Behaving Like Adults

by Anna Maxted

  ‘But Claw, we know about Granny’s house in the Dordogne. It’s a smelly shack. Mum and Dad know about it—’

  ‘No, Hol, this is a second house! Well, not a house, a flat. A huge penthouse apartment in Paris – it seems that Granny bought it about twenty years ago as an investment and rented it out. Mum and Dad didn’t know about it, no one did. And Stuart’s aware of that because he asked them to give him a run-down of Granny’s assets abroad. He must have come across the flat details when he cleared the Wiltshire house. Granny probably kept them under her bed or something. And he’s not declared it, it’s not on the list that Camille was asked to type up. Camille made a point of asking Stuart if this was the final list and he said yes. That’s when she got suspicious.’

  ‘But . . . the evidence seems a bit thin. What if it’s just a separate file because that’s how he does his filing?’

  ‘Then why’s it unmarked? And why isn’t it included on the final list?’

  ‘So what do you plan to do? Shop Stuart to the police?’

  Claudia chose to ignore the sarcastic edge to my voice.

  ’Er. We could, but Camille thinks we need to let him go further. She thinks he’s embezzled from previous clients, but he’s very careful. He only does it rarely and he only defrauds certain types. Camille thinks if we wait a while, Stuart will – oh I don’t know how it works – but, well, at some point he gets the grant of probate. Then, he’ll send it off on the behalf of the executors to the French lawyers, and presumably they’ll release the cash for the flat or the deeds to whatever account Stuart specifies. And Camille reckons it won’t be the client account. I mean, we’ve got to be careful, we’re not certain yet, because if we were certain that Stuart was a raving crook, then Camille said we could get done if we didn’t report it immediately.’

  My head boggled and I said so.

  She grinned and replied, ‘Holly, Stuart is going daaaaaahn!’

  I tried not to smile and succeeded. ‘Claw, I’m glad you’re so sure, although I think you should know better by now. I really hope Camille hasn’t got it wrong. Are you sure we can trust her? I mean, why’s she doing all this detective work on our behalf?’

  Claudia grinned again, this time a bashful, blushy sort of grin, and said, ‘Mm . . . could be because I’m sleeping with her.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘GAH?’

  I instantly realised that, were I to announce myself a lesbian, I wouldn’t have wished my sister’s reaction to be ‘Gah?’ So, quickly, I said, ‘What, you’re gay?’

  Ingenious. I was no better than Caroline’s classmate who spotted her in her police uniform in a police van one Saturday night and said, ‘Caroline! Are you in the police?’ (Caroline told me she’d replied, ‘No . . . this is for a fancy dress party.’ She’d patted the side of the van and added, ‘Thought I’d make an effort.’)

  Even faster, I added, ‘that’s great!’ And even faster, ‘Sorry. How patronising. Like the Wimbledon champion congratulating the guy who came second. Sorry. God. I mean, it’s great that you, that you’ve found what you were looking for. It’s just that I, I had no idea. And you’re my sister!’

  Claudia giggled. ‘That’s exactly why you had no idea.’

  If I’d had it my own way, I’d have sat with my jaw agape for a good four minutes, so a hasty compromise was called for. I wasn’t sure if I should give her a congratulatory hug, or if that was patronising too. Then I gave her one anyway, because I could see she was so happy. As I released her, she wiped her eyes.

  I paused. ‘I want to ask loads of questions but they’re probably all grossly ignorant. I don’t want to offend you.’

  Claudia shrugged. ‘Try.’

  ‘Well. How long have you known? I mean, your last boyfriend . . .’

  ‘Seven years ago. Yeah. It was like kissing a girl you don’t fancy.’

  ‘Jesus. I know nothing about your life!’

  Claudia laughed. ‘It’s not wildly different from how you imagined it was five minutes ago. Just substitute the gender. I think I’ve always known. It wasn’t something I had to fight myself about, because this way it just felt right. Infinitely better. Like, “okay, now I understand!” I was relieved, when I knew. It felt normal. But I – well, you never know what your family will think.’

  I was hurt. ‘What, even me?’

