‘In future,’ he’d said, putting an arm around her to draw her close, ‘if you’re in the bathroom, you’re out of bounds. We’ll make it a house rule.’ He laughed and kissed her, watching as her face softened and her lips curved into a smile.
He guessed she’d be tense now and, for a second, he rested his forehead on his hand as he felt tears sting. Then, with a shake of his head, he headed downstairs.
The kitchen was a big L-shaped room with a kitchen-dining room spreading across the length, a cosy living room in the smaller section. A big island separated the kitchen and dining areas. Around it, on high stools, they ate casual meals, drank coffee, read the paper. When Will cooked, she’d sit at it with a glass of wine and watch him, sometimes criticising his technique, laughing when things went wrong, full of praise for his successes.
She rarely cooked. ‘Why would I when I can buy better food from M&S’ she argued, opening packets and arranging the food on plates before popping them into the microwave.
He was a good cook, but he needed to be in the right mood and tonight definitely wasn’t one of those times, so he crossed the kitchen and opened a drawer that was full of takeaway menus. Flicking through them, he took out the one for a local Indian he knew they both liked.
It didn’t take long to decide; they invariably ate the same dishes. He picked up the phone and rang the order through. It would be thirty minutes, he was told.
He hoped she’d have come down by the time it arrived; preferably hungry. She rarely ate breakfast, and they’d skipped lunch in their anxiety about the meeting with the consultant. She needed to eat.
But not for two.
The thought popped into his mind, unbidden, unwanted and painful. He opened the large American-style fridge and took out a bottle of wine. Twisting the cap, he tossed it on the counter where it rolled too far and landed on the floor. He didn’t bother picking it up, he wasn’t planning to use it again.
Pouring a large glass, he took a mouthful. He’d like a whiskey really, but he guessed getting drunk wouldn’t help. Glass in hand, he leaned against the cold granite of the island and thought of the future he’d planned.
He loved Ellie and had looked forward to seeing her swelling with his child, waddling slightly the way he’d seen very pregnant women do. In his imagination he’d pictured himself in the wee hours, driving around London trying to find an open shop because she had a craving for something weird to eat. He’d pictured them laughing together, planning their future. Maybe even talking about schools. He gave a sad smile. He’d wanted it all.
It wasn’t his way to wallow, but he allowed himself a few more minutes. Soon enough, she would be downstairs, and he could concentrate on her but, just for now, he wanted to recognise his own grief and mourn that dream.
He also wanted to deal with the faint feeling that he’d been cheated somehow. Had she known? She was such a private person, it had never entered his head to talk about things like her period. If she’d never had one, how did she expect to get pregnant? He didn’t want to think she’d deliberately misled him but, the truth was it didn’t matter, he loved her with a passion that would forgive anything.
He topped up his glass and sat on a stool, elbows resting on the counter-top, staring out the window into the fading light, blinking only occasionally, his eyes still gritty from the tears he’d shed earlier. He was on his third glass of wine by the time he gave up waiting for her and headed into the sitting room to light the fire.
Growing up, the beginning of winter-time was marked by the start of real fires burning in the grate. An only child, he would sit around the fire with his parents in the evening to watch television. Later, when he had schoolwork to do, his mother would light it earlier in the day so he could do his homework on the floor in front of it.
He and Ellie rarely lit it during the week but, at the weekend, if they weren’t going out, he liked to have a blazing fire. It made the room cosy. And now a fire would help to counteract the chill of disappointment that curled around them.
The grate was empty. They hadn’t lit a fire in a while, the weather being unseasonably warm for February. He wasn’t particularly good at lighting them, but he made up for lack of skill with a generous amount of firelighters. He screwed up newspaper, added four firelighters and then another for good measure, piled some kindling on top and lit a match. Sitting back on his heels, he smiled in satisfaction when flames shot up. He added lumps of coal, using his fingers rather than the tongs to drop them on the flames, waiting a moment before adding more. It was tempting to use the poker, his face softening when he remembered his father constantly telling him to leave it alone, you’ll put it out. With those words ringing in his ears he resisted the temptation, sat back and watched it take hold.
