Love After Love

by Alex Hourston

  ‘We need to locate that pain, Marie, and name it. Then we can begin to move beyond it,’ I said. ‘That’s what we’re doing here. That’s what this is all about.’

  She felt for the chain she wore beneath her shirt.

  ‘Do you have a faith?’ I asked her, suddenly.

  ‘Faith?’ she replied. ‘Oh, no,’ and gave a faraway laugh.

  When she was gone, I sat on the floor by the wall and listened for Adam, but all I could hear was his client’s needling tone, his voice reduced to a background murmur. I left the office before he was done.

  *

  There was a note when I got home: At the park! then Lou’s signature smiley face. Upstairs, I noticed Frieda’s door ajar and found her at her window, her forehead on the chilly pane.

  ‘I thought you were out. What are you looking at?’ I asked, in a high, bouncy voice. There were parked cars on both sides of the road. A stop-start stream of traffic, trying to cut through a rush-hour Monday. Her phone lay on the windowsill, charging.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to knock?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘Oh and that makes it OK,’ she replied, but she had no bite.

  ‘How was school?’ I asked.

  ‘All right.’

  I sat with her on her bed. She smelt institutional, boiled greens and hand-wash and a tang of metallic bus handrail. She seemed so worn. Crumpled and grimed, from top to toe. London all over her. She had taken off her socks and I saw the city’s tide-mark around her ankles. I wanted to bath her like I had when she was small; cross-legged, straight-backed in a couple of inches of warm water. A natural sponge and No More Tears shampoo. She would slap the surface with a flat palm, astonished at the noise. I used to end up soaked.

  ‘Any more weirdness with Clemency?’ I asked, not that she’d told me the nature of it.

  She looked at her nails, snagged and streaked in metallic blue.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Good. Girls can be a nightmare,’ I said, but she didn’t smile. She dropped her head on to my shoulder.

  ‘How is your piece coming along? I can’t wait to see the performance,’ I said. She gave the slightest lift of her shoulder in response.

  ‘Are you looking forward to your party?’ I asked. She shrugged. ‘Are you OK, Frieda?’ I said and pulled away to better look at her face.

  ‘Oh I’m fine, Mum,’ she replied. ‘Don’t worry,’ and I knew I’d struck the wrong note. You cannot solve your child’s every problem, I would have told a client, nor should you try and yet she suddenly seemed so opaque to me, so impossible to see. She slid down her bed limply.

  ‘Oh right. Good. Well, if there’s anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said.

  ‘Tired?’ I felt her forehead.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just going to have a rest. I’ll be down later,’ and when I got to the door, her eyes were already closed.

  ‘OK, sweet. Not too long, though, or you won’t sleep tonight.’

  Downstairs, the others were back. Stefan and Louisa played Guess Who?

  ‘Stef. Is Frieda all right?’

  ‘Does yours have any accessories?’ he said to Lou.

  ‘That’s not a fair question! What do you mean?’

  ‘One second, Nancy. Hats, sunglasses or jewellery.’

  ‘Yes!’ Lou replied.

  ‘Frieda’s fine,’ Stef said to me.

  ‘Any news on Uncle David?’ Lou asked.

  My anxiety was a high note in the room. I went through to the kitchen and stood at the back. Outside was black now, wet slaps of wind against the glass. Stef followed me. I kept my eyes down as the kids will when they don’t want to be reached.

  ‘This response, Nancy. It’s out of all proportion. You tell me there’s no problem, but I’m worried.’

  He leant against the counter with his arms crossed, pulling his biceps tight in the sleeves of his T-shirt. Where he stood under the panelling of the side return, the freckles on his face, in gradations of tan, were thrown into relief.

  ‘I try and talk to you and you just close down. I get that this is disorientating but you can’t let yourself be derailed,’ he said. ‘We have a family now.’

  ‘Oh don’t exaggerate, Stef,’ I said.

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ve given you a lot of space, Nancy, but this mess,’ he said. ‘David’s mess is spilling into all of our lives.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You call this a mess? This place is bloody perfect.’

