Ask Me No Questions

by Louisa de Lange

  He cleared his throat. ‘I should go,’ Ryan said, and Thea stepped away from him as he put his empty mug by the sink and picked up his coat and scarf. She followed him to the door and he opened it to the cold morning, the rain having abated to a mild depressing drizzle.

  Ryan turned back as he stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Would you like to go out sometime?’ he asked. ‘On a normal date, you know, to a restaurant, rather than a nightclub.’

  Thea nodded. ‘I’d like that.’

  He passed her his phone and she inputted her number.

  ‘See you soon, Thea.’

  Thea watched as he made his way to his car. It was an old green Renault Clio and she was surprised – she had expected something flashier. As he reversed, he looked back at her and waved. She waved back, then closed the door.

  She took the leftovers of her cup of tea back to bed, picking up the packet of pills on the way. From her bed she could see out of her window to the bare trees and grey sky beyond as daylight started to grow, throwing strange shadows on the white ceiling.

  She thought about Ryan, running their exchange through her head, internally wincing at how she must have looked to him. Simple exchanges, making small talk, had never come easily to her. Silence was much more straightforward, but she knew other people found it awkward. Found her awkward.

  She then remembered how he was that night, and frowned. She felt a niggle, something forgotten from the knock on her head, but now coming back to the surface. She remembered an argument, shouting and – oh my God – she had slapped him. She put her hands over her face, feeling a flush of embarrassment. And there was something else. What happened after that?

  The uncertainty made her fearful. What if they tried again? There was no way she could defend herself at the moment, her body broken, every inch of her painful and weak. She shouldn’t have let Ryan into the house; she needed to be more careful. After all, it could have been him. How did she know? It could have been anyone.

  She knew there was more, and something inside her aching head knew it was important. But she could only remember parts, hidden deep below recovering neurons. Snippets in the grey, like the shadows on the ceiling.

  33

  Gabi woke to a bright room. Daylight sneaked in through the curtains and she looked around, disorientated for a second, an empty pillow next to her. She could hear tinny voices from downstairs. She glanced at the clock – it was just past 9 a.m.

  She remembered leaving Thea’s. Running out of the door into the dark night, phoning Mortimer to come and pick her up. She remembered him bringing her back here, going to bed, her head churning, him worried but silent. It had been fifteen years – fifteen years of running, just so she didn’t have to think about what had happened that day. She’d held onto the secret for so long it had become ingrained, but now it was starting to consume her, eating her from the inside out.

  Gabi had been at Waterloo Station when she’d seen the article: Harrison’s face, preserved in time, looking out of a newspaper at WHSmith. She was oblivious to the people bustling around her, reading how he had barely months to live and would die in prison. FINAL JUSTICE, the headline screamed, but she knew it wasn’t. None of this was fair. Without thinking, she took the next train to Southampton.

  But once she arrived, it hadn’t been that easy. It had been August, and the heatwave reminded her of that ill-fated summer. Of lying in the grass, bare feet dirty, hands sticky from ice lollies. Of Harry. The intoxicating, clean smell of him after a shower. The tan lines at the bottom of his back. The way he looked at her after they kissed, like he was seeing her for the first time. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. So she pushed it away, got a job at the nightclub, had a life. And met Mortimer.

  Gabi climbed out of bed and opened the wardrobe. Some of her clothes had been left from before, so she pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and a jumper and put them on.

  She padded downstairs in her bare feet, feeling the underfloor heating. The house was warm, and she could smell coffee and toast.

  Mortimer was still a mystery to her. He had moved to England after university and adopted a myriad of British habits to complement his American ones. He loved strong coffee and freshly baked bread, always starting the day with toast and butter and marmalade.

  He didn’t understand why hot and cold taps were separate, or why there were switches on electric sockets. He loved electric kettles. When they first met, Gabi had to explain to Mortimer what kippers were, and he found it funny that the strips of toast that came with soft-boiled eggs were called soldiers.

