Love After Love

by Alex Hourston

  ‘So that’s what you’ve been doing, is it? I was beginning to wonder,’ he said, which was a lie and we all knew it. Skyler leant in close and hummed up into his neck.

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Skyler. All this effort you went to,’ he said and she rolled her eyes towards me then, in a lazy kind of a challenge, her mouth still behind his ear.

  ‘Expecting someone, Nance?’ David said, when my head snapped around again at the sound of the door.

  ‘Pretty much everyone we ever knew,’ I replied.

  *

  ‘I’ll come, Nancy,’ Adam had told me the previous week. ‘If you want me to. If it’ll help.’

  ‘No way,’ I said, ‘I’ll deal with it,’ but Louisa had raced home to Free and told her about Adam’s wife – this actress – and she’d looked her up online and fallen in love and begged: ‘Please, Mum, you’ve got to make this happen for me,’ and I told her, ‘I can’t force the man,’ and Stefan said: ‘Come on, Nance. If he can’t make the party we can always try for another date.’ Now, despite the risk and the difficulty, I found that I wanted him here.

  I had dressed carefully, first in a shirt that Adam had bought in some queasy signal of allegiance. It was a deep marine silk which seemed to move by itself, its colour shifting and shading. Louisa had stroked it with her fingertips and then her cheek. ‘It’s so soft,’ she said. ‘Looking at it makes me dizzy,’ but its trick relied on contrast, the regulation of a suit or the ease of old jeans. So I bought something new; a dress, overpriced and exquisite. A sheet of weighted crepe the complicated shade of frozen dusk, a cold hard purply blue that sucked up all the light. Overpriced and exquisite. The sleeves were long and pulled in at the wrist to a slim fold of cuff. The neck was a low shallow V. The skirt fell from the waist in deep loose pleats and I bought the boots, too, that the model on the website had worn. It was a subtle outfit of inference and suggestion and when I saw myself in it, I felt a kind of triumph. When Louisa appeared in the mirror by my side, she said: ‘You look amazing, Mum, but not one bit like yourself,’ perhaps the only thing that could have made me love it more. It struck me, later, that I was dressing as the inverse of my idea of his wife.

  *

  ‘Is that Alice, just arrived?’ I said. The party was getting noisier. ‘My goodness, she hasn’t aged one bit.’

  ‘Her?’ asked Madeline. ‘Wow. She looks kind of expensive.’

  ‘Oh, she is,’ I replied.

  Considered and adult, her handbag strapped across her chest, she helped her dad out of his coat. Still that kernel of beauty; as distinct now, divorced, two kids down, as at nine years old when she joined my brother’s class and, honestly, he fell in love. Something about the proportions of her face. Whatever it was, it had held.

  David watched over Skyler’s head until she felt his lack of attention and reached up to his cheek, like a child.

  ‘Come on, babe,’ she said. ‘Let me show you the set-list for the band.’

  He found an easy smile and scratched at the roots of her hair. I felt a little taste of it myself; I seem to access others’ pleasure, these days, or the ghost of it, as though I’m tapped into this huge network of gratification. The thought of Adam made me shake, my teeth rattle in my head.

  ‘In fact, we really should have a wander,’ I said to David. ‘Go greet your guests.’

  ‘That, dear sister, is why I never got married,’ he said. ‘Well, one of the reasons. You do it. You invited them.’ Spoken with his own one-sided smile, but he wasn’t joking.

  ‘I guess I’ll do a circuit,’ I said. ‘You’ll help me, Mads, won’t you? At least say hello.’ She followed me wordlessly, still looking down at her phone.

  We went to Dad first, who wore a blue cotton shirt bearing the memory of the hanger in two little humps halfway along each shoulder. I saw the wide dish of his breast and remembered the feel of it under my cheek, the peace it brought down on me, and the way I used to wonder whose innards I could hear, his or mine, compared with Mum’s embrace, all ribs and adjustment. Large, my Dad, but strong, and of a type they don’t seem to make any more; firm and fixed and London with a seam of vulnerability. I found it in the hold across his shoulders, in his face, turned away from the screen on a Saturday afternoon, caught on a thought when he should have been watching the game. It is a funny thing. I went to him, and took his hand in mine. He had polished his shoes. I refuse to abandon him to his unsuitable wife.

