Love After Love

by Alex Hourston

  I dropped him off and went home.

  Stef had fixed a net across the width of the kitchen table and was playing ping-pong there, with Jake.

  ‘How was it, babe?’ he said.

  ‘Good, interesting.’

  ‘What do you think, then? Worth a try?’

  ‘Well it’s a popular therapy. It should bring in a few new clients. Or as a supplementary thing, perhaps. But it’ll take an initial outlay.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Dad, can you concentrate?’ Jake said.

  ‘Maybe eight hundred pounds?’

  ‘Go for it,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

  The dog butted my leg until I scratched behind his ear.

  ‘Mum,’ called Lou. ‘I need you to look at this.’

  ‘It’ll mean a night away from home, though,’ I said, although it made me sweat beneath my coat to voice it.

  ‘You should do it. Expand your skill set. We’ll manage,’ he said. ‘Won’t we, Jakey?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jake said. ‘I’m thrashing you, Dad. Can you at least try?’

  Lou came through with a painting limp in her hand.

  ‘When are you going, Mum? I don’t like it when you go away.’

  ‘You’ll be fine, sweet. It’s not for long.’

  ‘Who will you talk to?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I’ll meet people. Is Frieda here? What do you want to eat?’ I said.

  Lou turned back down the hall, all mismatched proportions like a game of Picture Consequences, with the bunch of her hood and her sweatshirt as broad as it was long, then the drop of her leggings, thin as string, into the great wide mouth of her Uggs.

  ‘Come here, Lou,’ I called and she turned back to me in delight. She shinned up my front like a monkey and I held her there for as long as I could stand, her legs wrapped round my waist, breathing in her unwashed hair. There is something dissociative about the ecstatic state.

  8

  There was ground to be made with Marie. I got to the office for five past eight.

  ‘You’re early,’ Lynn said, when she arrived. ‘Can I make you a drink?’

  I had a coffee before me and a nonchalant air when she showed Marie through.

  ‘Morning, Marie,’ I said, as she settled. ‘Is there anything you’d like to start with today?’

  She made a play of thinking, and told me no.

  ‘So, how was your week?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh. Good, thanks.’

  The sun was low and bleached, halving the room.

  ‘And the travelling?’ I asked.

  ‘I caught the tube every day,’ she said.

  ‘Brilliant. How did you find it?’

  ‘The same as before.’ Then: ‘I remember those.’ She pointed at my shelf. Shakespeare’s complete works, leather-bound.

  ‘You collected them month by month, didn’t you? Out of the back of a magazine,’ she said.

  ‘That’s right,’ I replied.

  ‘They’re from when we were children. We had them, too.’

  She reached across and bumped her finger along the books, spine by spine. She paused on one and tilted it towards her with difficulty, breaking the line. I waited for her to take it, but she pushed it back flush. With another client I might have made something of her choice.

  ‘We never looked at them once,’ she said. ‘Did you?’

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, you’ve found a use for them now,’ she said and we smiled together at that.

  ‘So shall we have a look at the homework from last week?’ I said.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied and pulled the sheet out from inside her book.

  ‘What struck you?’ I asked.

  She tracked the list with the nib of her pen and came to a stop.

  ‘Well there’s the job thing, obviously,’ she said.

  ‘Could you read that statement to me, please?’

  ‘It says: Change in responsibilities at work.’

  ‘And why did you choose that?’

  ‘I got a new job. Remember?’

  I heard Tim greet a client in reception, booming and absolute.

  ‘Of course. Anything else?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  ‘What about: Outstanding personal achievement?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as all that,’ she replied, with an unsuitable giggle.

  ‘Well your new job amounts to a huge promotion, as I understand it?’

  She coloured a little and I took my chance.

  ‘You’ve come a long way in your life, Marie. You know, that can bring issues.’

  She dropped her chin.

  ‘One idea I wanted to share with you. There is a theory that the sort of anxiety that you’ve been experiencing – this sense of some external danger – can be a stand-in for a more internalised threat. A difficult emotion that you may be trying to suppress.’

