‘You said . . .’ I frowned as I tried to remember, ‘. . . you said at the funeral that you were about five when you first met him.’
‘Yes, I was. Why did you come to the funeral?’
‘I had to,’ I said. ‘I had to see for myself.’
‘That he was dead?’ Max’s expression was troubled.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked without replying. ‘It surely isn’t because of a few explicit texts. And you can’t really have cared what sort of woman I was.’
‘I had to see who you were,’ said Max. ‘And why my brother sent those messages to you. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I thought he was in love with Allie.’
Once again, my stomach contracted as I thought of anyone scrolling through our private texts. Max Hollander had no right to have done that. But I supposed that having read one, it would be hard to stop.
‘I had to see who it was who’d caused him to put his whole life in jeopardy,’ Max continued. ‘I wanted to know what sort of person had made him do it.’
‘It hardly matters, does it?’ I shrugged. ‘Your opinion of me is irrelevant – not that it was very high to start with, obviously. Nothing will change the fact that Brad is dead. And you had his phone. Did you know his PIN number? He told me nobody did.’
‘I guessed,’ said Max.
‘So he was wrong when he said nobody would ever guess it.’
‘First attempt,’ Max said. ‘It was the date we met. Impossible for anyone else to know, but we used it for accessing our computer games and stuff like that.’
Brad had been closer to Max than anyone. Even Alessandra. And me.
‘When did you start your relationship with him?’ asked Max. ‘And why?’
I took a sip of my water as I looked at my lover’s brother. Stepbrother, I reminded myself. They’d been brought up together but they weren’t blood relations. And yet there was something of Brad in Max, and something of Max in Brad. It was the way they both had of looking at you from those solemn eyes. I’d sometimes told Brad that he was X-raying me with them, and he’d laughed. But I’d meant it. His gaze seemed to see right through me. Max’s was exactly the same. Grey eyes, not blue, but with an identical expression.
‘I didn’t know,’ I said.
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk to Max Hollander about his brother. And yet that quiet, watchful look of his meant I couldn’t stay silent.
‘I didn’t know he was married. I didn’t know about Alessandra. I didn’t know about Dylan. And I didn’t know about you.’ Having started, my words tumbled over each other. ‘I thought he loved me. I thought I loved him. I thought it was forever.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Max.
And then I started to cry again.
He thrust another of the napkins at me without saying a word. I pressed it against my hot eyes and allowed the tears to be soaked up. Max stayed silent. He was probably looking at me in the horrified way men look at women when they start to cry. I didn’t know if he was mortified to be in my company. I didn’t know if he was still sitting opposite me – maybe, I thought, as the tears still fell, maybe he’d got up and walked away, regretting that he’d wasted his money by coming here in the first place. And I didn’t care if he had. I hadn’t wanted him to come.
But when I eventually removed the now sodden napkin, he was still sitting there, still watching me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘I’m sitting with the brother of the dead man I had an affair with,’ I said. ‘OK isn’t quite the appropriate word.’
‘I guess not,’ said Max.
‘How come his phone is still working?’ I asked abruptly. ‘Surely once he died the contract would’ve ended.’
‘His phone was owned by the company he set up,’ said Max. ‘The one that owned his business shares. It kept paying the bill.’
I don’t know why something so trivial had bugged me.
‘Tell me about him.’ I balled the napkin up and dropped it on to the table. ‘Tell me about him and Alessandra and Dylan, and why the actual fuck he decided to cheat on them with me.’
‘Brad was a great brother,’ said Max slowly. ‘He was compassionate and generous and loving. And being a couple of years older than me, he looked out for me and I looked up to him. Our respective parents were worried that we might not get on. You know, two boys suddenly having to be part of the one family. But even though we were different in lots of ways, we . . . well, I suppose we bonded, really.’
‘At the funeral you said he mended your teddy bear.’
Max smiled.