  ‘It’s a brilliant place, Nance. Good job!’ he said. He stood with his sister, April, and her husband Pete, all in a row, looking out across the room in an arrangement that made them look geriatric.

  ‘Will there be food, love?’ said April. ‘I’m sure you said there was food.’

  I could see splinters of plucked hair below the main sweep of her eyebrows and the sparse growth above her lip which had been dyed a weird Hollywood blonde. It was Aunty Ape who gave me my first intimation of the upkeep being a woman demanded, even one as unequivocal as her.

  ‘There is. Plenty. People will bring it to you. Are you going to say hello to Mum, Dad?’

  ‘Course I will. Where’s Justine though? I haven’t seen her for a while.’

  ‘There she is,’ said April, as Justine shoved the weighted door out from the loo. Pete crossed himself at the sight of her, a decades old joke.

  ‘Better be off,’ I said. ‘I’m doing the rounds.’

  ‘Send the birthday boy over, when you find him, will you, love?’ said Aunty Ape. She loved David best, but I didn’t take it personally; she would always have chosen the boy and he is handsome and unpredictable, like something out of one of her romances, which turn on jeopardy, but always end well. She dragged a lipstick across her face for David, more than she did for me, or Uncle Peter, her treasure, who fetched and carried for her, bought her chocolates, rubbed her feet and didn’t warrant a mention.

  ‘Birthday boy?’ I heard Dad say to her as we left. ‘He’s a grown man, April, not ten years old.’

  I’d found four of David’s old football team online who came without their wives. They drank their pints genially, stood in a circle in matching polo shirts and I flirted with them en masse, as was expected. ‘Still playing?’ I asked, though they all looked overfed and age-blown. One of them mentioned Ape, who hadn’t missed a match and always carried sweets. I brought her over and left her to do her thing. She was cawing loudly by the time I left.

  And there was Alice. I paid for a gin, served badly in a long narrow glass, and went over to her. She smelt of the salon when I kissed her, scorched air and product. Her hair was shorter than I remembered; the cut traced the line of her jaw and the skin of her neck, newly revealed, was whiter than the rest. Her blonde remained ridiculous; a flat effortless silver and when she bent down to her handbag and the hair fell forward, I saw that the back, at her nape, had been shaped into a sharp V, the perfect counterpoint of toughness. When she straightened and it was hidden again, I felt like I’d been told one of her secrets. It was genius, that cut; I could have written a paper on her hair.

  She asked me how my kids were: ‘Fourteen, twelve and ten, right?’ and I said what I always say, about boys being like dogs and the trouble with teens, and that Lou was a typical third; none of it quite true, none of it bringing my children into any focus, but she smiled and said:

  ‘Easier for you, though, in your profession.’

  ‘I wish,’ I replied, though really, I thought it probably was.

  ‘Are you working?’ I asked.

  ‘A couple of non-execs, to keep my hand in,’ she replied. I’d always admired her for her brains. She’d done so much better than the rest of us. Then I saw her gear up, and she said: ‘I just wanted to tell you, Nancy, how kind it was of you to invite me. We used to be good friends.’

  ‘We did,’ I said, smiling her comment away. ‘Have you had the chance to say hello to him?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. David stood where it was loud, shouting over the music at his girlfriend’s friends and rocking ba
ck on his heels as he laughed. He saw us and waved.

  ‘You guys going to come dance?’ he called across comfortably.

  ‘In a bit,’ I replied. Beside me, Alice turned away, pretending with her phone.

  ‘And thanks, sis,’ David said. He held his hands wide, palms up, and looked skyward, as though he were praising something. I couldn’t help but warm under his blessing.

  ‘Maybe later then,’ I said to Alice when she’d finished with her screen.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she replied. We watched a little while longer as Skyler stomped and whooped, dancing alone in shards of light to a guitar-heavy tune.

