Seven Days of Us

by Francesca Hornak

  “You’re welcome,” said Emma, with a faint American nasality. It always happened when she spoke to foreigners. It was her empathy, her selflessness, he thought, with a rush of admiration. Emma was a trouper.

  “You’re in the green bathroom with Phoebe—it’s on the left, just down the passage. I’ll put clean towels in there. Is there anything else you need?”

  “I’m good for now. Thank you so much, Emma, I appreciate it. I’ll rebook my ticket, give you guys some time. You’ll need to talk to Olivia and Phoebe, right?”

  “We shall,” said Emma. “But do make yourself at home. Lunch at one-ish.”

  • • •

  Outside, Andrew followed her mutely to their bedroom. She shut the door and sat on the chaise longue. He stayed standing, arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot.

  “So. When were you planning to tell me?” she said. “Or did you think, if you ignored him, he’d go away?”

  “Emma. Honestly, I had no idea about any of this. He e-mailed me out of the blue, before Christmas, and that was the first I’d heard of him—ever.”

  “Honestly? You’d never heard of him?”

  “Honestly. You saw the dates. When it—uh—happened, you and I had only just met. And I can’t tell you how insignificant it was. A drunken, one-night, utterly meaningless mistake. I was in Lebanon, missing you. I mean, we were so young. And it just sort of happened, I don’t know why. I’d never met her before, never saw her again. No wonder she never told me.”

  “She wasn’t a—you didn’t pay for her, did you?”

  “Christ, no! Emma! What d’you think I am? Look, I know I should have said something at the time. I wanted to. But I’d only taken you out a few times. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid I’d lose you. It wasn’t worth that. I’d only have been telling you to assuage my conscience. It would have been selfish, in fact.”

  “But Andrew! It’s not so much that it happened; it’s that you didn’t tell me. It makes me wonder what else you haven’t told me.” He wanted to bring up her unmentioned cancer, but perhaps it wasn’t the moment.

  “There’s never been anything else, or anyone else, I swear to you, Emma. On Phoebe’s life. I loathed myself afterward. Truly. I’ve never forgiven myself.” He knelt down to be level with her, and his kneecaps screamed in protest. She said nothing, but as he looked straight into her large, light brown eyes, he felt that she believed him. There was relief in coming clean, after so many years. Almost clean. Clean enough.

  “Well, it’s all so long ago, I suppose,” she said, eventually, picking at a thread on the chaise longue. “But what about poor Jesse’s e-mails? You should have told me the minute you heard from him. I’m your wife, Andrew. We’re meant to share everything! And you should have replied to him. Whatever else, I didn’t think you were a coward, or that you’d—”

  “Now hang on,” he interrupted. “That’s not quite fair. I’m not the only one with secrets. Jesse told me about your diagnosis. For God’s sake, Emma! If we’re meant to share everything, I’d say that was pretty important.”

  He saw the shock flash behind her eyes—it was rather satisfying. She opened and shut her mouth like a goldfish. Phoebe did the same, when you caught her out on a fib. Funny how genetics worked.

  “That’s entirely different,” said Emma.

  “How?”

  “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want to ruin Christmas.”

  “Emma—I’m not a child! If I’d found a, something, or been diagnosed with anything, you’d be the first to know.” I’d need you to know, he thought. I’d need your help. Why didn’t she need him?

  “Well, you know now. I start treatment in the New Year. Right, I should speak to the girls,” she said flatly, standing up.

  He didn’t feel they’d resolved anything. But if she was prepared to explain everything to Phoebe and Olivia, he wasn’t going to stop her. He wouldn’t have known where to begin.

  “Shall I come with you?” he asked, knowing she’d say no.

  “Rather you didn’t,” she said. She left, and he stayed kneeling on the rug. She was right. He was a coward.

  Phoebe

  THE DINING ROOM, WEYFIELD HALL, 1:12 P.M.

  • • •

  “Gosh, I just can’t get over all this,” said Emma, folding napkins with a slightly panicky precision. Phoebe felt like she was stuck in a messed-up dream. She wished her mother hadn’t laid the table in the dining room. It always made meals weirdly formal—as if lunch with Jesse wasn’t going to be awkward enough. Her father appeared to be hiding. The thought of him shagging some random woman made Phoebe feel like throwing up. Even worse, her first thought on seeing her half brother was that he was hot.