A few minutes later, he stood, red-faced from the heat, pins and needles shooting down his legs. He shook them out and went back to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of red wine. Opening it, he left it near the fire and sank back into the couch with his glass of white, eyes fixed on the flames.
He was still sitting when Ellie appeared, wrapped in a cashmere robe tied tightly around her waist. It was one he’d bought for her last birthday. He’d planned to buy blue, one of her favourite colours, but he’d seen the baby pink and immediately imagined her wearing it, swelling with their child. He’d taken the chance and bought it and, luckily, she’d loved it. When he told her why, she’d laughed but her eyes had gone soft and he knew she was imagining the same thing.
Watching her stand in the doorway, her face pale and drawn, eyes red, he thought he’d never loved her more. ‘I ordered a takeaway,’ he said, knowing that asking her if she was okay was the last thing he should do. ‘Indian,’ he added, ‘with extra coriander.’ He was pleased to see this sally drew the usual smile, even if she shook her head at his predictability. She hated coriander.
Instead of joining him on the couch, she moved to the fire and lifted the poker. She spent a couple of minutes moving pieces of coal about. It didn’t make the slightest difference to the fire, but with a satisfied look on her face, she put the poker down, kicked off her slippers and sat cross-legged on the rug in front of it. Her hair was damp and lay in inky curls around her shoulders. It would dry naturally and the curls would be riotous, just the way Will liked them.
‘Have a glass of wine,’ he said, turning to reach for one of the wine glasses he’d put on the side table.
She shook her head. ‘I’ll wait till the food comes,’ she said, giving him a quick smile before turning her face back to the glow of the fire.
They sat in a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, but loaded with questions he wanted to ask, discussions he wanted to have. But not tonight, he guessed, looking at her profile, chin slightly raised as if she was struggling to keep herself together. There’d be time enough for discussions about what to do. Time enough to talk about a future that looked…different, he decided, refusing to use the word lonely that had first popped into his head.
The front door bell, loud and insistent, made them both jump and give a little laugh of embarrassment. Will went to answer it, grabbing the money he’d left on the hall table.
When he came back, the take-away bags in one hand, plates and cutlery in the other, she was still staring into the fire. Without asking, he opened the containers and spooned food onto the plate for her, nudging her shoulder with his knee before bending and putting the plate on her lap.
He watched as she picked up the fork and then put it down again.
She turned her big brown eyes to him and said, simply, ‘I’m sorry, Will.’ Waiting a beat, she picked the fork up and started to eat, as if those three words were the end of the story.
For what? He wondered, gripping his fork tightly. For misleading him, or for being unwilling to listen to the alternatives that were available to them? Forgiving her for misleading him was easy. He remembered the look of shock on her face; she might have had her suspicions, but he was sure she didn’t know.
&nb
sp; He could even forgive her for not listening to the alternatives. Not in that office, with the look of pity on the consultant’s face. Those options would still be available in a few days, or maybe weeks. He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt the sadness that curdled inside. He knew she was hurting, but so was he.
He looked at his stunningly beautiful wife, in the bubblegum pink robe he now hated with a vengeance, and wondered what their offspring would have looked like. Beautiful, he guessed, closing his eyes on the sharp pain of loss for the child he had wanted all his adult life.
6
They finished the wine and most of the food. ‘Another glass?’ Will asked her, getting up to fetch another bottle when she nodded.
Ellie waited until he was back and the wine was poured before she took the letter from St Germaine’s out of her pocket. ‘I’ve had some bad news,’ she said, unfolding it.
Seeing Will’s face, she shook her head, and managed a half-smile. ‘I should have said, more bad news, I suppose.’ She held out the letter to him and watched as he read it, a look of bewilderment crossing his face.
