by Hilary Boyd
‘I took Bel to see Madame Butterfly the other night.’ Philip’s words seemed to balance on the tension, but were unable to dent it. ‘She wasn’t too impressed.’
‘I was, Dad … the soprano was brilliant, and it was cool to hear that famous aria live. But it’s such a dumb story, a girl of my age who falls in love with a guy she’s only seen for ten minutes, pines for him for three years then he comes back and she kills herself. All seemed a bit turgid and sentimental to me.’
Philip and Bel talked on about the opera, but no one else joined in.
‘We should probably go,’ Prue said eventually.
Flora and Fin both threw themselves onto the sofa as soon as they heard the door at the top of the stairs close.
‘That went well.’ He let out an exasperated sigh, and pulled her close against him.
‘She can be such a bitch,’ Flora said, closing her eyes.
Fin let out a low chuckle. ‘Christ, that look she gave me. No wonder the ice cream wouldn’t melt.’
‘I’m fed up with pandering to her. I don’t give a fuck if she never comes round to us being together.’
‘We mustn’t let it affect our happiness.’
‘Happiness.’ Flora turned the word over on her tongue. Not a word she’d felt applied to her till now. She seemed on the edge of something wonderful, but also frightening in its intensity: a daredevil leap into the unknown.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, turning her face up to meet his lips.
They made love for a long time that night. At first Flora had to force herself not to think about her sister’s coldness, but gradually the touch of his fingers tracing the contours of her body, his lips urgent on her own, his body hard and strong as it entwined with hers, drove her into a place where there was no room for anything but absolute abandonment to the senses, to the physicality of desire. And her thoughts were finally stilled.
CHAPTER 11
22 October
‘Dorothea?’ Flora had just said goodbye to Mary Martin the following Monday morning, and had gone in to collect the old lady’s breakfast tray. At first she thought she was asleep, but her right hand was clutching at the duvet. ‘Dorothea?’ she repeated, going closer. But Dorothea didn’t answer, just stared at Flora, her expression bewildered and disoriented.
Flora noticed at once the droop on the left side of her face, and the dribble of saliva travelling from the corner of her drawn-down mouth.
‘Can you move your arm?’ she asked, laying her hand gently on Dorothea’s left hand. The old lady shook her head weakly, but then managed to lift it slightly.
Drawing back the covers, Flora said, ‘And your left leg? Can you lift that?’
Dorothea struggled, succeeding only in twitching her foot weakly. ‘I … can’t feel it … much.’ Her speech was slurred.
Flora covered her up, making her comfortable and mopping her chin with the napkin. ‘I think you’ve had a bit of a turn,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to call the doctor. I’ll be back in just a minute.’
After Simon Kent had examined Dorothea carefully, he said, ‘Looks like another TIA. Nothing much we can do, she’s on all the drugs already. Just give her lots of rest … usual stuff, and see how things go.’ He paused. ‘Of course this might be a precursor to a much bigger stroke.’
‘I hope if it is that it’s really huge.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Everyone’s worst nightmare, hanging on in some semi-paralysed state.’
‘Her father did just that, for almost two years apparently. She’s often said it’s what she fears most.’
‘Well, let’s hope for the best. I’ll drop by later on, on the way back from my morning visits. Should be around one?’
‘We’ll be here,’ she said with a smile.
*
‘I feel … not very well,’ Dorothea said later, as Flora gave her face and hands a quick wash to freshen her up.
‘You look a bit better than you did earlier,’ Flora said encouragingly.
‘I don’t know … what happened.’
‘I think it was just another of those funny turns you have. I’m sure you’ll be fine by tomorrow. But I think you should stay in bed at the moment, have a bit of a rest.’ She didn’t want to mention the word ‘stroke’, in case it frightened her.
The old lady stared at her as if she were having trouble understanding what Flora said.
‘I … would like to sleep.’
She dozed on and off during the morning, and when the doctor came back she was once more asleep.
‘Can you stay for a minute, see if she wakes? I could make you a sandwich.’
