How I Lose You

by Kate McNaughton

  It is only when she is tiptoeing down the corridor to her own bedroom, having pulled the door to behind her with a discreet creak, that Eva thinks about the way Adam was sitting on that bed, far closer to her than was really necessary, and the way he almost touched her when she was upset, but didn’t dare, and how he had been about to say something before she spoke first, something that was painful and terrifying and vital to say, and realizes that maybe she failed to pick up on some signals there. She feels a shiver run over her skin and her stomach leap up to her throat, like when a car drives too fast over the brow of a hill, but it’s too late to turn back, she’s missed her chance, and so she creeps into her room, where Carmen lies on her back, hands folded across her stomach like an Etruscan statue, and one foot poking out from under the duvet into the breeze of cricket song carried in through the open window.

  YOU ARE LIKE an animal being hit by a stun gun, your long, bony limbs scrabbling on the mossy ground as you try to get up again, but then they hit you with another shot, and another, and another, and every time you manage to raise your body a few centimetres off the ground it’s the same, they just keep on coming, but although you are being stunned over and over again, over and over, you can’t just let yourself sink down into the forest bed either, let the cool breeze stroke your silky fur and the night descend, you have to keep fighting to get up, because that is what life does, it goes on, one day after the next, waking up and drinking and pissing and even eating, despite the fact that for a while you really didn’t eat, but then even that had to stop, you had to start eating again because your body just kept trying to get back on its feet, and so yes, eating, and, therefore, as a consequence, shitting, and going to sleep, and before you know it you’re waking up into another day, days and days and days, and though these days all merge into one because there is little to distinguish one from the next, still they manage to take on a kind of long, slow momentum, which in your stunned state you can’t really grasp the nature of, but you sense that it is pulling you away from where you want to be, which is by Adam’s side, and all you can do is keep struggling to stand up, and look around manically with the huge, soft-brown eyes of the hunted beast, your ears twitching at every sound, poised for a final blow that never comes.

  FIRST, THEY GO for a walk around Richmond Park. It’s sort of on the way from the station, apparently, and according to Adam they should enjoy some peace and quiet while they can, before tackling his family. He actually uses the word ‘tackle’, as though they were a rugby squad: charging, muscular flesh that needs knocking over.

  When they reach the gate, the park stretches out in front of them in a slow, descending ripple, dapples of intense greens and golds and browns right out to the horizon.

  ‘My goodness. It’s huge.’

  Adam laughs.

  ‘My goodness? Since when do you say “my goodness”?’

  ‘Oh. I think I might be semantically prepping to meet your family. Can’t be bursting out in “fucking hell”s in front of your mum, can I?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it would take more than that to shock my mum. To be honest, she’d probably be more taken aback to hear “my goodness”, like I’m bringing back a girlfriend from the 1950s or something …’

  ‘Ha ha ha. Anyway. Bloody great big park you’ve got on your doorstep.’

  ‘Have you never been to Richmond Park before?’

  ‘No – why, should I have?’

  ‘No, I guess not, it’s just – I don’t know, funny to think that someone could never have been to Richmond Park. I mean, it’s like – Richmond Park.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Eva decides not to explain to Adam that London is not self-evident to people who have grown up outside of it. That she is starting to feel somewhat familiar with some parts of it now that she has to traverse it on her way to and from uni, but that on the whole it remains sprawling and unknown. That before she started university, London to her was Piccadilly Circus and Shaftesbury Avenue and Greenwich and Hyde Park and the British Museum, a handful of places vibrantly remembered from school trips, and nothing in between.

  They walk down soft, earthy paths, winding in and out of clusters of trees and clearings. Adam’s hand is firm and warm around hers, and from time to time he leans over to kiss her cheek or temple, gentle kisses for this gentle autumn day, and from time to time she unhooks her hand from his and laces it around his waist, and he puts his arm around her shoulder, and she rests her head in the crook of his neck – though they cannot hold this uncomfortable position and keep walking for long. Or sometimes she will slip a hand under his T-shirt to feel his soft, surprisingly hot skin, as if to remind herself that this is what lies beneath.

  There seems to be almost no one else around, just the leaves murmuring in the wind, the occasional burst of birdsong. Then they emerge into another clearing.

  ‘Look!!!’

  Eva points in astonishment.

  Adam nuzzles her ear, whispers, ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’

  On the other side of the clearing, no more than a dozen metres away from them, a cluster of deer nibble at the trees and grass. A couple of them turn to watch Adam and Eva, who have frozen where they are; the others twitch their ears at them, registering their presence without concern. They are magnificent creatures, tall, strong, and a rich, ochry brown. Several of them are sporting small antlers, which they occasionally wave around with a circular movement of their heads, as though testing their wind resistance.

  ‘Wow. They’re so … tame.’

  ‘Well, I mean, you know, they’re pretty used to people wandering around.’

  ‘What, you mean you’ve seen them before?’

  ‘Oh yeah, of course. The park is full of deer. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Um. No.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Is it something I should know?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I guess it’s what most people think of, if you say “Richmond Park”. “Deer.” But I mean, yeah, you’ve never been to Richmond Park.’