‘Tia is in sheltered accommodation? I thought she was profoundly disabled,’ he said, sounding puzzled.
Ellie had told him very little about her sister. She’d mentioned when they first met that she had a sister in care but when he suggested they go and meet her, she’d said the home didn’t encourage visits; that, afterwards, Tia became too upset and unmanageable. So he hadn’t suggested it again.
She put birthday and Christmas cards in front of him to sign but if he asked about her, she’d shrug and say there was no news. ‘It’s just hard,’ she’d said with a shake of her head and without going into detail, letting him know that Tia was a subject she wasn’t comfortable discussing. The sympathetic look on his face implied he thought Tia to be more disabled than she was, and if he did, she let him continue. It was simpler than the truth.
When they married, she dismissed a quiver of guilt and explained to Will her decision not to invite her sister. ‘She’d never cope. It would distress her to be out of her normal environment and routine.’
Adam, who had flown in from Barbados for the occasion, was surprised not to see Tia, and slightly taken aback when Ellie told him she hadn’t been invited. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ he’d asked, concerned.
‘Yes, she’s fine. It’s just the logistics of it, Adam, it would have been a nightmare,’ she’d explained, relaxing when he accepted this statement with slightly narrowed eyes but without further comment.
And since then, she’d continued with her weekly letters, the Christmas and birthday cards that both she and Will signed, and the occasional brief mention of Tia when the quarterly account came from St Germaine’s. But she had always managed to skirt around any proper discussion about her.
Now, however, it was easier to talk about Tia than have the conversation she knew Will wanted to have. She wasn’t ready to talk about what they’d do next. Not just yet. She loved him, she had wanted to have a child with him, but now, everything was different and she needed time to think. It was better to talk about Tia. And anyway, she might need some help in finding alternative accommodation for her.
‘No, not disabled,’ she said, taking the letter back, ‘she’s differently abled.’ She laughed softly and put the letter back into her pocket. ‘That’s how my father used to describe her; he hated words like handicapped or disabled. It was one of the reasons Adam chose the school for her after he died, it’s the word they use.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that there were many suitable schools to choose from.’
With a sigh and smile for Will, she continued. ‘It’s a word that suits Tia perfectly. Intellectual disability,’ she explained, ‘can range between profound at the worst end, to mild at the other. Tia falls into the mild category; her IQ is around sixty.’ She brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear and frowned. Despite writing to her every week, she realised it had been a while since she’d actually thought about her sister. ‘She can read, as long as it isn’t complicated, and can count but couldn’t do complex maths. It takes her a while to pick up things and she forgets easily. She’s naive, very impressionable.’
‘But she can look after herself, to some extent?’ Will asked, when Ellie hadn’t spoken for a while.
Shaking her head, she said, ‘Sorry, I was thinking about her. Yes, she’s fairly independent, just needs some guidance. She’s classified as a vulnerable adult. Ten years ago, when she finished school, she took a job in the kitchen doing something relatively simple. Baking, I think,’ she frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was that Tia did, and gave up. ‘Something like that, anyway.’
Will frowned. ‘So, what’s the problem? Can’t she get an apartment? Didn’t your father leave her well taken care of?’ He remembered Ellie telling him something about her father’s will, but he couldn’t remember the details. ‘Was there something about your father’s will? You told me…’
Ellie finished her wine and held her glass out for a refill. ‘I told you. He left almost everything to her. It paid for her tuition and boarding in St Germaine’s. When she finished school, she moved from dormitory accommodation into what they term sheltered housing but I gather it’s just a room in a different wing of the same complex. Adam went to visit her there a few times before he went away. He said, if I remember correctly, that it wasn’t the Savoy but that she was safe and comfortable and that was all that mattered.’
‘Safe and comfortable,’ Will repeated, twisting his lips, ‘it sounds pretty grim.’
