from my phone before I got back to the office and before I could change my mind. Then I switched off notifications and put the phone at the bottom of my bag; it felt like I had a great deal of self-restraint. As I walked back to my desk, I caught sight of Annie who waved gaily, probably to draw attention to my return time. ‘Good meeting?’ she mouthed.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I mimed, and it didn’t feel like too much of a lie because I knew I had an ace in my handbag.
Dylan had a double lesson out of town, so I made the girls macaroni cheese – a family favourite – and bribed them to play Monopoly with me. I was consciously creating a connection, hoping it would hold me through the next day, when I knew I was to be tested. I wonder now if it’s the case that you always know what you’re going to do, and the only real choice is how long you wrestle with it.
‘As long as you promise not to get all funny like Christmas,’ said Chloe, after she had secured an extra pound for her pocket money.
‘Your grandmother was cheating. And it’s important that you know—’
‘When you cheat you only cheat yourself,’ the girls chorused.
‘Yes. Good,’ I said. I turned away to set up the pieces. I didn’t want them to see that I was embarrassed to hear my own words and recognize how weak they sounded. Chloe and Ruby argued over the dog piece, so I confiscated it and then felt bad that I was always chiding or dictating to them. As they counted their money, I slipped into the kitchen and poured us some drinks.
‘Let’s make this a party,’ I said, as I walked in with a tray holding
three full champagne glasses. Chloe’s eyes doubled in size as she took hers.
‘It’s grape, silly,’ said Ruby, taking a sip of her own. ‘Mum probably can’t handle drinking today,’ she muttered. I flashed her a look but she met my gaze squarely. What could I do? As much as I hated it, she was right.
‘Get ready to be defeated,’ I said, holding up my drink, and the girls giggled and bumped their glasses into mine. I played to win, even though Chloe was struggling with the rules and Ruby wasn’t committed. I wanted to teach them to fight for what they wanted.
The three of us laughing together was like a tiny holiday from life. The girls asked me questions about all the places on the board, and even though I knew they were trying to distract me, I indulged them with stories of burning-hot curries in Whitechapel and dirty clubs off Tottenham Court Road. They listened so attentively. Through their eyes – although I knew how innocent they were – I felt glamorous. Despite my efforts, Chloe won. She did a very ungracious celebratory dance when I declared her the winner, and I gave her a big hug and told her that even victors had to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. She gave me a kiss and ran off upstairs. Her sister hesitated, but then leaned in for a quick peck before following. I stopped her before she walked away.
‘I love you,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ she replied. I turned to watch her leave and saw Dylan standing in the doorway. He gave her a kiss as she passed.
‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ I said.
‘Things were too raucous,’ he said, stepping into the room and taking in the scene. ‘Getting pissed up?’ He nodded to the glasses.
‘Shloer,’ I said. I walked over and kissed him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
‘It’s OK. Want to say sorry again upstairs?’ It wasn’t quite flirtatious, definitely more of a joke, or at least said with enough ambiguity for me to take it as one if I chose to.
‘Maybe. I need to clear up.’ I collected the glasses and packed the game away. When I picked up the cushion Chloe had been sitting on, I uncovered a stack of brightly coloured bills.
14
I WANTED A FRESH look. That’s what I said to Bettina when I persuaded her to cover yet another extended lunch break; that’s what I said to Pedro, my stylist, as I begged him to squeeze in a last-minute appointment; that’s what I said to myself.
‘What ’appened,’ said Pedro, eyeing me in the mirror, ‘a break-up?’
‘No, I fancied a change.’
‘Don’t we all, darling,’ he said. He grabbed hold of my ponytail, I felt a tug and he presented it to me, a dry tuft of red. ‘No going back now.’
Bettina removed her glasses as I approached my desk.
‘What happened to you?!’ she exclaimed.
‘I told you. I wanted a new look.’ I touched my fringe self-consciously. Pedro had cut my hair to just below my ears and added a sweeping fringe that I had hoped would be sexy but already feared would serve as an annoyance. ‘We all make interesting choices,’ I said, looking at her pointedly. We were yet to discuss her public make-out session with Marcus.
‘Understood,’ she said quickly, putting her glasses back on.
Annie squealed when she saw me. ‘It’s so chic!’ she cried.
‘Yeah,’ I said. I felt a little bubble of pride form in my chest.
‘You just need to get a few pieces that go with it and it will be a total makeover.’ I looked down at my dress; a navy shift, chosen precisely because I thought it was chic.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Do you need me for anything? I’ve got a stack to do.’
Don’t ask what, I coached myself before asking, ‘What have you got on?’ Annie wrinkled her nose. I’d noticed she often did this before saying something self-congratulatory, which was to say she did it a lot. I was very sure it wasn’t a natural quirk; that someone, perhaps an admirer, had once told her it was cute and this had inspired her to incorporate it into her persona. I said a silent prayer that it would give her wrinkles.
‘Well, there’s Emerge, of course …’
‘Of course.’
