‘Big deal?’ I demand. ‘Of course it’s a big deal. And it was you that told me you didn’t want to see me any more.’
She slams the knife down on her plate and tosses the toast down next to it. Her fingers remain on top of the blade and I edge backwards at the recollection of what she is capable of. I’ll fucking stick you with this, I promise you. She remembers her words too, I’m sure of it. My mouth goes dry.
‘I only wanted for you to enjoy yourself, for once in your pitiful and empty life. To feel something other than hate for all of us.’ She slurps at a glass of juice, but most of it runs across her chin. She sets the glass back down, spilling more juice on the white cloth. Even Greg looks anxious now. ‘You loved me last night. You questioned your desire to cut me out. And as far as I can tell, what with you being here in a hotel and him following you to breakfast,’ she jabs the knife towards Matt, ‘you had a pretty good time on it.’
‘That’s not the point,’ I say, trying not to look at Matt. But it’s a hard truth to face. I had a great time. It was true that nothing had ever felt so good.
‘I will take you back to my house so you can get your bag. Then I will take you to the airport and ensure you get on a flight that takes you away from me for the rest of your miserable life.’ She says it all very matter-of-factly, as if her speech came with bullet points. ‘I’d say that makes me pretty fucking selfless if you ask me, considering I had no intention of ever trying to cut you out. Just because our parents didn’t want you, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t. I wanted you. I cried when they took you away from me. I needed you, Irini. You were so small. You couldn’t hurt anyone. I wanted to keep you, paint you with butterflies, but they wouldn’t let me, just because I made one or two mistakes.’
She stands up and I follow, my jeans wet and sticky. I offer up a half-goodbye, half-apology to Matt, and take with me some of the best memories of my life from the night before. I wait in the lobby while she goes to her bedroom to collect her things. She returns dressed in fresh sportswear, carrying a small overnight bag. For a split second I wonder if she had all this planned. But then I clench my teeth, shake it off. What does it even matter?
‘Can you give me your phone?’ I ask as we begin to walk out of the lobby. She hands it over without question and I dial Antonio’s number, trying to think of an excuse as to why I am not with him. Just as he picks up, I hear Matt calling my name. I hit the End Call button and spin around.
‘Irini, just a moment,’ he puffs, his hair messed up in gentle blonde curls, cheeks flushed, dressed in last night’s clothes. His sprint drops into a jog as he arrives in front of us.
‘Matt, I really have to go. I have to get a flight home.’ Just as I say that, the phone starts to buzz in my hand. It is of course Antonio, returning the call that I dropped.
‘Just hold on a moment.’ Matt reaches out and touches my free hand. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that? I’ll wait,’ he suggests as he looks down at the phone.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I do, Elle interrupts. ‘Actually, that’s my phone. Hers is broken.’ She snatches it before I can react and answers the call. ‘Hello, who is this?’ I hear her ask as she whisks the phone away. Within only a few short steps I cannot hear what she is saying over the hum of the busy lobby.
‘Good, she’s gone,’ Matt says, taking my empty hand in his. ‘I wanted to talk to you. Just for a moment before you go. I wanted to tell you something.’
‘Matt, there’s no point to this.’
‘Maybe not, but regardless, I want to say it.’ He takes a long, bolstering breath in, lets it out quickly. ‘I want to say that I know what this trip has been like for you. I know it has been a nightmare. And I’m so sorry about your mother, and all the shit with your family.’ He snatches a glance at Elle and my gaze follows. She is still talking on the phone, moving towards one of the empty seats, and I wonder what further damage she is doing to my life. ‘But for me it has been the opposite. As soon as I saw you in the gym with Elle, I thought, just, wow.’
‘Stop it.’ Whatever anybody thinks when they look at me, wow is not on the list of possibilities. For Elle, maybe. But for me? No way.
‘Really, that’s the truth. I’m not like Greg. I don’t go to the gym to pick up girls. I find it hard to open up to people, or to let them get close.’ He steps closer, drops his voice to a whisper. ‘The things I told you, about my parents, and about having a therapist … I don’t tell people that stuff. Greg doesn’t even know. With you, I can be honest. There is something about you … about us, together, that feels right. I feel I can be myself with you.’