Ellie shrugged. ‘Adam was horrified at how naïve and easily persuadable Tia was. Honestly, Will, if you offered her an ice cream or sweets, she’d do anything you asked. It left her open to being abused in all manner of ways. Adam became almost fixated on keeping her safe. He looked at places nearer to London but found an issue with many of them. Some were designed for more profoundly disabled people and totally unsuitable for her. So, when he found St Germaine’s, although it was a long way away, he discovered it to be the best of what was available. Anyway, she seems happy there so there was never a serious consideration to moving her. When I took over her guardianship, I just followed what he’d done.’
Will’s eyes opened wide. ‘You’re her guardian? You never told me. What about Adam?’
She shrugged. ‘He stopped being my legal guardian when I turned twenty-one, but because of Tia’s status he was still hers. When he moved to Barbados it made sense for me to take over. It isn’t a huge responsibility, at least,’ she smiled, ‘it wasn’t up until now.’ She swilled wine around her glass, watched as he did the same and waited for the next question he would ask, preparing herself for his reaction.
‘How old is she?’
She took a gulp of her wine and then looked down at her hands, both of them clasping the stem of the glass with such force she wondered it hadn’t snapped. She hadn’t kept it a secret, well, not precisely, she’d just never mentioned it.
Sins of omission.
Was that a quotation? She didn’t know, but she did know she was just trying to put off giving him an answer. She looked up then and met his steady gaze, keeping her eyes locked on his, unconsciously begging him to understand.
‘She’s my twin, Will. My identical twin.’
7
Ellie watched his face change, the half-smile that appeared tentatively on his lips. He thought she was joking she realised and was waiting for the punchline of a joke she hadn’t made.
‘We’re identical twins,’ she repeated, reaching a hand up and laying it on his knee.
Brushing it away, he stood abruptly, still holding the glass, wine sloshing unnoticed onto his hand, one drop falling to the sofa where it shimmered for a moment before soaking in. Ellie watched the round red circle and wondered absent-mindedly how she could remove the stain. It helped to focus on something so mundane rather than watching the hurt disbelief on her husband’s face.
Will walked across the room, kicking a floor cushion out
of the way.
‘You’re serious,’ he said finally.
She turned her face away, unable to look at his eyes begging her to tell him it was just a bad joke, that of course Tia wasn’t her twin. Her identical twin. Because surely she’d have told him something this important in the ten years they’d known each other.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Don’t,’ he said, running a hand through his hair and giving a distinctly unamused laugh. ‘Wow,’ he said, ‘just how many other secrets have you been keeping from me, Ellie?’
She cringed at the anger in his voice. ‘I didn’t—’
‘Please,’ he interrupted her again, his voice louder, ‘don’t tell me you haven’t kept secrets from me. There’s never having had a period for one. And now I find out that Tia is your twin.’ He raised a finger and pointed at her, stabbing the air with each word as he shouted, ‘Your identical twin.’
As she looked at him, wondering how or if she could explain, she saw his face change from angry to sad puzzlement before he returned to his seat and sat with his head in his hands.
Ellie turned away from him and sat looking into the fire, hearing his heavy breathing behind her. She had to try to make him understand. ‘It was hard being a twin,’ she said quietly, ‘especially an identical twin of a girl with a such a mild learning disability. Yes, she needed a little more help than most, but everyone wrapped her up in cotton wool like she was this special, fragile thing and I just got left out in the cold. They’d be nicer to her, gentler with her, more understanding and forgiving when she did something wrong. And, all the time, more loving.’ She heard Will move behind her.
‘It almost sounds like you were jealous of her,’ he said, his voice quiet.
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Jealous? I’ve never thought of it like that but, yes, I suppose I was.’ She stared into the flames for a moment before sighing. ‘I resented her, Will. As a child, I didn’t understand the restricted life that was in store for her, I just saw how everyone loved her more than me.’
Secrets Between Us Page 3