  “Isn’t it extraordinary that I met Jesse?” said Emma, brightly. “D’you know, I’d been thinking about him, and hoping he was all right, ever since. I do wonder if perhaps I knew, on some level.”

  “Are you all right, though, Mum?” said Olivia. She was using her doctor voice, as if to ascertain whether Emma was having a nervous breakdown. Their mother did seem freakishly upbeat. She’d explained everything earlier, sitting between Phoebe and Olivia on the stairs. But before they’d had time to absorb it, she’d corralled them down to the kitchen, to make “a lovely lunch for everyone.”

  “D’you know, I’m just fine,” said Emma, stopping and straightening up, as if to reflect on how she felt. “People do silly things when they’re young. Daddy should have told me. But the point is, none of this is Jesse’s fault.” She’d made the exact same little speech, ten minutes ago, in the kitchen. Sometimes it was like she had amnesia. “I felt quite strongly, when I met Jesse at Heathrow, that he deserved to know his father—and his new family. So, what sort of person would I be if I forgot all that? Just because Daddy made a silly mistake? It was decades ago!”

  “You’d be normal,” said Phoebe.

  “Phoebs, don’t be difficult.”

  “You do get how genuinely devastating this is?”

  “I know it’s a shock, angel, but we’re all grown-ups,” said Emma, briskly. “Now, will George be joining us?”

  “No. He’s still not up,” said Phoebe. She had called the bungalow while her mother was laying the table, primed to tell George about Jesse. But George had announced that he was too knackered for lunch, so she’d decided to explain everything later. She still wasn’t sure how.

  “Good-oh. You all right, Wiv? You looked rather washed out,” said Emma.

  Her sister did look a bit rough. Maybe she was in shock, though Olivia always seemed to take everything in her stride. Before she could answer, Andrew and Jesse walked in. The only giveaway that they were father and son was their identical height. Side by side, they looked like chopsticks.

  “Now everyone must just help themselves—we’re very relaxed here,” said Emma, retossing the salad and adjusting the angle of a baguette. Phoebe caught Olivia’s eye.

  “This looks incredible,” said Jesse, sitting down. “Thank you.”

  She’d only seen him in his coat before. He was wearing skinny jeans, a cashmere cardigan, and a lame little scarf. He looked like a Uniqlo model. No way was she going to welcome him. If possible, she wouldn’t even speak to him.

  “Did you try arnica?” he said, looking at her foot. “Your mom told me about your fall.”

  She looked at her father. They had an in-joke about the pointlessness of arnica. But he was studiously carving wafers of ham.

  “Now, Jesse, you must try this gammon. It’s from our local farm,” said Andrew. How could he be acting like Jesse was a normal guest?

  “I’m actually vegan,” said Jesse, apologetically. “Well, that’s my goal. But anything vegetarian is fine, I’m easy.”

  “Vegan? How interesting,” said her mother, as they all sat down. “Vegan food has become quite fashionable now, hasn’t it? And rem
ind me, you aren’t allowed to wear leather, are you? Is that tricky with shoes?”

  “Well, I don’t take it to that level. It’s more the nutritional aspect for me.”

  “So this endeavor is for health reasons, rather than animal sentimentality?” said Andrew.

  “Both, I guess. My sister and I, my adopted sister, we were raised around animals. Plus there are so many vegan places in L.A. now. It’s practically the norm there.”

  Nobody spoke for a moment. Everything about his ready smile and slick answers grated. He could at least have the decency to feel uncomfortable, thought Phoebe, barging into their house without knocking.

  She glanced at Olivia, wanting to exchange another look, but her sister was just gazing at her plate, not eating.

  “Don’t vegans get rather low on iron? Or is it calcium?” asked her mother.

  He looked as if he might launch into a spiel on nutrients, but the door opened and George walked in. Bollocks. He was meant to be in the bungalow.

  “Oh! Wow—hey!” said Jesse, looking up at George.

  George looked shocked, too. Phoebe wished she’d warned him now.