  His house reflected the way he dressed. Where he wore mostly black – black jeans, black T-shirts, black jackets, a black coat, with the exception of a white shirt for work – his house was decorated in only white, with bare oak floors and doors, fawn carpets, oak furniture and a brown leather sofa. When she asked what he liked about her, he said she brought colour into his life.

  As she walked through to the kitchen, she could see him at the kitchen table, cup of coffee by his side and an empty plate covered in toast crumbs. He had the radio on in the background, the laptop open, and Gabi knew he would be on one of the many newspaper sites he liked to read: a mixture of The Times, the Guardian and the red tops, although he said he tried not to linger on those. He’d studied politics at Harvard, and Gabi knew he was some sort of adviser for the government. Any more than that baffled her. He worked from home for the most part, occasionally taking a train to Westminster or a plane to a far-flung summit. He lived there, in the north of Southampton, for nothing more than practicality: close to the train lines and airports and with more reasonable house prices than London.

  She stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment, watching him. His hair was messy from sleep, and he was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. He had his glasses on and his feet were bare. Without averting his eyes from his screen, he picked up the mug and took a sip, then placed it back down on the table.

  He glanced up and saw her.

  ‘Sleep well?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘Yes, thank you. I needed it,’ she said. His smile was the best part about him. Everything about Mortimer was straight – the way he stood, even his hair, without a single kink. But when he smiled, in that gentle, subtle, almost hesitant way, things curved. Lines appeared round his eyes, wrinkles across his forehead; he relaxed. She liked it. She liked him.

  Being around Mortimer made her feel calm; something about his stillness soothed her and took away the constant humming in her head. She liked that this house was nothing like the home she had grown up in. She liked that he was nothing like her parents had been.

  Gabi poured herself a mug of coffee from the pot. It was strong and hot.

  He looked at her, peering over the top of his glasses. ‘Do you want to do something today? Together?’ he asked.

  She nodded, then sat down next to him at the table and fiddled with her mug. She needed to ask him something: the question she had asked herself as the thunderstorm raged round the house. She took a deep breath, and bit her lip.

  ‘Could I stay here, again?’ she asked. ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘This is your home, Gabi.’

  ‘Can you help me move my stuff in? Go and get the rest of my clothes from my flat?’

  Mortimer smiled. ‘Of course.’ He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. She felt the prickle of his stubble, the smell of fresh coffee and taste of marmalade. ‘When do you want to do it?’ he asked. ‘This weekend?’

  ‘That would be good.’ But Gabi knew she had another conversation to have. ‘I need to see Thea first.’

  Thea answered the door and walked wordlessly ahead of her to the kitchen.

  ‘Are you here to go through my cupboards again?’ Thea asked sardonically, passing her a mug of coffee. Gabi already felt slightly on edge from the morning’s injection of caffeine with Mortimer, but took the mug anyway, just to have something to hold onto.

  Gabi saw the flowers on the table and looke
d at Thea.

  ‘They’re nothing,’ Thea said, her face flushing. Gabi raised her eyebrows. ‘They’re from Ryan,’ she muttered.

  ‘You’ve seen him? Does he …’

  ‘Know? Yes, he knows. And he still wants to see me again,’ Thea said. ‘You can’t keep all the men, Gabriella,’ she snapped.

  Gabi sensed an edge of triumph from her sister, that Ryan had chosen her over Gabi, but she stayed silent, biting back a retort. Gabi wasn’t interested in Ryan, he’d been no more than a friend, but there was an unwritten rule that identical twins don’t mess around with each other’s men, however casual. Gabi took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger. She was surprised Ryan didn’t feel the same.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Gabi started, but Thea cut her off.

  ‘What more is there to discuss, Gabriella? You’ve made your view perfectly clear, and I’ve said no. Same as I did last Wednesday.’ Thea was calm, sitting down carefully at the table.

  Gabi stayed standing by the kitchen counter. ‘The police know we were arguing.’

  ‘And?’ Thea asked.

  Gabriella hesitated. ‘I lied, again. But this has to stop, Thea.’