  ‘Oh, Hol. I should have known you’d be cool with it, but, this, it’s so much part of who I am that, well, you want to protect yourself. You’re scared of telling the people who matter, because if they had a problem with it, then it would be very difficult. You know, it’s like what Nick once said when one of Bo’s friends referred to “the Paki shop”. He said to her, “I can find no redeeming qualities in a racist.” That’s how I feel about homophobia. And racism too, obviously. So there’s a lot at stake. I mean, if you don’t have a problem, it’s not a big deal. It’s merely a question of preference.’

  ‘So . . . so what made you decide to tell now?’

  Claudia inhaled, swelling her chest like a sparrow. A grin spread wide. ‘I fell in love.’

  I blinked. ‘With Camille?’

  Claw nodded. ‘I think she’s wonderful.’

  ‘Coming from you – she must be.’

  ‘Oh she is. She’s brilliant. I totally respect her, she’s the cleverest person I know, and very funny. And gorgeous. I feel so lucky to have met her, although –’

  She stopped, embarrassed. I realised what she was thinking. Mustn’t boast to Holly about my wonderful life when hers is such a God Almighty mess. I gasped, ‘Oh, no, no, ridiculous!’

  She looked down. ‘I do feel selfish, telling you. It seems so frivolous, with what you’re going through.’

  ‘Not at all. The opposite. Please. Tell me as much good news as possible, I need to hear it. And love is never frivolous. I mean that. What could be more important than finding love?’

  I wondered if I still believed it.

  Claudia giggled. ‘Bo would say “to be useful in life” or something.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, and you know how we all want to be like Bo. What a joy she is, spreading light across the world.’

  Claudia sighed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Go on, Claw, what?’

  ‘It’s just that . . . you’ve got meaner, Hol. I don’t mean that in a bad way. You were probably too nice. You’d never say a bad word against anyone, before . . .’ She trailed off.

  I stared at my duvet cover. Cream, from the Conran Shop. It had looked so serene in Elle Deco, in a fashion designer’s minimalist home in Notting Hill, all stripped painted floorboards and antique chandeliers – ‘jewellery for the house’ she’d called them. I couldn’t afford a chandelier that wasn’t from BHS – even a weeny one from the architectural salvage company cost four hundred quid – but I was desperate at the time to re-ignite the spark in our relationship, and surely if I copied something perfect from the Notting Hill house, it would help. I chose the cream duvet and a week later, Nick spilt Ribena on it. I bleached it and it went blotchy. I was doomed to a non-Elle Deco life.

  ‘I’m going to throw away this duvet cover and get a new one,’ I said.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Claudia.

  Claw was good like that. She wasn’t the kind of person who insists on a strictly linear conversation, who pounces with a high-pitched, ‘Where did that come from?’ if you dare to deviate. Nor is she the sort who steams ahead with a gruesome anecdote if you ask her not to – some people will not be stopped. Claudia was a relaxed conversationalist. Claudia was gay. Weird – not that she was gay, that she was different from how I had supposed her. But then, was she different? No. Her personality hadn’t altered. Possibly my mind was clouded over with other things, but I didn’t feel as if this was major news. What would change? It wasn’t as if my mother was that precious about the Christmas seating plan. (Nick’s and Rachel’s parents insisted on boy girl boy girl and invited the ghastliest of guests purely to
equalise gender.)

  ‘So,’ I said – such a treat, to get away from myself – ‘when are you going to tell Mum and Dad? And Issy?’

  Claw covered her eyes. ‘I dread it. I don’t know if I ever can.’

  I squealed. ‘Are you kidding? I’m sure they’ll be happy for you.’

  I wasn’t sure this was true. And again, it sounded patronising, along the lines of ‘how marvellous!’ – as if Claudia had no legs and was running the marathon by spinning herself along in a wheelchair.

  I tried to offer sense. ‘Or, they might be a little concerned, but only for your sake, because they don’t want you to get hurt. Some people are prejudiced. Mum and Dad wouldn’t want you to suffer a moment’s pain because of it. That’s all.’

  ‘I don’t know. Will it be a neighbour trauma? It will, won’t it?’

  ‘I really don’t think they’ll tell the neighbours. Not that they’ll try and keep it secret, I don’t mean that. They’re not big gossips, that’s all. Mum will tell Leila.’