‘Umm …’ he checked his watch. ‘Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.’
Flora made him a ham and tomato sandwich, and they went through to the sitting room.
The doctor eyed her as he ate. ‘You’re really close to her, aren’t you?’
Flora nodded. ‘I’ve always done hospital work before, mostly A&E. You don’t have time to get attached. But I’ve been with Dorothea all day, every day for two years now. We really get on.’
‘Why did you give up A&E? Was it burn-out?’
‘No. I … got ill. This job was a stepping-stone back.’
He hesitated, perhaps about to ask about her illness. Instead he said, ‘Will you do the hospital thing again?’
‘I’ll have to. I need to earn more. I’m living off my sister’s charity at the moment, but that’s got to stop. Not least because she hates my boyfriend.’
Dr Kent looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘She doesn’t like how he behaved in the past. Which I suppose is fair. But it’s all a bit tense between us right now.’
Prue had hardly spoken to her since the night of the curry, over a week ago now. Flora had gone up on the following morning, but her sister had just brushed off any mention of Fin. ‘Nothing more to say,’ she kept repeating. She’d been barely polite, obviously just waiting for Flora to go. Flora hadn’t bothered again, but the problem was a shadow over her life. Prue had never done this before, held her at arm’s length. It reminded her how much her sister meant to her; the only real family she had.
‘Was he unfaithful?’ The doctor’s question was tentative.
‘No, no. Never. Fin’s not like that.’ She sighed. ‘He … oh, you don’t want to hear.’
He waited, maybe thinking she would tell him anyway.
‘I should get back for afternoon surgery. Thanks for the sandwich. I’ll check on Dorothea before I go, see if she’s awake.’
But she wasn’t.
‘Call me tomorrow and tell me how she is. I’ll drop by if I can.’
Flora thanked him and walked with him to the door.
‘Families … can’t live with them, can’t live without them,’ the doctor muttered.
She laughed. ‘It’s normal I suppose.’
He turned to her. ‘It is … but you need your family.’
She saw the sadness in his eyes before he turned away.
*
Rene sat beside Dorothea, holding her hand.
‘You poor old thing.’
Dorothea smiled. ‘I think … I feel a little better.’
‘Good. Glad to hear it.’
Flora stood by the door. ‘Would you like some tea?’
Rene nodded, her wild hair bouncing around her face. ‘Lovely idea. Yes, please.’
‘Dorothea?’
The old lady stared solemnly at her. ‘I … don’t think so,’ she said slowly.
When Flora brought the mug of tea for Rene, Dorothea had turned her head to gaze at her friend.
‘I thought … perhaps … I might be going.’
‘Going where?’ Rene asked.
Dorothea lifted her right arm heavenwards, her finger outstretched and gave a wry smile.
Rene looked horrified. ‘Darling, please. You’re very far from dead and you shouldn’t joke about it.’
Flora sighed inwardly. Why did they all keep up this ridiculous pretence that Dorothe
a, unlike every other mortal on the planet, would live for ever?
‘That’s what Dominic said. But, as I told him, I’m not afraid.’
Rene squeezed her hand tight. ‘I’m glad you’re not, but I suppose I just don’t want to lose you.’
‘Nor I you,’ Dorothea replied. ‘That seems to be the most difficult thing about death … leaving the people you care about.’ She paused, her gaze far away. ‘You’ve all been so kind … even dear Dominic, going to the bother of selling the things I don’t want … tidying up for me.’
Rene looked puzzled. ‘What things, dear? What has Dominic sold?’ She glanced across at Flora, a small frown on her face.
Flora nodded, indicating that Rene should come outside.
‘What’s she talking about?’
‘Dominic promised he’d told you,’ Flora began. ‘He sold the walnut sewing table, and now he’s taken that wooden armchair. Dorothea seemed quite happy about it.’
‘Hmm. But he’s given her the money presumably? What did he get for them both?’