  ‘Why, Gabriella?’ Thea said, quietly, meeting her sister’s gaze. ‘The dead would stay dead, the guilty would stay in prison. Telling the police what really happened wouldn’t change a thing. And besides,’ she added, slowly, ‘you’re just as guilty as anyone. You started the whole mess.’

  Gabi shook her head. ‘That’s not the same.’

  ‘Tell yourself what you like, Gabi,’ Thea replied. ‘But you told Dad about the affair. Without that? Well …’ Thea picked up her packet of pills, twirling them around the fingers on her left hand, her good hand. She stopped and looked up at Gabi. ‘Who knows what might have happened.’

  Gabriella took a step back from the table. She looked into her sister’s eyes and saw her resolve. She had forgotten how cold Thea could be. There was no understanding, no emotion. And was she right? Was Gabi as guilty as everyone else?

  It had been another long tedious summer’s day and the three of them had been in the garden, exams finished, bored and restless. They’d heard their parents arguing, carried on the air, sharp bullet points interspersed with ominous silence. And they’d been arguing about Harry.

  ‘He’s always here, eating our food, disappearing off with the girls. Why can’t he hang out with boys for a change?’ Robert had been saying. ‘Don’t roll your eyes at me, Maddy. You know it’s strange.’

  ‘He likes them, they like him, they’re friends. What does it matter?’ her mother had replied.

  ‘It matters because he’s a teenage boy and I have a duty to protect my daughters. Were you aware he slept here last night? Again? In their room?’

  Gabriella had been angry, she remembered that. Angry that her father was making judgements about Harry’s behaviour, when it had been her mother and Harrison in the wrong.

  She’d stormed into the kitchen, hot temper driving her actions.

  ‘There’s nothing going on between us and Harry. We’re doing nothing wrong,’ Gabi had shouted. ‘Unlike you,’ she’d added, looking at her mother.

  Madeleine had stared at Gabi, her eyes narrowed. Her mother had known what Gabi was going to say. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  ‘She’s been cheating on you, for years,’ Gabi had said and that had been it. The beginning of the end. Thea was right. She may not have held the gun, but she had lit the fuse that started it all.

  Thea glared at her from the other end of the kitchen.

  ‘I knew. I kept it quiet,’ Thea said. ‘And you had to blunder in and blow it all out of the water. If you’re looking for blame, Gabriella, you don’t have to look far.’

  A slam diverted their attention and both women looked to the front door as loud footsteps marched through the house.

  ‘Thea? What the hell?’ Harry stood in the doorway, his face flushed from the cold outside. He looked from one twin to the other, his gaze eventually settling on Thea sitting at the kitchen table. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital and they said you’d left. Against medical advice?’

  ‘I couldn’t stand it there,’ Thea said. ‘I just wanted to be home.’

  ‘You’re sick! Three days ago you were in a coma.’ Harry looked to Gabi. ‘Tell her, won’t you? She should be in hospital.’

  Gabi blinked back the tears, hiding her emotions from her argument with Thea. ‘I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do,’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh, you two!’ Harry threw his arms up, and slumped into a chair at the table. ‘You’re impossible.’ He looked at Thea next to him and sighed. ‘Just promise me that if you start to feel worse, you’ll call a doctor.’

  She nodded and Gabi offered him a mug of coffee.

  ‘So, are you two talking again?’ he asked, taking it from Gabi as he joined Thea at the table.

  ‘Arguing,’ Thea said, with a nervous glance to Gabi.

  ‘So nothing’s really changed,’ Harry smiled.

  It had been fifteen years since they’d all sat together in this way. Fifteen years, gone in an instant, yet nothing felt different. Gabi felt like a teenager. Still just as unsure, as much as she tried to pretend otherwise. Still just as scared. She swallowed it all down, hiding it from Harry.

