The Nature of Cruelty

by L.H. Cosway

“I don’t remember offering you any,” I say, messing around with the knobs. I turn the gas on a little too high, and the flames flare up.

  “Jesus,” Sasha exclaims, swiping my hands away from the barbecue. “Maybe you should stick to preparation and I’ll do the cooking, eh?”

  I shrug. “Okay, then.”

  Robert chuckles down from his window. “I told you you’d gotten fiery, Lana.”

  Sasha shakes her head and gestures up at Rob with her hands “My brother, ladies and gents, king of the shit jokes.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t goad me, sis,” Robert replies, sucking up what sounds like a big wad of saliva. “I’m in the perfect position to lay a massive spit on your head.”

  Sasha grabs a spatula from the side of the barbecue. “Do it, and I’ll come up there and stick this down your throat.”

  “Goodness, the violence!” says Robert, feigning shock. “And me only recovering from a terrifying attack.”

  “An attack you deserved. If I came home to find a little shit like you shagging my wife, I’d have given you worse than two black eyes.”

  “Don’t you mean husband, Sash?” Robert counters with a crafty grin.

  “Shut up, you know what I mean,” she replies sulkily.

  I decide to leave the two of them to their battle of wits and go inside to start on the salad. The kitchen in this house is state-of-the-art, so I’m eager to get to work in it. I’m going to make potato salad with chives and onions, coleslaw, and some mixed leaves with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and chopped walnuts.

  A couple of minutes into my preparations, Sasha comes in and gets the meat out of the fridge for the burgers. We stand side by side at the counter, working harmoniously until Robert comes downstairs and begins questioning everything we do. He asks annoying things like, “What are those?” when I take out the chives, and “Why are you chopping up those nuts?” when I start on the walnuts.

  He knows all the answers, of course — he’s just trying to get on our nerves.

  “Rob, quit acting like an irritating twelve-year-old or we won’t give you anything to eat,” says Sasha nonchalantly as she carries a tray of burgers outside to the grill.

  “I’m bored,” he whines, being purposefully aggravating. “Give me something to do.”

  “You can go and set the table in the gazebo if you like,” she suggests before disappearing out the back door.

  Robert grins, all teeth, and goes to collect some knives and forks. The drawer for them is right beneath where I’m standing, so I quickly scoot out of the way. His grin widens. “I’m not the big bad wolf, little red. You don’t have to back away from me like I’m going to bite you, you know.”

  I swallow and mutter, “Better to be safe than sorry.”

  He gathers the cutlery, chuckling softly. “And even if I did,” he continues, “I’ve been told that my bites are quite…agreeable.”

  “Just go and set the table,” I say, trying not to look directly at him. He has this presence that always seems to surround me, like he’s ten people instead of one.

  I watch as he gives me a knowing smile and then saunters outside with the cutlery and plates. Once all the salad is ready, I run upstairs to check my blood sugar and take my insulin. When I come back down, I carry the salad bowls over to the fancy wooden gazebo where Robert is sitting, tapping away on his phone.

  Sasha carries over a tray with the burgers, and we all dig in. I can only manage one, but the twins both eat two each. We put the leftovers in the fridge, and then Sasha and I grab a big blanket to lie on the grass and soak up a few rays, our bellies full to the brim.

  Slipping off my flats, I lie down on the soft blanket, stretch out my legs, and close my eyes. Sasha does the same while slipping on a pair of sunglasses. I’ve got typically pale Irish skin, so, unlike the twins, I burn rather than tan. It’s a good thing I put on my factor 50 this morning before I went to the shops.

  Robert’s still sitting in the gazebo, having what appears to be a heated business discussion over the phone. That’s what I’d hate about being in his line of work — you have to always be “on,” as they say. There’s no downtime, not really. Sasha’s job is the same; she could be called in to work at any time of the day. Her phone is frequently abuzz with people calling her about possible stories.

  I hear Robert finish up with his phone call and I haven’t even opened my eyes, yet I can sense him getting closer. Then I hear him sit down on the other end of the blanket by our feet. I squint one eye open to find him lying down and soaking up the sun just like we are.