‘I don’t think he’s sold the chair yet – I think he said it might be worth about five hundred – but he got two hundred and fifty for the table.’
Rene gasped. ‘The one in the corner? The Georgian one? Two hundred and fifty? It’s worth ten times that!’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I should have told you myself. But he swore he’d talked to you.’ Flora cursed him under her breath. ‘Maybe he left a message you didn’t pick up?’
‘I doubt it.’ Rene sighed. ‘But even if he did, there’s still the fact that the table is worth way more than a measly two hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘Surely he wouldn’t deliberately rip Dorothea off?’ Even though Flora had never trusted the man, it seemed truly shocking that he would fleece the old lady so blatantly, and to that extent. Perhaps Rene didn’t know as much about antiques as she thought, she told herself. Or maybe Dominic was incompetent, for all his pompous blustering. ‘I suppose it’s his stuff, technically … if he’s her heir, as you said.’
‘That’s hardly the point! He might assume, but he doesn’t know for certain.’ Rene shook her head, her expression pained. ‘I’m surprised at you, Flora.’
‘I didn’t say I thought it was right. I certainly don’t. I just said perhaps he had reason to think it was.’
‘Yes, well … but I must talk to him anyway.’ She sighed dramatically, her face a mask of anxiety. ‘Nothing’s easy when you take on the care of an old person,’ she muttered, gathering her coat from the hook in the hall. ‘As soon as someone’s vulnerable, it seems to be open season.’
*
The following morning, Mary and Flora stood leaning against the work surface in the kitchen, drinking their tea.
‘Tell me, then. Which man did you go for in the end? A or B?’
Flora laughed. ‘“A” I suppose … the old boyfriend.’
‘So what was it made him “old” in the first place?’
‘Oh, you know … just the usual. We were together eight years before we … split up. Anyway, he’s just moved in. Last week.’
Mary’s eyes widened. ‘Whoa, fast worker, you!’
‘Not really … sort of taking up where we left off.’
‘And this fella’s the one is he?’
‘I hope so,’ Flora heard the hesitation in her voice. Even now that Fin had moved in, it seemed unreal, almost like a game.
‘Where’s the rest of your stuff?’ Flora had asked him, as she surveyed the small pile on the sitting-room floor – including one backpack, one medium holdall and a cardboard box containing his boots and some climbing gear – that represented Fin’s possessions.
‘That’s it,’ Fin had grinned. ‘You know me, always travel light.’
They had stood, then, just looking at each other. She thought his eyes seemed to be gauging her mood, checking perhaps if he was really welcome. She had moved towards him, put her arms around him. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ She had almost said I love you, but the words, which she had yet to speak out loud, seemed too weighted, too significant.
That was over a week ago now, and he had settled in as if he’d never been away. When she went off to work every morning, he walked her to the bus stop. When she came home at night, he had cooked supper. She looked forward to seeing him when she left work, anticipating the evening ahead like an excited child. But it was also true that his presence seemed very big in the small space, almost caged, as if he were waiting to burst out. She hoped it wouldn’t be too long before they could make other arrangements.
‘Well, I’m dead jealous. But you never know, perhaps we’ll make a double wedding of it. You with yer man A, me and the dishy Dr Kent.’
Flora laughed. ‘Yeah, why not? Look forward to it.’
*
‘What did you do today?’ she asked when she got home a couple of evenings later.
‘Oh, you know. Nothing much.’ He looked tired.
This was always what Fin said when she asked, but this time she didn’t let it go.
‘What, though?’
He looked up from the map he’d been studying.
‘Why the third degree? Are you worried I’m becoming a layabout?’ His smile seemed forced.
‘No, of course not.’
He bent his head to the map again.
‘Fin? What’s the matter?’
For a moment he seemed to ignore her, then he raised his head. ‘If you really want to know, I don’t do a damn thing. Absolutely fucking nothing. I watch crap TV, I go to the shops, I doze on the sofa. I sometimes walk, but mostly my fucking leg hurts like hell if I go too far. I wait. For you.’ His tone was verging on the desperate, the expression in his eyes pained.