  Every surface gleamed, shoes and bags were stowed, each item or appliance that was not beautiful was hidden in its designated place. Even the soap by the sink worked with the kitchen’s larger concept.

  ‘You’re being facetious. You know what I mean. We’re not functioning right now,’ he said. ‘We need to put in more time.’

  I let the dog out and he began his huge looped figure of eights, nose to the ground.

  ‘If I’m not at work, I’m here,’ I said. ‘There is no more time.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to ask ourselves why Frieda is spending her afternoons in somebody else’s home.’

  I turned.

  ‘Yep, she was there last week and went over to Tara’s again today and I guess there was a mix-up of some sort, I don’t know, but Tara wasn’t there and the husband sent her home which is why she’s in that mood—’

  ‘What’s up?’ said Frieda, in the doorway, one earbud in, the other dangling down her front. Tucked under her arm was the huge frayed envelope she carried everywhere. Scripts from Tara. ‘Why are you shouting?’ she said. ‘I was trying to get some sleep.’

  ‘Ah. You’re here,’ I said. ‘Your dad and I have been talking and we don’t want you going round to Adam’s any more.’

  ‘Hey. Nancy,’ said Stefan. ‘Back up. That’s not what I was saying.’

  ‘We don’t get enough time together as a family as it is—’

  ‘No way,’ Frieda shouted at me, viciously. ‘I love it over there.’

  She followed me with her eyes and I saw her plan to hurt me.

  ‘It’s not like here, you know,’ she said, slowly, with careful enunciation. ‘Tara isn’t stressy all the time.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I said. ‘They’re no different to us.’

  ‘Oh yes they are,’ she said. ‘It’s calm there. You can think.’

  ‘Because they’ve got no kids,’ I replied.

  ‘No, Mum,’ she said, ‘because they’re happy. That’s the difference.’ She started towards the door.

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ I called after her. ‘They’re the same. They just don’t show it. They’re hiding it from you.’

  ‘Mum,’ she stopped and turned back. ‘Why do you have to control everything? Oh I know, you just want me to “be safe”,’ she said, with finger quotes and rolling eyes. ‘This is safe. It’s helping me with work. There’s no reason for me not to go other than you don’t like it.’ Her point made, she left. I swore less quietly than I should have.

  ‘It’s the wrong fight, Nancy, I’ve told you,’ Stefan said. He gave a huge frustrated breath and moved towards the hallway.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ he called. He stretched his arms above him and gripped the frame of the door and I saw the waist band of his pants, the name of a brand I’d never heard of embossed in black cotton and a utilitarian font. ‘Let’s go out for pizza. Five minutes. Grab your stuff.’

  Jake thundered up the staircase. I looked around for my bag.

  ‘Not you, Nancy,’ he said. ‘Stay here. Have a bath or something.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Just get yourself together. I want some easy time with the kids.’

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ I heard Louisa ask as she fastened her shoes.

  ‘She’s busy,’ he said. Louisa didn’t reply. ‘Free. You fancy pizza? Or something else? You choose.’

  ‘Sushi, then, I suppose,’ she replied, crossly.

 
‘Sushi it is,’ he said.

  ‘Gross,’ Jake yelled. ‘I’m not eating that,’ and the argument tumbled off down the road.

  20

  We had lunch the next day, Adam and I, a picnic of bread and cheese on his office floor.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, when I came in with the bags.

  ‘A treat,’ I replied, not an apology, or salve, or misdirection, though it was all of these things too.