  Harry and Thea sat together on the far side of the table, shoulders almost touching. Thea had her camera in front of her, and was idly fiddling with the shutter. Harry looked the same, but somehow … what? Gabi looked at him, trying to make out what had changed. His face had lost the softness he had as a teenager, replaced with a few more lines. He seemed stronger. Older. He caught her looking at him, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He took one out of the box and moved to the far side of the kitchen, opening the back door, leaning in the doorway. A cold breeze rushed in as he lit the cigarette, bending his face down to the flame.

  ‘Harry, come on. You need to quit,’ Gabi chastised him.

  ‘You can hardly complain. It’s your fault I have the habit in the first place.’ He took a deep drag in, blowing it outwards into the winter’s day.

  ‘I gave up years ago.’

  ‘Every Sunday morning you’d bully me into having one of your fags. And now look at me.’ He brandished the lit cigarette at Gabi and laughed.

  Gabi smiled. Nights in the garden, just the three of them, a large bottle of White Lightning smuggled from the off-licence, the owner fooled by Harry’s height into assuming he was over eighteen, years before he actually was. She’d turn down invites to go out with friends, pretending her parents wouldn’t let her, when secretly she wanted to spend time with Harry and Thea, just them, alone. She felt most comfortable then. No pretence, no worries about seeming cool. She’d wear one of Harry’s old hoodies and bury her nose in the fabric. She didn’t know what it was then, but she knew now it was the beginning of something between them.

  They’d go to bed when they were tired and groggy, Harry sleeping on the sofa on the other side of their bedroom, sometimes in the living room. Gabi would wake him, wordlessly offering him a mug of coffee and a cigarette, and they’d sit on the kitchen steps and smoke. That was their moment, before Thea emerged.

  Thea had been watching Gabi and Harry’s banter through the viewfinder of her camera, but now put it down and looked at them both.

  ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ Thea said. ‘The three of us, together. I’ve missed this.’

  ‘Why didn’t the two of you go to university, as we planned?’ Gabi asked. ‘All those years ago. You could have done, without me.’

  She saw Harry glance at Thea and a look pass between them.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been the same,’ Thea said.

  Gabi nodded, then noticed Thea’s grey pallor, the black bags under her eyes. ‘Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?’

  Thea stood up, wobbling slightly. ‘I think I’ll have a little nap,’ she muttered. She p
ointed at Gabi. ‘You,’ she said. ‘Stay away from my stuff.’

  ‘Here.’ Harry stubbed his cigarette out in the plant pot by the door, then closed it behind him, going to her side and pulling her arm around his neck. Gabi watched them go, hearing Thea protest that she didn’t need help, she was fine, followed by Harry’s deep dulcet tones as they went up the stairs.

  Gabi stood up, putting her coffee cup in the sink. She stayed there for a moment, remembering what it had been like, the three of them. It could be that way again. Perhaps Thea was right. She was still her twin. They had shared a womb together, and then barely left each other’s side for the next eighteen years. It was more than just shared DNA; there was a connection she couldn’t deny.

  ‘What’s going on between the two of you?’ She heard his voice behind her, and turned to face Harry as he came to join her in the kitchen. He leaned across her, helping himself to another mug of coffee. ‘She told me I had to kick you out of the house. What are you arguing about?’

  Gabi feigned nonchalance. ‘It’s nothing, normal twin stuff. Is Thea in bed?’

  ‘Practically asleep the moment she climbed in,’ he said.

  They stood against the kitchen counter, side by side as he drank his coffee. Harry leaned against her gently. ‘Are you staying in Southampton this time?’ he asked. ‘You’re not going travelling again?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Because I missed it, too. When you left, it felt like a piece of us was missing.’ Harry’s phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out, looking at it and hiding the screen from Gabi.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘A friend,’ he said, putting the mug down. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘To see the friend?’

  Harry looked down at her. ‘You don’t get to be jealous, Gabi. Not now. Not now you’re married.’ He tapped her left hand, noting the new wedding ring.

  Gabi nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. She reached over and grabbed a pen and paper off the counter top, writing down Mortimer’s address. ‘But if you need anything, I’m staying there. And that’s my number.’