‘Bloo Ted,’ he said. ‘He came with me everywhere but he was losing his stuffing as well as missing an eye. Brad was only seven then, but he could sew. I would’ve thought it was a really sissy thing for a boy, except he did such a good job on my teddy.’
‘Do you still have it?’ I don’t know why I asked the question. It wasn’t relevant.
‘No,’ said Max. ‘We moved house a couple of times, and in one of those moves Bloo Ted went AWOL. But he was only a teddy bear. I got over it.’
I smiled briefly.
‘The thing about Brad was that he was kind. And he had charisma,’ Max continued. ‘Everyone liked him. He was good at sports, so he got on well with the guys. He was good-looking, so the girls fancied him. He had it made, really.’
‘Alessandra?’ I asked.
‘He met her at a party,’ said Max. ‘She was smitten straight away.’
‘And they got married?’
He nodded, suddenly more reticent.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘What’s the issue with Alessandra?’
‘No issue,’ said Max. ‘She came to the party with me, that’s all.’
‘He pinched your girlfriend!’ Had Brad been a serial womaniser? I wondered. Always moving on to someone new, no matter who she was.
‘Not exactly,’ admitted Max. ‘It wasn’t a date. I’d worked with Alessandra on a children’s health project – I work in corporate branding, and my company specialises in helping not-for-profit organisations get their message across. So I asked if she’d like to come along with me that night, and she said yes. But not a date. Really not.’
‘And she met Brad on your not-a-date?’
He nodded. ‘Of course, they had lots in common with the whole health thing. So they got talking and stayed talking, and that was pretty much that.’
‘You must have been pissed off with him.’
‘Why?’ asked Max. ‘Like I said, she wasn’t my girlfriend. And it was inevitable. Girls fell for him all the time. It would have been a surprise if she hadn’t.’
I took another sip of water. It seemed that I’d been the notch on his bedpost, after all.
‘Thing is,’ Max said, ‘he was really in love with Alessandra in a way that he hadn’t been with anyone before. He made all the running.’
‘I thought you said she was smitten?’
‘Smitten but smart,’ said Max. ‘She didn’t drop everything to be with him. She led him a bit of a dance. He couldn’t wait to marry her.’
‘And then when he married her, he reverted back to his playboy self?’
Max made a face. ‘He wasn’t a playboy. Not really. He just liked women.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘He loved Alessandra,’ said Max. ‘He really did. And he adored Dylan.’
‘And yet he was shagging me.’
‘Which is what I can’t understand.’
‘Neither can I,’ I said grimly. ‘She was so much more beautiful.’
‘You’re pretty enough.’ Max damned my average looks with faint praise. ‘I can see why he was attracted to you. But—’
‘But I was just an affair,’ I said. ‘I meant nothing to him.’
‘That’s the thing,’ said Max. ‘I can’t believe he would’ve put his family at risk for you.’
‘Yet you’re here.’
‘Because he sent me a text too,’ Max said.
‘What? When?�
�
‘The day he died.’
‘What did it say?’
Max tapped the screen and showed it to me.
Hey Bro, Brad had written. Need to talk when I get back. Seem to have dug myself a hole and jumped into it. Making a mess of my life. Not sure what to do. Advice?
I stared at it. Brad had been troubled about something. He needed advice. Was it me? Had he wanted to talk to his brother about our relationship? Because it mattered to him? Enough to do what Max said he wouldn’t, and risk his family? Or had Alessandra found out? Had she been issuing ultimatums? Was he afraid of being thrown out of the house, of losing her, losing his son and losing his unborn baby?
‘I didn’t see the message when he sent it,’ Max told me. ‘I was out, and when I got home all hell had broken loose because of the earthquake. So when I replied, asking if he was OK, it was about that, not his original message.’
‘And, of course, he wasn’t OK,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Max. ‘There was a suggestion that he was outside when the earthquake struck and that he ran back towards the house.’