  I laid down a couple of tea towels, stained beyond salvation, and he bent to unpack the food. His hair has thinned into a widow’s peak in the time we’ve been together and the skin there looked new and exposed. I ran my thumb across that place and he raised his head and kissed me with an intent I hadn’t expected. We ate later; a perfect meal. The crust of the baguette gave with a hollow crack and the bread inside stretched to half its length again before pulling apart in reluctant twisty fingers. The butter was rich and yellow and there were crystals of salt in the cheese which we ate with a tart chilli jam. A bright patch began in a far corner of the room and we moved across and took the bottle, a plain white burgundy, crisp and cold. I laid my head on his lap, my cheek raised to the heat. He turned an apple in his hand above me and peeled off the skin in one long bouncing curl then passed a slice down on the tip of the knife, which I took in my teeth and was so acid that it pulled shut one eye. Each mouthful in high definition. We talked about when we might next get away, where we’d go, but it felt arbitrary and flimsy to me, just a hope.

  ‘I’ve told Frieda not to go to yours any more,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ he replied. ‘You didn’t have to.’

  He looked strange from below; I could see the work of time on his face, the loosening of his skin, gravity’s pull. Proof that none of us have forever.

  ‘Do you see much of her when she’s over?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. Then: ‘Do you think she’s like you?’

  ‘People say so but I’ve never seen it. I’ve always felt she’s more like Stef.’

  ‘The way her laugh begins is exactly yours,’ he said. ‘When I first heard it I nearly dropped my cup. I was completely disorientated for a moment.’

  ‘How odd,’ I said. ‘I’ve never noticed.’

  ‘And there’s something across her shoulders. I don’t know if it’s anatomy or body language but you’re just the same,’ and I recognised that in the drop of her school cardigan, in her bony little chest.

  ‘Did you like it, then?’ I asked. ‘Having her around?’

  ‘Like it?’ he said. ‘It’s absolute torment, Nancy. I mean, that’s no reflection on Frieda, I’m nowhere near knowing what sort of person she is, but it’s torture, living with these shadings of you. I should keep out of the way, but I can’t help but look for what I can find of you in her. It’s impossible.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. I can’t imagine it’s been easy for you either.’

  ‘Are you happy, Adam?’ I asked him then. It wasn’t planned. ‘Before—You once said that being with me made you happy.’

  ‘Of course. It does,’ he said. ‘I am. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I mean—With the situation. With how things are.’

  ‘Why? What are you thinking?’ he said, and there was a change in him, unmistakably. A tension through the muscles in his thighs beneath my head. I felt his anticipation. I chose my next words with care.

  ‘I suppose—I just wanted to check that you have what you want,’ I said.

  ‘What I want?’ I watched his throat bob, the mechanics of his swallow. ‘Well, I want everything, Nancy.’

  I raised my thumb to the hairless patch of skin beneath his chin. The moment when I should have replied came and went. I felt miles away.

  ‘Everything you’re willing to give, that is,’ he said. ‘Nothing else is worth having,’ and I would have liked to thank him for that, for his elegance and his compassion, but instead I started to babble: that I was his completely and loved him with everything. That I knew he understood – it was the children – how could it be any other way? And whilst all of this was true, still I was hiding from him, crouched behind each stock phrase. And he listened to me kindly and as I watched, his expression reset into a subtly altered shape and I thought, that laugh of his must have been a cover. A lame frail mask. His face was built for sorrow, after all.

  I left him and went to Louisa, who had an inset day and was spending it with April in the park. It was warm and there were bluebells, scentless, bunched together in the shade. Lou trampled a clump in pursuit of the dog and Ape said: ‘We should pick them, Nance. They’ll look lovely on your island. They’ll only die.’ The stems were thick and hollow and crunched when I snapped them, then oozed heavily. Ape gave me the tissue from up her sleeve and I wrapped the ends. I only had an hour and tried to find some pleasure in springtime, family, fresh air.

  ‘Have you heard anything from David, sweetheart?’ April said, as we walked.

  ‘Of course not,’ I replied. ‘I’d have said so if I had.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering, do you think he’s gay?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘David. Do you think he’s gay, love?’

  ‘No, Aunty Ape.’

  ‘Because your dad’s not so old-fashioned as all that, you know.’

  ‘He isn’t.’

  ‘And it’s in the family. Bet no one told you, did they? There was a cousin, a long while back.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said.