  I paused, waiting for the tweak, the wrinkle of disdain that Marie shows at the rim of her nose. It didn’t come.

  ‘For example, for some, success can be tough. You might feel guilty, or unworthy, or that your achievement can’t be sustained. Your anxiety could be seen as a form of self-sabotage.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t think any of that,’ and I believed her. Marie is proud.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep thinking. Perhaps next time we’ll go a little further back.’

  I am ambitious for Marie. I want to help get her where she is headed.

  ‘Take this home,’ I said. ‘These are some questions about your family background. Mark what resonates and we’ll see where it leads us. Patterns of thinking and behaviour can start very early in life.’

  She tucked the new page into her handbag and the old one slid down her lap. I saw, before she grabbed it, that she had highlighted four or five statements and little scribbles of notes all over. Her look, as she pulled it back towards her, dared me to ask.

  ‘See you next time,’ I said, breezily. ‘You have a great week.’

  As she left, I heard Adam arrive, late today. I listened to his good-mornings and went to him.

  ‘How are you?’ he said, looking tattered and lop-sided, his glasses on a string around his neck. At her desk, Lynn turned, raised the phone and began to talk decisively. I closed the door so we could kiss. When I pulled away, he rubbed his thumb across my eyebrow and I tucked my head into his neck and felt my hair snag on his chin and the press of his ribs. I wondered if he’d lost weight.

  ‘Come and sit with me,’ he said. ‘I need to get ready.’

  He had cycled to work and wore an old jumper. He set up his ironing board, shook out the shirt from his rucksack and began.

  ‘My client’s tricky,’ I said.

  ‘Marie? It’s still early days.’

  ‘I know but I can’t seem to reach her.’

  ‘You want to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not really. Not yet.’

  ‘Take it slowly. You’ll get there.’

  The iron gave a puff of steam as it travelled around the collar’s curve. I smelt hot metal and singed cotton.

  ‘Did your mother teach you that?’ I asked, from his ancient client’s chair.

  ‘She did. You do the yoke next. This part here, across the shoulders, see?’

  ‘Cambridge soon,’ I said and levered off my shoes. ‘Can we punt?’

  ‘If weather allows. Have you been there before?’

  ‘Once. For a wedding,’ I said. Horrible, a contrived and competitive affair.

  The intercom buzzed. Adam looked up. ‘Is that you?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t think so,’ I said. ‘No one until ten.’

  ‘Same here. Unless he’s early.’

  Adam laid down his iron and we had both turned our heads to the door when Lynn began a hectic banging.

  ‘Nancy,’ she called in panic. ‘Come out. Please. It’s your husband. And your children too.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, and opened the door to her stric
ken face.

  ‘They’re here,’ she said, taking my elbows in her grip. ‘They’re coming up,’ and I would have liked to slap her but instead said, calmly: ‘It’s absolutely fine, Lynn. Now, please—’ She dropped her hands. ‘Sit down,’ I said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get the door.’

  ‘Hello,’ I called down into the chasm of the stairwell.

  ‘Mummy,’ Louisa said, barrelling into me, arms round my waist, forcing me back into the room.

  ‘What are you doing here? What happened to school?’ She pushed her face deeper into my front. Behind me, I felt her fingers working on the ball of the Blu-Tack she carried everywhere.

  ‘So this one’s ill now,’ said Stef. ‘What do you make of that?’

  My husband stood in the doorway like an advert for a supplement, all vigour, good health and equilibrium. Handsome in a suit for a pitch later that day, which seemed to emphasise his outdoorsiness instead of bringing him into any sort of corporate line.

  ‘What’s the matter, Lou?’ I said, looking down at the top of her head.

  ‘She felt sick,’ he replied for her.

  ‘You were fine when I left this morning.’

  ‘It started in the car,’ he said. Patient, amused.

  ‘Were you reading, Lou? Or looking down at the phone. You know that’s not a good idea,’ I said. She shook her head, setting her ponytail swinging, thin and off-centre.

  ‘There’s a vomiting bug,’ she said, into my shirt. ‘Everybody’s got it.’