‘You don’t know me at all. We’ve only met twice.’
‘Aye, but the first time we met I told you things about my past that I haven’t told anybody before. I’ve been looking for that all my life. That has to mean something. I don’t know what you think of yourself, but you are amazing. Last night was—’
‘Because of Ecstasy.’ I glance over at Elle, who is smiling, laughing. She is sitting on one of the plump lobby chairs next to a businessman dressed in a sharp suit with a laptop propped on his knees. He looks only mildly interested in what is on his screen, considerably more interested in who has sat down next to him. Elle is the sister who turns heads, makes minds and bodies stray. Not me. People do not say wow when they meet me.
‘No. Last night was amazing. I know how you felt. I could see it. I could feel it. And I know how I felt, too.’ He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a business card. ‘I want to see you again. This is my number. When you get back home, think about it. Think about me. And if you want, call me.’
I take the card and nod. ‘OK. I’ll think about it.’ He reaches forward and kisses me. He goes for the lips, but I turn slightly and he catches my cheek instead. His stubble grates at my skin, feels like it has left a red mark like a graze on a child’s knee. Matt’s lips purse, a smile of understanding that nothing today is the same. It is as if he realises that his effort is futile. That familiar feeling I know so well; that there is nothing you can do to change things already done.
‘Take care, Irini,’ he says as he lets go of my hand before walking away.
I look over at Elle, who has already ended the call. I beckon her over and she meets me at the glass doors. They slide open and shut as people pass in and out, warm air from outside mixing with the chill of the air-conditioning vents. ‘What did you tell him?’ I ask as I watch Matt slip back into the dining room.
‘I told him that last night, when it came to leaving, our father broke down in tears and begged you to stay just one more night. That he was so very sorry. That he wanted a chance to put everything right, even though he realised such chances didn’t exist.’ I can imagine Antonio hearing this, happy that perhaps finally my demons might be put to rest. That now I will agree to marry him and have a baby. ‘He asked why you didn’t call, but I said that it was an upsetting time, that you had taken it hard. That we had sat up talking all night. I told him that we would soon be on our way to the airport. That you were better, and that we would try to organise a chance to meet at some point in the future of our reunited family.’ She lets a fake smile bounce on and off her lips.
‘What did he say to that?’
‘He seemed very happy,’ she says as we walk through the doors.
‘Thanks for covering for me,’ I mutter, embarrassed that my psychotic sister has the chance to play a part in this deceit. That I have proven myself untrustworthy in her presence. She says nothing as we step out into the car park. We sit in her Mercedes in silence until she starts the engine. Was it her that brought us here?
Her driving is slow and cautious, like that first day. Outside is grey and overcast, the air cooler after last night’s storm, the colours muted by the rain. We skim through the town and follow the country lanes, passing pimple-like hills in the distance. A low-hanging layer of mist still clings to the ground, and after a while I can stand the silence no longer.
‘I’m sorry it has to b
e like this, Elle.’
‘No you are not,’ she says, her words formal and enunciated. The voice she adopts when she wants to be strong, to show she has set her mind to something. ‘It is what you want. I knew the day would come. People do not tolerate me for long. Remember, that’s why you lied to me about which university you were going to.’
‘It wasn’t a case of not tolerating you. I was scared. Don’t you remember what you did before I left?’
‘Of course I remember,’ she says. ‘Perhaps you are the one who has forgotten that I did it for you.’
‘You threatened me with a knife.’
‘But it wasn’t you I used it on, was it?’ We sit in silence at the memory neither of us wants to recall. ‘And anyway, you lied to me about where you were going before I did what I did.’
We arrive in Horton and she stops at the side of the road, looks out across the view she claims to love, the derelict building she claims to hate. She traces the hills against the glass with her finger. ‘I am never enough for people, Irini. No matter what I do for them. That was always the problem.’ She pulls away again and heads towards the house. We pass the sign for Mam Tor, and as she turns into the driveway, I see the house looming in the distance, the reflection of clouds cast in the windows. She parks up in front of the six-garage block. Frank is there, working on the windscreen of another car.