  “Trouble with a client?” Sasha asks him.

  He keeps his eyes shut as he answers her, “Nothing too big. It’s all sorted now. I’m sick of that cunt Jimmy calling me on a Sunday. I told him I don’t work on weekends, but he always seems to have some emergency that needs sorting. The man is no better than a simpleton.”

  I’m guessing Jimmy is another employee at Alan’s agency. I don’t envy him having to work alongside Robert, as he’s not exactly the patient sort.

  Sasha laughs and leans up on her elbows to look down at Robert. “If that’s the case, then you can tell Jimmy I said he’s awesome. I admire anyone who can rub you up the wrong way like that.”

  Robert taps me on the ankle. “See how she bullies me. First Kara, and now my own sister. Why do women take such enjoyment in my misery?” His tone is playful, one end of his mouth tilted up.

  I don’t say anything, too caught up in how he touches me so familiarly.

  “Well, I can’t speak for Kara,” says Sash. “But I can tell you that you deserve all the grief Jimmy gives you, since you go out of your way to be trouble for everyone else.”

  Robert smiles happily, as though he takes what Sasha said as a compliment. “Well, now, that’s just not true.”

  Sasha snorts in disagreement and lies back down on the blanket.

  “Speaking of Jimmy,” Robert goes on, “do you remember meeting him at Dad’s Christmas party last year?”

  “Was he the bald one or the fat one?”

  “Bald as a plum.”

  “Yeah, I remember. He was the spitting image of Ross Kemp.”

  Robert chuckles. “In that case, have you ever found Ross Kemp attractive?”

  “God, no,” Sasha answers with a shudder.

  “I thought not. That doesn’t bode well for poor Jimmy. When I mentioned to him I was staying with my sister for a couple of days, the man almost fell out of his chair with excitement.”

  Sasha gives Robert a look and sighs. “Brother, please get to the point.”

  “How do you know he almost fell out of his chair if he was on the phone?” I ask.

  Robert glances at me in amusement. “I have impeccable hearing. Anyway, poor bald as a plum Jimmy managed to contain his erection long enough to ask me if you were free next weekend and if he could perchance have your number.”

  “You can tell him I’ll be very busy and that no, he cannot perchance have my number. And please, no more talk of erections. I just ate.”

  He touches my ankle again. “Tell her, Lana, don’t all women like a nice big erection for dessert?”

  I can’t help laughing. “Um, not that I know of.”

  The problem with Robert is that he can be so utterly funny and charming at times that I almost forget his past treatment of me.

  Sasha takes off her sunglasses and flings them at his head. “Ow, that hurt,” he whines.

  “Shut it now, Rob. We’re trying to relax here.”

  “Fine, fine,” he says, tossing the sunglasses back at Sasha. “I’ll be as silent as…someone who’s taken a vow of silence.”

  I close my eyes and soak up the heat, trying not to think about how Robert is lying perpendicular to my body at the other end of the blanket, his head resting just by my feet. Half an hour goes by, and I can tell Sasha’s dozed off because she’s breathing too deeply to be awake. I think I feel the hem of my dress move, but it must have been an insect or a strong breeze, because whe
n I open my eyes there’s nothing there. I feel it another time, but again when I open my eyes there’s nothing.

  The third time it happens I get irritated, and my eyes snap open to find that Robert has lifted the end of my dress ever so slightly and is looking right up it. I stifle my scream, not wanting to disturb Sasha, and sit up immediately, tucking my legs beneath me.

  I expect Robert to burst out laughing, but he just lies there staring at me, his face serious. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I quietly hiss, pulling my dress down over my knees to cover as much of my legs as possible.

  Sasha stirs but doesn’t wake up.

  “What did it look like?” he asks, sitting up to face me now. His confidence makes me crazy. Only Robert could come across so justified in looking up a woman’s dress.

  “You…you can’t just do things like that! It’s inappropriate.”

  “I like your underwear. What kind of lace is it?” he asks, leaning closer and ignoring my outrage.