  ‘Yeah, I can imagine what she’ll have to say about it. She’ll think I have AIDS! No, she’ll think I fancy her! I should shave my head and pinch her bottom just to give her a thrill.’

  I pursed my lips. ‘I’m not totally sure that would help.’

  Claudia sighed. ‘You know what gets me? It’s the feeling that if Leila said something snide, Mum wouldn’t defend me. Even if she wanted to. She wouldn’t dare offend Leila. She’d sort of laugh and say nothing. I couldn’t bear that. I’d be so angry. I’d have to stop speaking to her.’

  She had a look on her face like the insult had actually taken place. I said, ‘Be calm. Mum and Dad are easy-going. They might find it a bit strange at first, but only because it’s outside their experience. Once they get used to it, they’ll be fine.’

  Claudia scowled. ‘I don’t want them to get used to it. That implies there’s something wrong with it.’

  ‘Sorry, but I don’t think it does. Don’t go in there being chippy. I really don’t think it’s going to be as bad as you imagine. It’s not like they’re not going to speak to you.’

  ‘No, but I don’t want them being funny with me.’

  ‘Claw. They’re reasonable people. You don’t have to be afraid of telling them anything.’

  My sister gave me a look. ‘I don’t see you rushing to confess.’

  I felt a throb of anger. ‘It’s completely different. You, in essence, are telling them good news.’

  I slumped back on my pillows. My whole life was dreary. I despised my bedroom for its lack of style. It was utterly non-magazine. I couldn’t even read Livingetc without spilling coffee over it. The shame was, I, we – Nick and me – we’d loved this house. It wasn’t so special, but it appealed to us. We saw it, we knew. It had obviously belonged to an old couple, recently dead. When we viewed it, there was a checked shirt left out to dry on the washing line and an old linen nightdress hanging forlorn in the wardrobe. The paint was cracking and the carpets foul, but I knew it could be our home. That was when I was still imagining a rosy future, children playing in a garden full of apple trees and blackberry bushes.

  ‘Anyway,’ I added, ‘I have a reason for not telling them. Didn’t you just say that we’ve got to wait for Stuart to incriminate himself? If I tell Mum and Dad, they’ll dismiss him as their solicitor and then he’ll have to hand back the papers.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Why should he hand back the papers they don’t know about? If you decide to tell Mum and Dad tomorrow, I’ll be delighted. I had a silly notion that it would be satisfying for you if our family ended up having a hand in sending Stuart to prison. But, really, what does it matter? Camille is going to report him to the Law Society or the police – whether she does that with or without our help is irrelevant. I just thought it would be nice for you.’

  My toes curled under the covers. Nice for me!! What did she think this was? A game? On the principle that I’d feel better if I fed Stuart the parsnip that made him fart in public? I reclined against the headboard in a haughty manner, the opposite of Pollyanna.

  ‘Nothing, Claudia, is nice for me,’ I said. ‘Please don’t use that word. And I choose not to tell Em and Dee for reasons you could never understand. And please remove this spinach soup, I don’t want it, I want a cornflake and goo square.’

  Claw stood, tall in her heels. ‘Whistle for it,’ she replied, and stomped out. Leaving the spinach soup.

  The instant the door shut, I scrambled out of bed and ran after her.

  ‘Wait, come back.’

  She stopped on the stairs.

  I added, ‘I, um, don’t want the conversation to end this way. I’m honoured that you told me. And I wish you and Camille lots of happiness. I’m just . . .’

  She ran back. ‘You’re right,’ she said, rubbing my arm. ‘I can’t understand how it is for you. I’m sorry, too. It’s just that I hate him to death for what he did to you, and I cannot stand the thought that he won’t be punished. Camille was so certain, but I suppose she could be mistaken. This whole thing about him being a crook is unlikely. I suppose I’d just like it to be true.’

  We smiled at each other. A few minutes later I watched from the window as Camille’s car juddered to a halt outside the house, and Claudia skipped down the path. I hadn’t seen her skip since she was five.

  I skipped till, well, a few months ago. Not down Oxford Street. Only in the park, and only for a few steps (Nick always there for back-up) but it’s surprisingly exhilarating. Adults ought to skip.