  “I mean, like, ‘Hey, I’m Jesse!’” he added, half standing and giving a little wave. Americans were so fake. Greeting strangers like friends.

  “Hi,” said George stiffly.

  She needed to take charge before either of her parents said anything.

  “Jesse, George is my fiancé. George, this is Jesse—our half brother.” Put like that, it sounded convincingly normal. Perhaps George would just think she’d told him about a half brother and he’d forgotten.

  For a moment, George looked stunned—understandably. Then he seemed to recover himself. “Good to meet you, mate,” he said.

  “Likewise,” said Jesse.

  “Are you all right, George?” said her mother. “Phoebs said you weren’t feeling a hundred percent?”

  “Yeah, no, better thanks. Hair of the dog!” he said, reaching across Phoebe for the wine. “Top up?” he asked Andrew, who was the only one drinking.

  “Why not?” said her father.

  She noticed George staring at Jesse twice. But there were no questions about where the surprise half brother fitted in, and no quizzical looks thrown her way. Sometimes Phoebe felt like she barely knew him.

  Olivia

  THE WOODSHED, WEYFIELD HALL, 3:50 P.M.

  • • •

  “There you are,” said Emma. “I thought we might all have tea. What are you doing?”

  “Getting kindling,” said Olivia. “The log basket was empty.”

  “Oh. OK. Thanks, sweetheart.” Her mother looked surprised, as if it was out of character for Olivia to be helpful.

  They stood just inside the woodshed, a former privy with a large hole in the roof. Behind them sat a stately Victorian lavatory, cobwebs tightroping from cistern to curved wooden seat.

  “Gosh, that must have been nippy!” said her mother, staring at it.

  Olivia was about to answer: “The entire developing world still has outdoor loos,” but stopped herself, seeing how tired Emma looked.

  “Anyway, Wiv, I wanted to tell you something. I know you’ve already had a shock today. A real shock. But, well, I should have told you first, really—I mean—you’re a doctor!” she said, with an odd soprano laugh.

  Olivia prepared to look surprised.

  “I’ve, um, well, a couple of weeks ago I found a lump, you see, just here,” Emma went on, fingers leaping to her armpit. “And it’s, it’s cancer, I’m afraid.”

  She stopped with a little gasped breath. “Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Anyhow, I’m only telling you this because—” She stopped again. “I mean, I was going to wait to tell everyone after quarantine, but Phoebe found out the other day, and now—”

  “Found out?”

  “Yes, by accident. And also, it sounds barmy, I know, but when I met Jesse at Heathrow I told him all about it. And he presumed Andrew knew, so ‘the cancer’s out the bag’!” She laughed the tinkly laugh again. “I’m sorry, I know I should have told you all immediately. I didn’t want to cast a shadow over Christmas. I couldn’t bear to think about it myself, to be quite honest.”

  Olivia knew this was her cue to say something reassuring. It wasn’t fair to press her mother on how Phoebe had “found out.” Or to scare her, by pointing out the risk of being quarantined together. It was too late now anyway.

  “That must be frightening for you, Mum,” she said carefully. “I’m glad you told me. But this type of cancer is very treatable, you know. There’s every chance of making a full recovery.”

  “Yes, he said. My consultant.”

  “What stage is it?”

  “Just early, hopefully. But I’m waiting for more results.”

  “Which ones? Did you have a CT scan?”

  “Yes, CT, MRI, lots of blood and things. But I won’t find out until the New Year.”

  “And has he talked you through the treatment options?”

  “He touched on them, yes. But not to worry. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, picking up the log basket as if the conversation was at an end. “We’ve got enough on our plates, what with Daddy and Jesse.”

  They walked back across the sodden lawn, side by side, her mother chattering about how Andrew and his son had identical ears, and had Olivia noticed that they both had the same way of pushing back their hair, and wasn’t it uncanny that they were both interested in food. The sun was sending fat fingers of gray light down to the horizon. Olivia remembered her mother saying—after Granny died—that they were slides from Heaven. What if she hadn’t caught the cancer early?

  “Well, if you’re unsure of anything, I’m happy to advise,” said Olivia as they reached the porch. Why did she sound like she was speaking to a patient, not her mum? She thought how different Phoebe and Emma sounded when they talked. Though it was interesting that Emma hadn’t confided in Phoebe after all. Typically sly of her sister to make out she was the chosen one.