‘Elle, you’re wrong. It was me that wasn’t enough. Remember, it’s you they kept. You were enough right from the start.’ I say this not really believing it any more. But I have come to understand Elle now. As tough as she seems, she is weak. As strong as her words are, she is frail in spirit. She feels betrayal perhaps even deeper than I do.
‘If only you knew how wrong you were.’ She kills the engine and turns to face me. ‘I have watched you in this house over the last few days. I know you understand now that she wanted you, even if you don’t understand why he forced you away. It was a close call, you know. Me or you. But she is dead and the past is better left untold. The important thing is that he doesn’t regret his choice, and I only know that because you came here. Thank you,’ she says, a little softer than before, to the point where I think she might mean it. ‘I’ll be all right. Without us, perhaps you will too.’
She steps from the car and I follow, thinking about the first day we arrived here. This place doesn’t feel as strange any more, and I do not feel like such an alien. I even think as I look up at the house, knowing that this will be the last time I step inside, that it is quite a beautiful place, in a moody sort of way. As I step through the open doors, Joyce is sweeping crumbs from the hallway rug. Remnants of yesterday’s mourning. Elle is just up ahead.
‘Morning, Joyce,’ I say. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, Irini. Thank you.’ She spots Elle walking towards the stairs and calls out, ‘Miss Eleanor, your father is still sleeping. He retired early last night and asked me not to disturb him this morning.’
Elle raises a hand to dismiss her, and the only sound to break the silence is the grandfather clock ticking in the background. I roll my eyes at Joyce, offer a gentle smile to show my understanding. In my head I say, Typical Elle, before dismissing the thought as flippant. Joyce just shakes her head.
‘I’m leaving today, Joyce. Thank you for your help while I have been here. Especially yesterday. You’ve been kind.’ She stops sweeping and reaches out to hug me. She rubs at my arms, then moves a hand down to my scarred hip.
‘It’s so nice to see how you have grown up. I remember you as a baby, do you know that?’ I shake my head. ‘I nursed you in that room you’ve been staying in. I used to sit in an old chair in the corner with you in my arms. I missed you when they sent you away.’
Lost for words, I pull her close and squeeze her tightly. To know I was loved, held, that my presence was missed, means more than I could ever explain to her.
‘Thank you,’ I say. Just that. Nothing else.
‘They did want you, you know that, don’t you?’ I pull back, shocked by what she has said. ‘They both wanted you. If your dear mother had got her way, it would have been the other one who left this house.’ It was a close call … Me or you. ‘She deserved it after what she did. If only they hadn’t discovered what was happening, they would never have brought her home.’ Then she shakes her head, purses her lips. ‘Oh, I know I shouldn’t say that. She was just a little girl and I shouldn’t wish that upon a child.’ She reaches up, places her good hand over her chest where her heart is. ‘Not even her, God forgive me.’
‘Joyce, what are you talking about? Why did they send me away? What was happening?’ The similarity of this story to what Elle began telling me after the funeral is indisputable, and the proximity of the truth swells up inside me, blocking my windpipe. All this time I was sitting holed up in that room, and if I had just pushed Joyce about what happened, she might have told me everything.
‘He didn’t feel it was right after learning what they were doing to her. They had to bring her home, but it was too risky to let you both stay. He just felt so guilty. So many lies had already been told, what was one more?’ She swallows hard. ‘He didn’t think anybody would be able to care for Elle if they learnt what she had done. So he kept her here, kept it all quiet, and sent you away. Oh,’ she says, touching her head. ‘I forget myself. However could I have said that it would be better if nobody knew? For that to happen to a little girl…’ She steps away and I reach for her arm. ‘No, I shouldn’t be saying this. Like I said, better left behind closed doors.’
My mouth parts to speak, but I don’t get my words out in time. Instead the cry flies down the stairs, shrill and urgent.