  ‘Ah well,’ she replied, and there was forbearance in her tone. ‘I suppose we’ll have to let him have his head,’ as though we had a choice. April is a woman who cannot be surprised by a man.

  The sun came and went. She held my arm and I looked down at her, small as a child. Her skull seemed narrow and underdeveloped. Her hair, intertwined like metal filament, sprang up from a thick white parting. Her face when she turned it up to me, was creased and beaky, something last century in it.

  ‘You don’t seem yourself, Nance,’ April said. There was a drop in her shoulder when she led with her right foot, which was her bad hip playing up. ‘Your dad says he hasn’t seen you for a a while.’

  I felt a deep, weighted apathy.

  ‘I’m busy, Aunty Ape.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ she replied.

  We watched Louisa cartwheel on the grass beside us, again and again, in last year’s shorts.

  ‘She’s growing up,’ April said, with pleasure.

  ‘She’s a baby,’ I replied. ‘Much younger than the others at that age.’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose you can see it,’ she said, ‘being up close all the time.’

  ‘Watch me,’ Louisa cried when she saw us looking, and this time, as her hands took her weight she snapped her legs together and there was a moment of stillness as they pointed up towards the sky, then she was moving again, carving a beautiful backwards arc to standing.

  She came to us a touch bow-legged, the skin of her legs scuffed and bruised.

  ‘Ta da,’ she said, throwing her arms apart gawkily. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Brilliant, Lou,’ I said, which it was, although I’d seen it a hundred times before.

  ‘Stand up straight, sweet,’ said Ape, ‘like in the proper gymnastics.’

  ‘See, you’re as tall as me now,’ April said with a sly look back at me. Then: ‘You’re freezing, love.’ She rubbed at Louisa’s bare arms. ‘Where’s your jumper? And those shorts. Get your mum to buy you something new.’

  April started on her legs, working Lou’s thighs fast between two hands with an intimacy I wouldn’t have risked but Louisa wore a patient smile and leant her hands into April’s shoulders. An ice-cream van was parked on the path and played a couple of speeded-up bars.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ said Lou, turning to me now, hopping from foot to foot. ‘Can I have one? It’s virtually the holidays,’ and she did seemed outsized suddenly in her rainbow T-shirt and I wondered why we hadn’t started those s
ame careful chats that I’d had with Frieda at about this time.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll get them. You two go and sit over there in the sun.’

  ‘She’s got her head screwed on, that one,’ April said, as Louisa sprinted off lankily. ‘Chocolate, please, Nance. With a flake if he’s got one.’

  *

  The queue was already long and I watched the pair of them as I waited, my aunty tipping up Louisa’s chin and establishing the drop of her bob with quick rough strokes. She had done the same to me when I was a girl and I remembered the amplified sound of her touch and then the surprise of her fingertips, abrasive and thick-skinned, when she caught the turn of an ear. I wondered which unsuitable story April was telling. She loved to shock, and I could see Lou listening harder, Ape still worrying away at her hair. It would carry a kink in it for the rest of the day.

  I stepped back to let a cyclist through, a toddler strapped loosely behind, asleep and lolling, and I shared a smile with the person in front at the picture they made. The line moved forward and my soles slid a little on the synthetic uppers of last summer’s sandals. Across the path, Louisa gave a sudden laugh and I saw April pull her nearer, in that grabby way she has, love and spite all tangled. The dog lay before them, on his back, with his wide hound smile and his legs kicking up. The van played its notes again, fast and anxious, and I imagined leaving all of this behind. It felt possible, though wrong. Then I thought of carrying on without Adam, but the concept seemed beyond my grasp, too complex and unknowable.

  ‘Come on, Mum. Hurry up,’ Louisa said, in front of me, suddenly. ‘Why are you standing there?’

  ‘I’m not,’ I replied. ‘Take this over to your aunt.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing. I’m coming.’

  ‘Are you ill?’ she asked, her face alert.

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Get a move on, Lou,’ April called across the space, at a volume that got people looking. ‘What are you waiting for, girl? They’ll melt.’ She began to push herself up stiffly.