  “Mmm,” said Emma. “Thanks, lambkin. Must get some WD-40 on this bloody door.”

  Jesse

  THE ROSE ROOM, WEYFIELD HALL, 10:56 P.M.

  • • •

  Jesse lay on his bed, looking round the Rose Room. The bedside lamps cast an amber glow, like an old sepia photograph. With the antique closet and ancestral portraits, he felt like he’d stepped back in time—although when he’d tried to film the room, it looked strangely sinister, and his own voiceover sounded ludicrous. Perhaps daylight would be a better time to get footage. He’d planned to shoot the house during the afternoon, but it had seemed kind of rude so soon after arriving. Tomorrow, maybe. He needed to pee again—Andrew kept refilling his glass at dinner—but the cistern was so loud he decided to wait. In his room he felt safe, like it was his little haven. The fact that he was here, at Weyfield, was enough to process—never mind the coincidences the cosmos had thrown his way. He’d nearly choked when George had walked in at lunch.

  He switched off the hilariously old-school heater Emma had brought up, anxious that he’d get chilly. The room was roasting. He tried to crack a window, but the ivy growing up the wall outside had pinned it shut, so he stripped to his briefs instead. He took out his iPad—Dana had replied to the short e-mail he’d sent before lunch, and would be waiting for a response. In his alien surroundings, it was a relief to have a link to home. He read her e-mail again.

  FROM: Dana Robinson

  TO: Jesse Robinson

  DATE: Tues, Dec 27, 2016 at 5:03 p.m.

  SUBJECT: Re: Big news

  Jesse!!! I’m freaking out, please promise me you won’t go getting Haag! Are you sure the risk is minimal? Didn’t some Irish doctor just get it already? Mom would have a fit if she knew where you are. Also, that is INSANE that you a
lready met Andrew’s wife in the airport!!!!!! It’s like God wanted it to all work out. Although I hope it’s not too intense that you have to stay? Do you feel like your birth sisters are cool with it? What are they like? Tell me everything.

  Happy for you,

  D XOXO

  FROM: Jesse Robinson

  TO: Dana Robinson

  DATE: Tues, Dec 27, 2016 at 11:05 p.m.

  SUBJECT: Re: Big news

  Don’t freak out!! I promise you I won’t get Haag. They told me the quarantine is just a formality, it’s pretty hard to infect somebody with it. You have to literally exchange bodily fluids. Plus the house is huge (the dining room is the size of your apartment), so it’s not too intense. I now fly home Jan 1—can you make some excuse to Mom and Dad? I owe you!

  It’s just bizarre how I was all set to leave today, without even hearing from Andrew, and now I’m a houseguest . . . Emma has been super welcoming, which makes sense because she was the same at the airport. I still can’t believe I didn’t realize who she was, but we didn’t swap names and we barely talked about her family. Plus she looks nothing like that photo online. I guess I was picturing “The Honourable Emma Hartley” to be more aloof and aristocratic or something.

  I get the feeling the others need longer to warm up. Olivia doesn’t say a whole lot, but she’s clearly very smart. She’s tall and skinny, like Andrew (and me!), and basically exactly like her dad. Phoebe is adorable—she looks like her picture and seems like fun. Her fiancé is here, too. Andrew is sort of terribly British and stiff upper lip, like I expected, although he opened up a little when he showed me “the grounds.” He’s pretty different from Dad—so far the only similarity I see is the universal male fascination with fire building. But I think they could get along, if they were to meet someday.

  One thing that’s not so great—turns out Andrew was already with Emma when I was conceived. They were already having some kind of clandestine relationship way back before the Royal Wedding. I don’t fully get it. I think Andrew was afraid Emma’s parents would disapprove of him. But essentially he cheated on Emma with my birth mother, and Emma had no idea until today. She’s acting like she’s cool with it, but obviously it makes me feel very uncomfortable. Plus I messed up by asking Andrew about something she told me in the airport—that she has just been diagnosed with cancer. I assumed he knew, but it turned out he had no idea. (?!) It’s very weird, and I know it’s not my fault, but now I feel like I’ve come in and caused problems.