‘Nooooooooooooo! Whhhaaaaaaaaaaanooooooooo!’ Desperate cries, mauled baby, strangled kitten cries. I let go of Joyce and charge up the stairs, round a dog-leg bend into unknown territory. I pass a dead end on the right with a small table next to it and swing around the banisters as I follow the wailing. ‘Breeeatthe!’
As I run, I can hear Joyce shuffling along behind me calling out to Frank. I arrive at an open door. The room is dark, curtains closed. Elle is on the bed, rocking back and forth, wailing. I see my father underneath her. I have seen enough of death to know that he is gone. I have spent my adult life watching the sleeping, and I do not confuse the two. I creep forward, invisible, and look into his dead, half-open eyes. I know there is no point trying to save him. He died hours ago, and the empty bottle of Valium on the bedside locker next to an empty bottle of Scotch is all the evidence I need to know that it was suicide. I pick up the pill bottle with no name on it. It is mine.
I step backwards, unable to help. Snapshots of the room blink at me like the flash of an old-style camera: the heavy velvet curtains, the striped dressing gown on the end of the bed, the brown duvet cover, the empty water jug. I slide the bottle into the pocket of my jeans and edge away. Joyce is hobbling along the landing as I reach the door.
‘Call an ambulance,’ I mutter as she arrives next to me. She yelps when she sees him, wobbles, and I catch her before she falls. ‘Call an ambulance,’ I say again. I take one last look at Elle, flailing about on the bed, distraught. She is beating her hands like a wild animal against our dead father’s chest. We are orphans, I realise, something else that binds us. What can I do? Nothing. I cannot save him. I cannot save her. This time, just like every other time, I can only save myself.
I run down the main stairs and up to my bedroom and see that my bag is still sitting on the end of the bed, ready to go. It looks undisturbed. I grab it, ignoring the commotion from the adjoining room, the screams filtering through the air vents. I charge through the door, letting it swing to the point that it slams into the plasterwork. I hear something crack, break, flutter to the ground, but I am back down the stairs in a flash without a second thought. I slip outside through the back door, and as I approach the front of the house I see Frank running towards the main entrance. I wait for him to pass before I continue. I can still hear Elle. She is hysterical, making no sense. I think
that maybe I should stay, try to help her, even though I know I will fail. But it would be futile.
I throw my bag on to the passenger seat of Elle’s car and climb in. The keys are still there. The tyres crunch on the gravel as I pull from the driveway, heading for the airport. The village with what should have been my school is just up ahead. The grave of the woman I resemble so much is only minutes away. I look into the rear-view mirror and watch as the house that should have been mine fades into the past, just like Elle, and I know for the first time that there is nothing salvageable left behind.
20
Once I’m through security I stake out a quiet corner, one of the seats that nobody wants because of the limited views towards the departure gates. I buy a new phone, one of the cheap disposable things that I will bin as soon as I get home and change my number. I push in my old SIM card and wait for it to register. Within thirty seconds I receive seventeen missed-call notifications. Each one Antonio. The tears that struck me on the way to the airport resurface, so I put the phone down and brush them away. My eyes are hot, so red-raw that my vision has become blurry. I know I should call Antonio, and I even make a couple of attempts to dial his number. Half an hour later I still haven’t made the call.
I head to the toilets and wet my face, letting the water wash into my eyes. A woman at a nearby sink watches me, sees that I am troubled. She considers an approach, a Good Samaritan shoulder to cry on, so I grab a paper towel and get the hell out of there. I buy a coffee and sip it before it gets the chance to cool down, burning my lip and tongue again. My head is throbbing, either from the swelling of my Ecstasy-fuelled brain, or because of what I have done as a result of it. So I find an empty seat near a kiosk selling souvenirs, where the noise is not so overpowering. I take out the new phone, knowing there is no point in waiting. Nothing is about to change. I dial Antonio’s number.
‘I love you.’ The first thing he says, and in English too. There is no anger in his voice, and no confrontation. ‘I am so sorry for everything.’ It makes everything so much worse, because at least if he was angry at me I could claim injustice. Whatever it was that Elle told him, he sucked it in, drank it up like baby milk.
If You Knew My Sister Page 15