  “Oh, my God, you’re a pervert, Robert.” I stand and storm into the house. He follows.

  “Come on, Lana, it was a joke,” he calls after me.

  I turn around to face him. We’re in the front hallway now. “Does it look like I’m laughing?”

  “Clearly you didn’t get the joke,” he replies, deadpan, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, excuse me if I don’t understand the humour in violating someone like that.”

  Now he laughs. “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. I didn’t violate you. Violating requires an action. I was simply enjoying the view.”

  “You lifted up my dress. That’s an action, Robert.”

  He scratches at his jaw. “Well now, you have me there. Aren’t you flattered? I know some women who’d be over the moon to be violated by me.”

  “You’re an amazing bloody prick. Why don’t you go ahead and find some of those women, because I’m certainly not one of them.” My heart beats hard and fast as I turn and hurry up the stairs. He doesn’t follow me this time.

  I pause and sigh, calling back to him, “And go wake up Sasha. She’ll burn if she stays asleep out there much longer.”

  I hear him laugh, and then he peeks his head back around the banister. “You do realise you just ruined your snappy put-down, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, well, I sacrificed it for the sake of your sister’s health.”

  “So noble, little red.”

  “Oh, don’t you dare think about making that a new nickname,” I tell him indignantly.

  He gestures with his hands and smirks. “It’s not a nickname, it’s a term of endearment.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Let’s not pretend I’m in any way dear to you, Robert. Now just go wake up Sash.”

  At this I continue up the stairs before going into my room and flinging myself down onto my bed. The fact of the matter is he had no right to do what he did. But, and I hate to admit this, the scary thing is that I can’t deny the tingles I’d felt as he lay at my feet, staring at me hotly and asking what kind of lace my underwear is. He’s the one scratch I have that won’t stop itching. The thing is, I’m getting the feeling that I’m an itch he very much wants to scratch.

  Interlude I – Robert

  August, 2002.

  Gormanston, Co. Meath, Ireland.

  I stare out the window of the taxi that collected us from Dublin airport forty minutes ago. Already I want to go back home. This is my first time in Ireland, and so far all I’ve seen are fields, motorways, and a handful of industrial estates. We passed through one town before arriving at the village where my mother grew up, and there’s piss-all to be seen: a big old boarding school and a scattering of houses, shitty bungalows mostly.

  My sister Sasha sits beside me in the back seat. She’s almost as unenthusiastic about the move as I am. Mum jabbers on to the taxi driver about how she travelled to England when she was twenty, married my dad, and lived there for the better part of seventeen years, only to be cast aside for a younger model. He nods and acts like he’s interested in her story, but I can tell he couldn’t give a flying fuck about her troubles. It seems like she’ll tell every person who has ears to listen about how Dad was messing around behind her back, and with his secretary of all people. She likes to add in that part just to emphasise how much of a cliché the situation was.

  In the back of my mind I know she’s not to blame for all this, but I don’t get why she had to ship us to a whole other country just because she and Dad are getting divorced. She could have simply moved to a new house in London and let us go to see him on the weekends. Now I’ve had to leave all my friends behind, and I’ll only get to see my dad during the summer holidays.

  The driver takes a right turn off the road and onto a sandy path that brings us to a vast green field, beyond which there’s a decline that leads out to a long, golden beach. It looks appealing enough right now since the weather’s sunny, but I can imagine it will be miserable as sin during the cold, rainy winters.

  Our new house is a small, white-washed bungalow, across from which is another small bungalow of a similar fashion. At least we’re going to have neighbours and not be completely isolated. Although, given the location, the neighbour will probably be some hermit old man with a dog who only ever leaves the house to sit on his front porch and stare suspiciously at the people who pass him by.

  Once the car stops, I get out and reluctantly help Mum pull our bags from the boot. There’s a van coming in a day or two with our furniture and the rest of our things.

  “Oh, my God, wicked!” Sasha exclaims. “Look at the beach. There’s a tonne of people on it, too.”