  ‘Anyway, Lorene can watch her, but we were on our way back home and thought we’d call in and say hi, eh Lou?’

  Stef made no move towards us; we all seemed oddly fixed in place, like characters in a bad play. Lynn upstage, her hand still at her throat and Adam’s door gaping in the wings, full of portent.

  ‘Can I look inside your office, Mum?’ Lou said. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been here.’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, and then:

  ‘Hi. Sorry.’ It was Adam. ‘Hello, everybody. Sorry, I just need to shut the door. To get changed, you see,’ he said, which worked as an invitation to look at him, slope-shouldered, the fresh shirt draped over an arm, his trousers tucked into his socks, still, from the bike ride in. ‘I’ve got a client due any moment.’

  ‘Hey, Adam,’ called Stef and crossed the room in a few long strides. ‘How are you doing?’ He took my lover’s hand and then the top of his arm as well. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘It has,’ Adam said. ‘I’m well, thanks. How are you?’

  Stef’s grin was broad, enthusiastic, robust. Adam, a head taller without shoes, looked crabbed and underfed. I could see his discomfort but he didn’t cringe. He held his spot, and that reached me as devotion. I felt a truth, in that moment, about my feelings for him, and a sudden tip of vertigo, but then Lou had reached for my cheek and turned my face down to her, she needed water, a tissue, a biscuit, a hug.

  ‘All good. Yeah, we’re good,’ Stefan was saying. He cast around for conversation. ‘Starting to think about the summer, now. You know, holidays, and such. And you’re well? You and—’ but he got there in time. ‘Tara?’

  Behind me, Lynn rubbed her hands together, I could hear the sound of papery abrasion.

  ‘We are, thank you. Yes, fine.’

  ‘Lou,’ Stef said, ‘do you want to say hi to Adam? Mummy’s colleague?’ Louisa turned her head towards the men, her ear still pressed to my heart and gave a soft hello. Adam smiled and raised a hand.

  ‘Louisa,’ Stefan said. ‘Stand up straight, please, honey, when someone’s—’

  ‘It’s OK. Really,’ Adam said. ‘I should probably get back. Well, it’s been nice to see you.’

  ‘Yeah, you too, man,’ said Stef. ‘We should get together. A dinner perhaps. Your wife’s an actress, right? Our oldest, Frieda, would love to meet her. She’s getting very, very into her drama.’

  ‘Yes,’ Adam said, ‘I’ll mention that to Tara.’

  ‘That would be amazing. I know meeting her would make Free’s day. Or hey, what about the party, Nance?’

  ‘The party?’

  ‘We’re throwing a party for David, Nancy’s brother, this Saturday. It should be fun. We’ve invited everyone. Why don’t you guys come too?’

  The door buzzed. ‘I’d better go,’ said Adam, ‘that’ll be for me.’

  Lynn, at the intercom, said: ‘It’s for Tim, actually.’

  ‘Is he here?’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Lynn replied. She slipped into his office and then out again, quickly.

  ‘I’m so sorry everyone, but could you please—? Tim says … That it’s not terribly professional, this great big crowd.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Louisa, Stef, would you come into my office? Just while this client arrives?’

  Then Tim was in the room. Stefan knew him better. ‘Tim,’ Stef said. ‘We’ll be out of your hair just now, but we were talking about the weekend. We’re having a party. Adam’s going to try to make it. Would you be great if you could too. More the merrier, right?’ Tim looked between us all in a kind of bafflement.

  ‘Stef, please come here,’ I said. ‘The client will be up. It’s simply not appropriate,’ and at that, Tim raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, like a kid hawking a swearword into his fist.

  The woman arrived and Louisa listened behind my door.

  ‘Do you know her, Mum?’ she whispered. ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  Then she and Stefan left, creeping through reception, but in the hall I heard his voice, loud and full-bodied, swollen by the acoustics of the space.

  ‘Ill?’ I heard him say. ‘You’re in the best of health, my girl,’ and then I think he must have tickled her, for ribbons of her laughter reached back to me. I raced out to the hall.

  ‘Be safe,’ I called down. ‘Lulu, be safe.’