‘And Carter has given me a new company to research and develop a pitch for. Heart Up? At least, that’s what it’s called now – not after I get my hands on it. It’s kind of an online dating app for start-ups and investors. I guess Carter thought I’d be able to connect with the demographic.’
‘Who knows what Carter’s thinking,’ I said. But I had an idea: he was thinking Annie’s mind was fresh and malleable and mine was eroding by the day. ‘No – if you’re busy, I’ll leave you to it,’ I said.
‘Oh no, I can definitely fit you in. Let me know what you need and I’ll allocate some time.’
How very gracious of you, Annie, I thought, but I said, ‘I’ll be fine for the afternoon,’ and when she didn’t immediately leave, ‘thank you.’ Annie skipped away. OK – she didn’t skip, but her gait was bouncy enough that her shiny blonde hair bobbed around her shoulders with each step. When I sat down, Bettina was typing but shaking her head at the same time.
‘Whatever,’ I muttered, and blew my new fringe out of my eyes.
I don’t know what I spent the afternoon doing; every act was an exercise in containment. I was so scared that if I involved myself too much in any conversation, my nerves or excitement would spill out involuntarily. I hung out in the storeroom, looking at old project files, and opened several folders on my desk to ward off impending small talk. It was unexpectedly hot and the office started to clear an hour before the end of the day, everyone claiming back those flexible hours that made up for the lower-than-market-standard pay. Bettina left with them, no mention of an after-work drink. I was pleased that I didn’t have to explain I already had plans. By five it was just me and Carter remaining. I could see him in his cube on the phone and, whilst I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I could tell from his posturing that he was being very direct. When he finished, he stood up and ran his fingers through his hair several times; unlike when I did this, it looked better afterwards. He scanned his office and, clearly failing to find what he was looking for, peered beyond the glass and directly at me. I waved. He walked towards me and I fought an urge to run.
‘How are you getting on with identifying a new project?’
‘I have something in the pipeline,’ I said.
‘What does that mean? Do things in the pipeline add to our turnover?’ I didn’t have an answer. ‘Annie mentioned some issue with confidentiality.’ He pressed his lips together as he waited for my answer.
‘Yes. Well … The client doesn’t want anyone to know they’re shopping, I guess.’
‘What client? I assume the confidentiality doesn’t extend to me.’
‘No, of course not. Sorry, I should have kept you in the loop. Let me find the name.’ I could feel individual hairs clinging to my forehead. I shuffled the papers on my desk; Carter didn’t move. ‘You know, this is embarrassing but their name, it’s unusual, it escapes me. I’ll send you an email update ASAP.’
‘I’d appreciate it,’ said Carter. He eyed me for a few seconds before returning to his office and, even though I’d taken too many long lunches to have earned an early exit, I packed up my bag and left.
I had two hours to fill. Two hours after you’ve had kids feels like a long time. Fifteen years ago, I could lose two hours without even thinking about it. I would choose to doze after waking or sit in the sun with a fashion magazine. Those two hours were like a test. I walked aimlessly round Liverpool Street, wandering into shops, pretending to look at clothes whilst surreptitiously eyeing up the perky salesgirls. In one boutique I found myself staring at the woman behind the till. She drummed her nails against the counter between customers. She was dressed for a life she did not yet have – her shiny trousers appeared painted on and close to a metre of blonde hair extensions fell behind her.
‘We have more in stock if we don’t have your size,’ said a voice, startling m
e. I turned to see that it belonged to a tall brunette. Her animated face radiated desire to help, and her brow glistened with evidence of recent effort. She held a stack of shirts over her arm, and her posture suggested that the load was causing a significant amount of discomfort. I could hear that at the counter the drumming had resumed. ‘What size did you need?’
‘Eight,’ I said, because I wanted her to feel useful. I recognized the need to compensate for beauty with helpfulness. She scurried off and I stood awkwardly beside the occasion wear. I hadn’t actually looked at the dress and so I held one up to see it properly. It was pink: a terrible colour for my complexion, and silk: a horrible material for my thighs. As I examined the seams I noticed the drumming had stopped, and I looked up to see the blonde staring at me and then at the dress and then back at me. She was sizing me up, and from her expression I concluded that I did not fit.
I left. I felt bad for bailing before my self-appointed helper returned. I could picture her unloading the shirts before searching through rails for a dress in my size; my guilt conjured an image of her standing on a stepladder and hauling heavy boxes. I could see her face as she came back to the floor triumphant, but then ashamed when she realized I had done a runner. I knew the blonde would take it all in.
I went to the restaurant half an hour early and, because I was alone, they demoted me to a seat at the bar. I felt on display and not in a good way, like a scarecrow in a field. I ordered a glass of white wine, even though I had sort of decided not to drink because drinking was what people did on dates, and this wasn’t that. The barman asked me what variety I wanted and I told him that I didn’t know. He recommended something he described as ‘minerally’ and I accepted. I checked the menu as he poured my drink and learned that what I wanted was something that cost less than ten pounds a glass.
‘Waiting for a friend?’ he asked, as he placed a small square serviette in front of me and the long-stemmed glass on top.
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