  I glance down to see that there is a good crowd. All the same, her excitement feels like a betrayal. If we ever want to convince Mum to move back home, then we both need to be on the same page about it.

  “It’s only like that during the summer months,” says Mum. “There’s never many around in the winter.”

  Well, there’s my suspicions about the depressing, lonely winters that are ahead of me confirmed. Mum pays the driver and he pulls away, disappearing back down the sandy path. Mum opens the front door as I carry in two large suitcases, and my immediate impression is that the place is way too small and smells kind of musty. I scrunch up my nose in distaste.

  “A bit of an airing and it will be fine,” says Mum, noticing my reaction.

  “I hope you’re right,” I reply moodily, dropping the suitcases in the hallway and going back out to retrieve the rest.

  “You can lose that tone immediately, young man,” Mum calls after me. I ignore her.

  Sasha is lingering by the front gate, still staring excitedly down at the beach.

  “Are you going to help or what, you lazy cow?” I call to her.

  She turns around and scowls, just as laughter can be heard from a group coming up the path from the beach. It looks like a family. There’s a really old woman with grey hair, wearing a dark blue swimsuit and a long sarong (eww), another redheaded woman about Mum’s age, and two redheaded girls. One of them is around five or six years old, and the other is just a little younger than me, twelve or thirteen maybe. She’s laughing at the little girl as she bounces a ball around, throwing sand up all over the place, but the main thing I notice about her is that she’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dark and light all at the same time.

  “Mummy!” shouts the smaller girl. “Look! It’s the new neighbours.”

  “Okay, Alison, calm down,” says the mother, taking the ball from her so she can’t kick up any more sand.

  The girl, Alison, runs up to Sasha, thrusting her hand out in greeting. Sasha laughs and says hello, while the older girl comes up and introduces herself, too. My sister beams at her, immediately enthralled, probably by her crazy red hair and accent. It takes a particular type of person for Sasha to want to be friends with them, and by the looks of it, this girl is one of those people.

  She and Sasha immediately hit it off; they stand chatting by the gate as
her mother and (I presume) her grandmother continue on with her little sister to their house. I put down the suitcase for a moment to go and get Sasha. Even though this girl has such a pretty face, I can’t help being pissed off by her. I don’t want Sasha making friends, because if she does she’ll get happy here, and then she won’t want to leave.

  She sees me approach. “Hey, Rob, come and meet Lana. She lives in the house across the way.” She turns back to Lana. “This is my twin brother, Robert.”

  Lana’s eyes drift to me, and when they do they widen and a blush colours her cheeks. Yeah, she likes me, I can tell. Lots of the girls back home like me, too.

  “Hello, Robert,” she says shyly, her voice low. I’ve never really enjoyed my mother’s Irish accent, to be honest; it’s too loud and boisterous, always nagging at me, but Lana’s accent I could get used to. It’s soft and sweet, like music. I pull myself away from these thoughts. I can’t let myself like anything about it here, especially not this girl.

  “Uh, yeah, whatever,” I reply, rolling my eyes to show her how unimpressed I am. Then I grab Sasha by the hood of her sweatshirt and drag her back to the house.

  “I’ll call over to see you later,” Sasha says, and the girl nods and smiles. When she glances at me her expression falls, like she’s upset about how rude I was to her. Well, she’ll just have to get over it.

  Once we’re out of view, Sasha gives me a punch in the gut for my behaviour with Lana. “You didn’t have to be like that. She was nice,” she says irritably.

  I try to catch my breath, because for a girl Sasha punches hard.

  “Ugh! You like it here, don’t you! Have you forgotten our plan to convince Mum to move back to London? We’ve only arrived and already you’re making friends.”

  “Look, Rob, you need to get it out of your head that Mum’s ever going to forgive Dad for what he did. It might not be the same as back home, but this is where we live now. I don’t know about you, but I plan on making the most of it.”

  She flips her hair over her shoulder and saunters into the living room to Mum. I glance back out the open front door to see Lana making her way across the grass to her own house. Her presence is making Sasha think she could come to like it here.