  ‘We will,’ Stef shouted back. ‘Have a great day.’

  9

  ‘Did you see him? He looked terrified!’ Madeline said, after, at the bar.

  ‘He’s OK,’ I told her.

  ‘You sure? I thought we’d fucked up there for a moment.’

  ‘Look, he’s enjoying himself already.’ We watched our brother across the room. ‘Come on, I said. ‘Let’s get him a drink.’

  *

  He had arrived on time as we waited in the dark. I heard the door bang at the bottom of the stairs and then David, his voice like water boiling in a pan. The room reacted with a surge of murmurs. His footsteps, getting louder up each step, made me giggle. I counted down from 10, but had only got to 4 when I heard the catch of the handle. The flick of the master switch (my job), a whump of power and the scene was revealed. His face a snapshot of surprise. He gave three exaggerated blinks.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ we chanted, in the usual way, keeping decent time, the final beat drawn out. Seventy-six of us, if everyone who had said yes, turned up, and brought no extras. A few loose cheers and sporadic claps and at last, David smiled. There was a tiny collapse across his shoulders and then he gave a sudden harsh laugh, a kind of aftershock. I felt something difficult in it, but the rest heard invitation and he was swamped. Madeline and I, the sisters, stayed where we were.

  *

  ‘I’m not convinced, Nance,’ Mads said. ‘He looks a bit freaked out.’

  David was moving, acknowledging people blindly as he came.

  ‘Quick,’ I said. ‘We’ll catch him at the bar. There’s prosecco till it runs out.’

  ‘This could only be your work, Nancy,’ said David, when he got to us.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t have let your special day go unmarked,’ I replied. He laughed again, broader now, somewhere up over my head. When he was finished, I kissed him, a hard meeting of cheekbone.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Have some fizz.’

  ‘I’d prefer a vodka tonic,’ he replied.

  I leant a long way over the bar to attract the barmaid’s attention.

  ‘You know you have to pay for that,’ she said
. ‘No spirits on the tab.’

  ‘It’s fine, Nancy,’ David interrupted. ‘I can get my own.’

  He gouged the lemon a few times with the end of his straw and drank halfway down the glass.

  ‘So what do you think?’ said Madeline, with her prettiness and bounce and her hair that smelt of the tropics.

  ‘I’ll tell you when this begins to work,’ he replied, setting the ice tumbling and then drinking again.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Mads, ‘here’s Skyler.’

  Her hair was freshly black with a brutal fringe cut into it. She wore a kaleidoscopic dress over thick tights and a pair of stompy boots. I thought I spotted a couple of new piercings. She held her arms out towards him as she came, in a camp impersonation of bashfulness.

  ‘You were in on this too, I suppose?’ said David but his voice was rounded and teasing now.

  ‘Of course,’ said Skyler. ‘We’ve been planning it for months.’

  *

  ‘Really?’ she’d said, when I told her the idea. ‘You won’t have to do anything. Just turn up,’ I replied. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. She’d invited their crew, as she put it, and brought a huge bowl of hummus, though I’d told her I’d got the caterers in. It sat at the end of the bar beneath a thickening khaki crust.

  *

  ‘Look, I did the ceiling!’ Skyler told David. ‘At nursery. All the kids helped. We used the recycling, see?’

  She walked him across and Madeline and I went, too.

  We were upstairs in a pub; a big square room of dark paintwork and junk-shop portraits with stencilled windows and a horseshoe-shaped bar that halved the space. One side had been cleared for dancing and she had fixed her paper chains here. They curved out in shallow loops from a hired mirror-ball; snippings of newspaper, colouring and old test sheets. There were stickers and handprints. Crayons, paint and glitter. When I craned my neck I could read neat columns of numbers curling off inside a link. He reached up to touch one and tiny coloured flakes dropped down, turning slowly through the air.

  ‘Like confetti,’ she said and watched him. I saw three little chips of cerulean settle on his cheek, the kind of blue I might have chosen for a wall. It looked beautiful, I had to admit. Our mother, Kath, had arrived earlier with a bag of hand-stitched bunting and taken it straight back out to her car.