She sat down beside him. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to needle you.’
‘OK …’
‘Your leg’s getting better, isn’t it?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know any more. Some days I think it is, then I have days when it hurts more than it did before. And they keep changing their minds about what the problem is and what they should do about it.’
She put her arm round him. He didn’t shake her off, but he didn’t respond, and for a moment they just sat there in silence. She realised her heart was beating fast.
‘Say something, Fin.’
Still he was silent. She felt his body tense beneath her touch. Then he turned to her.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you, Flo. But I hate hate hate being cooped up like this. I’m going mad.’
‘What did they say at the hospital?’
‘Nothing. As usual. Now they just want me to be patient while they monitor the pins. They say it’s inflammation which’ll settle down eventually.’
‘Should you see someone else? Get a second opinion?’
‘No point. Listen, Flo … I’m thinking of going up to Scotland for a few days … check on Dad’s house. Will you come with me?’
Flora was just about to say that she couldn’t, when she stopped herself. She hadn’t had a holiday for months.
‘OK,’ she said slowly. ‘OK, why not? I’ll talk to Mary.’
Fin’s face lifted. ‘Brilliant! That’s wonderful. We could drive up.’
‘Except we don’t have a car.’
‘Good point.’
‘We could take the train, hire something up there.’
‘Dad had an old Vauxhall that I left with Jimmy, the neighbour. We could use that.’
‘It’ll be freezing,’ she said, a broad smile on her face.
‘Brass monkeys,’ he agreed, laughing as he gathered her to him. ‘It’ll be brilliant … just to get out of London, get away from here.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Scotland, just the two of us. Bliss. When can we go?’
*
That Saturday, as Flora was coming up the steps onto the pavement, Philip and Bel were standing beside their car, a black Audi. Bel, who looked unusually subdued, came up to Flora at once and gave her a hug.
&nb
sp; ‘Hi Flora,’ Philip said. ‘You haven’t forgotten it’s Prue’s birthday next weekend?’ he asked.
‘No … no, I haven’t forgotten.’
The three of them looked at each other in silence, none of them wanting to be the one to mention the problem.
‘She didn’t want a big drama this year,’ Philip went on. ‘So we’re just doing Nobu. Eight on Saturday.’
‘Great.’
Bel was silent, scuffing her boots on the pavement.
‘Should be fun.’ Philip’s voice was leaden, more as if he were selling tickets to a public hanging than dinner at one of the most up-market restaurants in London. He must have heard himself, because he laughed and added, ‘No, really. It should be. Food’s fabulous.’
‘Is Fin asked?’ Flora finally put the question, speaking softly, worried that Prue might overhear in the building behind; Fin was out at physio.
Bel pulled a face. ‘Dad?’
‘Well …’ Philip puffed his cheeks out, exhaling his breath in a sharp burst of air. ‘Let’s look at it from both angles.’ He pushed them down the street a way, until they were out of earshot. ‘If he comes and they behave as they did the other night, it will be hell for everyone. However, if we don’t ask him, are we setting a precedent?’
‘Perhaps we could ask him next time? Just not for Mum’s birthday?’ Bel looked apologetically at Flora. ‘Sort of start the precedent later.’
Flora didn’t know how to respond. She was with the other two, in that she had no desire to struggle through an evening of phoney civility, covert jibes, tension – and expensive tension at that; Nobu’s prices were extortionate in her opinion. But Fin, as her partner, had a right to be asked.
‘God make me good but not yet, you mean.’ Philip was smiling at his daughter. ‘I don’t know. I think, on balance, we probably should ask him. If we don’t, things will never have a chance to get any better between them.’
‘Or between me and Prue.’
Her brother-in-law nodded. ‘Yes, there’s that too.’
‘Mum’s not angry with you, Flora. Just Fin, for coming back.’
Philip raised an eyebrow. ‘Not quite true, darling. I think Mum is angry with Flora for taking him back, as much as she is about him being here.’