  I paid little attention to the kids. Lou, pretending to be chased, grabbed my dress with a filthy hand, my thigh her pivot. Jake kicked a balloon in a corner, toe, toe, heel, then settled on a bench with his screen. I looked for Frieda, but couldn’t find her. There was the familiar drop. I took the door down to the street, slopping my wine in the rush, and found her sitting on a picnic bench next to the road, squeezing the bud of her huge top-knot. She dropped her hand to someone over the table but it was only Stef, who had made her laugh. He rubbed the peach of her cheek with his knuckle.

  ‘Join us,’ Stef said.

  Frieda pushed her forearms across the table towards him, giggling still, giddy and weak with it.

  ‘I need you both,’ I said. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Granny’s ready with the cake,’ I said, though I’d planned it for half an hour’s time. Frieda stood, the back of her cheap cotton skirt hopelessly lined and I smacked the creases out of it for her.

  *

  We didn’t bother with the lights this time. Mum appeared from the kitchen, we all sang, and I watched the teardrops of flame bend and quiver as she got closer to David.

  ‘What shall I do with it?’ Mum asked the room weakly, as she reached him. Sensible shoes, the grey stark in her hair; my mother, who had once taken up space in the world. Raised three kids, packed lunches, arbitrated our fights, which David started and I finished. The fact of her as once my father’s wife was astonishing. David took the cake and I heard her quietly say:

  ‘There’s carrot cake at the bottom, do you see? Then chocolate fudge and Victoria sponge, jam no cream, just as you like,’ then something else, too low for me to catch.

  He blew the candles out and kissed the top of her head, I saw her press her nails into her palms with the pleasure of it, and the moment came when David should have spoken – just a few words, to satisfy the room – and I knew that he would hate that, and so would not. Instead, he stood there, making no effort at diversion. Our mother’s eyes roamed, the crowd’s unease churned around him but David simply held his calm, waiting it out, a slight lift to his mouth. My father once made him sit at his tea for a full two hours. When he still wouldn’t eat, Dad scooped up the plate and swore in the kitchen, which was unusual. It cracked when he banged it down; I found two pieces later in the bin and cut my hand with a tiny nick.

  ‘Nancy. Where’s Nancy?’ Mum said, vaguely, a couple of times and I could have helped at that point – I usually did – but instead, I played a little game. I was at the end of the bar on a low wooden chair and edged myself back into the space under the open hatch. I will, I told myself, just a little while longer, and I could see them searching for me, openly, now, my sister and husband bent forward out of the line, astonished that I hadn’t declared myself. David wouldn’t ask – that would be to concede – but I knew that he waited; curious at the delay but confident that I’d come through. And I was going to; I stood and took a big breath in, and then Mum began. Just one syllable at first; aborted. An audible swallow and then a little mouse’s call for three cheers. The room responded with respect and relief, the sounds swelling with each refrain and when it was done, the need for him to speak had passed and there were handshakes and hugs that took him up off his feet. I saw him find Mum across the room and thank her with his look. She turned away and moved through the guests oblivious to them, alight with her son’s approval. I sat back down in my seat.

  Then through the pack, there was Adam, a head above the rest. I waved and he smiled and it seemed as obvious a declaration as a plane dragging its banner across the sky, but his attention dropped and I saw Tara, his wife, for the first time, or rather little clippings of her. Thick dark hair, pulled up in one decisive twist. A tiny stud at the helix of an ear, which I would have loved for myself, had I had the nerve. A face of strong contours, of the type that suggests certainty and holds through time and never takes a bad photograph, and I knew that were she here in any other capacity than my lover’s wife, she was the woman I would most want to talk to in the room.

  She led him to me, threading through the guests, her arm twisted behind her as they came. She dropped his hand to take mine; warm, still. We shook and a cluster of bangles in the thinnest gold fell this way and that.

  ‘Nancy,’ she said, ‘at long last.’ Her voice was soft and slow; she made you bend to catch the words. Her clothes, all sorts of folds and drapes, were not my style but perfect, nonetheless.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘thanks for coming.’

  ‘Thanks for inviting us,’ Tara replied. ‘How was the surprise?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘For your brother. It was a surprise, I think?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very good. He liked it. Hello, Adam.’