  I ran a hand through my hair. It was greasy and stuck to my head. You should pull yourself out of this, I thought. It was terrifying that a single incident and then a follow-up bit of bad news could puncture me. The glandular fever was nothing more than a symptom.

  I’d always thought of myself as tough. I hoped I was kind. But I knew I was tough. If I had a goal, I reached it. And if ever my life didn’t go to plan, I’d bounce back. You have to. From the dishwasher leaking to being made redundant because your boss doesn’t like you, life is full of injustice, and for your own sanity you cannot take it personally. Sure, you can cry in the bath – that’s not weak, that’s necessary – as long as it doesn’t become habit. Often, happiness is a choice. You have to seek it out, whatever happens.

  And yet, the morning before, I’d smashed a plate and burst into tears because I’d wanted a cheese and avocado sandwich and all three avocados in the bowl were black. These days, this was the level of problem that felled me. I was like a dandelion spore, captive to the lightest breeze. There was no fight left in me. My business was failing and I couldn’t be bothered to save it. It was too much effort to cut my toenails. Any longer, and they’d start to curl. After walking upstairs I’d have to sit on the edge of my bed for five minutes. My pillow was delevoping a crust.

  I thought of Manjit. In his early twenties, Manjit had suffered from clinical depression. Nick, trying to be helpful, had suggested that going for a. run in the park might help. Wasn’t exercise good for depression? No, replied Manjit. Exercise was good if you merely felt a bit low. ‘If I went for a run in the park,’ he added, ‘I’d just be running in the park, depressed.’

  Seven years later, I finally understood what he meant. I could alter location, run away, my surroundings would change, but not me. I picked at the window ledge. The paint was flaky. It was the end of the world. My face crumpled up for a sobbing fit, but I pulled back, halfway. I could not let Stuart beat me. Not him. I had to erase him from my existence. I could never forgive – why should I? – but I would delete him like a computer error from my life, for me. Claw was right. The past was set in stone. But I could act as if I was ready to face the future.

  In primary school assembly, our eccentric (or malicious, I never could decide which) headmaster occasionally made us play the Laughing Game. A hundred five year olds began slowly, saying ‘ha ha ha’, and within minutes, the fake jollity would turn into real hysterics. I could never do it. I didn’t see what was so funny. It wasn
’t as if he even did a burp to start us off. But now, I was determined to master the Laughing Game. If I pretended long enough, one day surely it would feel real.

  So when the phone rang, I picked it up with a bright, ‘Hello!’

  ‘Holly? Stuart Marshall. I’m suing you for defamation.’

  He cut off. The blood rushed. I sat down on the floor but it wasn’t enough, I had to lie flat out. I felt like I might vomit, and there was a curious deafness in my ears. Why me? said that little voice inside all of us that believes evil befalls other people. When you dust yourself off and vow to start again, fate is meant to cut you a break. That’s the universal reward for being plucky. This must be a sign. I was cursed.

  Life stank spectacularly.

  Chapter 28

  ‘HAVING A BAD day?’ enquired Gloria.

  ‘I’m curled on the floor in the foetal position,’ I replied. ‘What do you think?’

  I glared at her foot, as it was nearest. She always wore sneakers.

  ‘Up to you, but I need to clean.’

  Feeling foolish, I staggered to my feet. I didn’t want to tell her about being sued, because if she told me that my angel would protect me, much as I’d regret it, I was going to have to punch her in the face.

  ‘I felt dizzy,’ I said. ‘I’m still recovering from a serious illness.’

  Gloria looked at me as if were searching for something. ‘Would you like a cuppa?’

  I dragged out a couple of chairs, screeching them across the floor, while Gloria boiled the kettle. So she wouldn’t attempt to make me exhume my demons, I said, ‘Seen any angels lately?’

  She turned from the side, frowning. She had delicate features – a sweet little nose like a doll, large brown eyes with dark lashes and that wipe-out smile – and she dressed like a golfer. Nasty flat shoes and polonecks. Her personality didn’t match her looks.

  ‘I hope you’re not being sarcastic,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not, really.’ I was grateful to be treated so roughly. Like I was normal.