‘To save them,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘I wouldn’t have expected him to do anything else,’ I said.
‘Alessandra was killed instantly,’ Max told me. ‘She was protecting Dylan. He was lucky because, although he had some internal injuries, they got to him quickly. Other than that, the worst of the damage was a broken arm and a pretty big bump to the head. Brad was hit by a falling beam. If he’d lived, he would have been paralysed.’
I could see it. The shuddering movement of the earth, the collapsing house and the clouds of dust. And I could hear the screams too, of Alessandra and Dylan and Brad. It was more real than the news reports had been. More visceral. And more shocking.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Max.
I wasn’t.
I got up from the table and hurried to the Ladies, where I was sick in the first cubicle.
Max Hollander was still sitting at the table when I returned, having splashed water on my face and brushed my hair. I knew I looked awful.
‘Everything OK?’ He looked at me with concern.
‘It will be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I truly didn’t want to upset you, but it was important for me to come and see you, and to know what was going on in my brother’s life. I needed to do it for Dylan’s sake, as much as anything.’
I stared at him. ‘You think that I would’ve made myself known to the family for some reason? To Dylan, who’s only a child? Why on earth would I? Besides, if I’d wanted to contact them, I would’ve done it at the funeral.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Max. ‘I didn’t know the extent of Brad’s relationship with you. I guessed the name was some kind of joke, but I didn’t know the sort of person you were or what you thought your situation might be in the future. I didn’t know what sort of hole he thought he’d dug for himself or what he was planning to ask my advice about. I needed to check for myself.’
‘And now you do?’
‘I think you’re a good person,’ said Max. ‘I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you, and I’m very sorry that my brother—’
‘Lied to me,’ I said. ‘That’s what hurts the most, you know. When I realised he was dead, I felt a part of me had died too. But hearing about his wife and child on a TV news report was like someone having hit me over the head. I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was a mistake.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
‘Part of the reason I went to the funeral was to see if I could find out why,’ I said. ‘Not by questioning people, or anything like that – I just thought I might get an impression of his life with her. I thought perhaps they’d been living apart. But it seemed to be perfect.’
‘I thought it was too,’ said Max. ‘I know she wasn’t entirely happy about his involvement with the Dublin clinic, because it took him away from home so much, but—’ He stopped suddenly and stared at me. ‘Or was he with you? When he told Alessandra he had a meeting at the clinic, was it really to see you?’
‘How should I know!’ I cried. ‘I didn’t know he was carrying on a bloody secret life.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ Max sighed. ‘I have to keep apologising to you.’
‘You’re not the one who should be apologising,’ I said. ‘It’s him. But he can’t.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Anyway, the bottom line is that you can rest assured that I won’t suddenly turn up trying to . . . well, I don’t know what you thought I might do, but I won’t be doing it.’
‘I don’t know what I thought, either,’ admitted Max. ‘I was worried about Dylan, you see. I’m his guardian and I wanted to do what was best for him. I wanted to make sure he was protected.’
‘Is he out of hospital yet?’ I asked.
‘He came home two weeks ago,’ said Max. ‘He’s doing surprisingly well. It’s amazing how physically resilient children are. There may be a need for some minor plastic surgery to his face later, but he’s healing fast.’
‘How is he otherwise?’
‘Still quiet and withdrawn,’ Max replied. ‘We’re doing our best with him, and he’s had some counselling, but it’s an ongoing process. He’s living with my parents at the moment, although that will only be a temporary measure. Alessandra has a cousin who has offered to take him, but she’s in Italy and . . . well, I don’t know yet what’s best. Her parents would have loved to have him, but her mother has MS and Dylan would be too much for her.’
‘The poor woman!’ I cried. ‘Her daughter killed, her grandson badly injured, and she’s got that to deal with too. Why is life so bloody shitty sometimes?’
Max didn’t answer. He unlocked his phone and opened the photo app.
‘This is Dylan in hospital in Italy.’