  He stepped around his wife and kissed me dryly on each cheek which was new, and a little sad. Still, the smell of his detergent and his cheek’s rough scratch launched a loose roll of longing in my stomach.

  ‘What a wonderful cake! Your mother’s so talented,’ Tara said and then her scent reached me too, bergamot and something baser and I realised I’d smelt traces of it before on Adam. Her wedding band was plain, identical to his. She wore no engagement ring. Her nails were neat and filed and left unpainted.

  ‘Mum?’ came a voice from behind me.

  ‘Yes, Frieda,’ I said, and turned to her, fully, happy to break the lock of the conversation.

  ‘I just—Um—’ She looked squarely at Adam’s wife.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I’m Frieda. Pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘Delighted,’ said Tara. ‘My husband tells me you’re an actor.’ I saw Frieda gulp.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Frieda said.

  ‘I was just going to get a drink,’ said Tara. ‘Will you come with me? I’d love to hear what you’re working on now,’ and with a light touch at my daughter’s arm, they left.

  ‘She’s very kind,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. She is.’

  A girl came by with a tray of quail scotch eggs and a hollandaise dip. I was hungry somewhere under the booze, and took one, but it was too big for a mouthful and reluctant to submit to a bite. We looked out across the room.

  ‘Is this OK?’ he said. ‘Me being here?’

  ‘Better than you not,’ I replied.

  ‘I was watching you from the back—’ he began, and then ‘Well, hello,’ said David, suddenly, hot and loud from the dance-floor. He put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself and turned to Adam, pivoting on his heels. ‘Someone else I don’t quite recognise. Though I imagine we’ve met, haven’t we?’

  ‘I’m Adam, Nancy’s colleague,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, of course,’ he said. ‘Adam. That’s right. Nancy talks about you. I’m David. The brother.’

  ‘Good to meet you. And happy birthday,’ Adam said.

  David looked between us, quickly. ‘Oh sorry. Were you talking shop or something?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Adam said. ‘Just chatting.’

  David laughed, slightly wildly.

  ‘God, really? Do you do small talk, Adam? Nancy’s useless. I thought it was a therapist thing. Or maybe it’s just her brains. She’s the smart one, as I’m sure you know,’ David said and clutched me weirdly, his arm around my back.

  ‘Making you what, the beauty?’ I asked.

  ‘I was thinking more brawn.’

  ‘You
build things though, if I’m right?’ Adam said.

  David turned his head towards me slowly.

  ‘Something like that. Nancy is a great one for blowing my trumpet.’

  I could see Frieda, across the room, looking up at Tara and talking with great animation, her fingers stretching out into star bursts when she made a point.

  ‘Don’t worry, Nance. If you’ve got places to be. I’ll take care of your friend,’ David said, with a closed little smile. ‘We can talk about you.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll leave you both to it.’

  ‘Well, he seems nice,’ said David, as he left. ‘Where’s the other guy? Aren’t there three of you?’

  ‘Busy tonight,’ I said, though I hadn’t mentioned the party again to Tim.

  ‘Oh, the pair of you gang up on him, do you? You exclude the poor thing,’ David said.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I replied. ‘David, you’d better not be high.’

  He laughed and rubbed his hand back and forth across his brow.

  ‘What are you, my—? Oh but my actual mother wouldn’t nag me about this on my fortieth birthday, would she, Nance?’

  ‘I have a fourteen-year-old daughter around here somewhere.’

  ‘Which has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘But you hardly set an example, do you? She loves you. She looks up to you.’

  ‘Righto,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be so glib.’

  ‘You don’t be so smug,’ he said. ‘Nice view from up there, is it, Nance? On the high ground. Your favourite spot.’

  ‘Oh fuck off, David.’

  ‘Cos I can see pretty clearly from down here too,’ he replied and gave a wink, unfocused and lewd, launching a little dart of fear. He leant to my ear.

  ‘Look at you, blooming in your new frock. The benevolent hostess. Enjoying yourself?’

  ‘It’s not my party. It’s yours.’

  ‘You can’t bullshit me,’ he said. ‘I know you far too well.’