I grimaced as I looked at the little boy amid the plaster cast and the tubes and all the paraphernalia of trauma injuries.
‘And this is when he came out.’ Max scrolled to another photo.
It was clearer than the one they’d used on the TV news. Dressed in his proper clothes and with the cast removed, Brad and Alessandra’s son was a good-looking boy. His dark hair had been shaved at the side of his head where he’d sustained the trauma injury, and there were still shadows under his eyes, but I could see both Brad’s easy charm and Alessandra’s Italian beauty in his face.
‘I hope he’ll do well,’ I said as I returned the phone.
‘I hope I don’t mess it all up,’ said Max. ‘I have with you, I think. I honestly didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘I’m not offended.’ I gave him a wry smile.
‘Can I ask how you and Brad met?’ He signalled the waiter and ordered another glass of beer for himself. He gave me an inquiring look and I asked for coffee. Then I told him about meeting Brad at the conference and how he’d seen me at the concert and how we’d clicked straight away.
‘He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t have guessed.’
‘He didn’t,’ said Max. ‘He was allergic to nickel. Even though he bought a platinum wedding ring, he wasn’t used to having anything on his finger and it irritated him. He only wore it when they went out together.’
‘Maybe he was lonely,’ I suggested. ‘After all, when I first met him he was in Dublin for work. And he did visit the clinic a lot.’
‘I guess we’ll never know,’ said Max. ‘Which is frustrating.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You have your own grieving to do and it’s got mixed up with me.’
‘Oh, Brad never did things in a straightforward way,’ said Max. ‘He was always . . .’ He sighed. ‘I loved him, you know.’
I wanted to say that I loved him too, but I wasn’t going to. Because I’d been an insignificant part of his life and because I knew that, no matter what I’d gone through, it had been a thousand times worse for Brad’s close family. Including Max.
‘You loved him,’ he said suddenly. ‘I can see that
.’
‘It doesn’t matter how I felt.’
‘It does, you know.’
‘I’ve worked hard over the last while to get over him,’ I told Max. ‘I’d put him out of my mind.’
‘And I’m making you remember,’ he said.
‘Maybe it’s good for me to talk it over one more time,’ I said. ‘With someone who knew him. But I’ve got to the acceptance stage. Now I’m trying to move on.’
‘The acceptance stage?’
I explained about the five stages of grief, and he nodded.
‘Is that why you’re here in Spain?’ he asked.
‘Sort of.’ I mentioned Pilar’s offer of the Villa Naranja and my decision to take it.
‘It’s a beautiful area,’ he said as he glanced around at the vine-clad mountains.
‘I’ll be home soon,’ I said. ‘Coming here was an indulgence, really. I can’t afford not to work – and besides, I like being a radiographer.’
‘It’s good to do something else from time to time,’ said Max.
‘Was Alessandra pregnant?’ I asked the question suddenly.
Max looked startled. ‘How . . .?’
‘They said so at the funeral,’ I told him.
‘Who?’
‘Some women standing nearby.’
‘How the hell would they know about that?’
I shrugged.
‘Yes,’ he said.
I felt sick again. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I’d been hoping that Brad and Alessandra hadn’t been sleeping together. That their marriage had been a sham. But that wasn’t true. He’d cheated on both of us. And that was why he’d needed advice from his brother.
‘How can someone who was so good have been so . . . so . . . so damn . . .’ I couldn’t finish the sentence. Max said nothing but I saw him eyeing up the napkins again. He was ready for a torrent of tears. I wasn’t going to give them to him.
Neither of us spoke for at least five minutes. I allowed my churning emotions to settle, then I took a deep breath and looked at him as evenly as I could.
‘Are you staying here for long?’ I asked.
‘Juno . . .’ He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. I flinched but he kept his hand where it was. ‘I’m truly, truly sorry,’ he said. ‘You need time and space, and I haven’t given it to you.’
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