  ‘…’

  ‘It used to be the royal hunting grounds, that’s why there’s so many. I guess – possibly it even still is a royal hunting ground? But no, they couldn’t go hunting in public parks, could they?’

  ‘Also wouldn’t the deer be more worried about us if they were used to being hunted?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. It can’t be any more. Pretty sure it used to be, though. Anyway, we can ask my mum.’

  They start walking again, and as they get closer to the deer each head rises in turn, fixing them with a long-lashed gaze until they have walked past. There is no fear in their looks, but a tensing in their massive hind legs suggests that they are ready to spring off if necessary, a cautious instinct handed down to them over the centuries from those forefathers who did know the baying of hounds, the cracking of shotguns.

  ‘Huh. Where is everybody?’

  They have stepped through a triple-locked front door into a large, expansive house, a thickly carpeted entrance from which Eva can glimpse an equally thickly carpeted living room, and stairs rising to another floor. Books line the walls, and every piece of furniture looks antique, weathered.

  A tall, graceful woman appears from behind a door to their left, from which wafts the rich scent of roast chicken and potatoes, the steam of bubbling pans.

  ‘Hey, where is everybody?’

  ‘Hello, darling. And you must be Eva. Lovely to meet you. I’m Harriet.’

  Adam’s mother gives her son a warm, brisk kiss, then grasps Eva’s shoulder and kisses her on both cheeks. She does it so confidently that she manages to avoid the moment being awkward, even though Eva had already started to panic about what the correct way to greet her might be.

  ‘The boys are all outside, Dad’s gone to pick up some more wine for lunch, we were a bit short. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Beer?’

  ‘Oh, er – a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll grab a beer, yeah.’
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br />   Damn. Eva regrets not having said beer, it might have helped calm her nerves a bit. She wasn’t at all worried about meeting Adam’s family, but something about his mother – how ridiculously elegant she is – and this huge, tasteful Edwardian house, have made her feel extremely self-conscious all of a sudden.

  ‘Um. Can I – maybe help with anything?’

  ‘Oh no – it’s all pretty much ready to go. You two go out and say hello to the boys, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  They walk through the kitchen, the mouth-watering Sunday-roast preparations, Adam pulling a beer out of the fridge on the way with well-versed movements, and out into the garden.

  Three faces turn towards them as they step out of the kitchen door, and Eva feels an uncanny flutter in the pit of her stomach; they are like variations on a theme: the golden hair, clear blue eyes and aquiline nose of Adam pulled into ever-so-slightly-different angles and relationships, the same yet not the same. They have been slouching on garden chairs around a table adorned with half-drunk bottles of beer, but they stand now, long limbs and flexing young muscles, to greet their guest.

  ‘So, this is Eva. Eva: Matt, Luke and Bennie.’

  Adam points them out in quick succession before falling into a complicated sequence of firm clasping of hands, manly hugs and resonant pats on backs. Each of them also shakes Eva’s hand, beaming at her affably, though does she detect a wryness at the corner of their lips, a mischievous curiosity in what their brother has brought home? Matt, the eldest, now has his arm around Adam’s neck as though he is about to snap it.

  ‘So you’re the special girl who’s patient enough to put up with this reprobate, eh? How much have you paid her, Ad?’

  He ruffles Adam’s hair, or perhaps knuckles his skull, it is hard to tell, then grabs hold of his beer.

  ‘Well, come on then, let’s crack this open. You got one, Eva, or did it not occur to Adam to offer you anything?’

  ‘Oh, er – no, actually, but—’

  ‘Please excuse my brother. If I hadn’t seen him grow up here with my very eyes, I would think he had been raised by wolves. Would you like one?’

  ‘No, thanks. Actually, I think your mother is making me a cup of tea …’

  ‘Ah, you’re in good hands, then. In that case: cheers, guys!’

  There is something about Matt’s suave deference, the smoothness with which he turns from smiling at her as though they are accomplices to clinking bottles with his brothers, presenting her with his back in polite dismissal, that Eva finds skin-pricklingly irritating – and then she remembers, of course, he is the politician one, a rising star within New Labour, there have even been whispers of him standing in a safe Tory seat at the next election, get him broken in. He is a taller, even thinner version of Adam; his bony figure and long limbs, which are now gripping his brother’s shoulder, look a bit creepy.

  They clink bottles of beer and one-up each other with ridiculous toasts, most of them in-jokes that she cannot begin to unravel, and some of them jibes directed at Adam and his supposed inability to nab a girl, what is it he’s done to convince this charming one to come to Sunday lunch with the family, jibes which she imagines are meant to be complimentary but in fact make her feel cut off, on her own in the face of a solid wall of brotherhood.

  She looks at these strange, not-quite-iterations of her boyfriend: Luke, the second-oldest, is a more muscular version, not as tall as Matt but better proportioned, the most rugged and masculine of the lot. In contrast to Matt’s constantly turned-on charm, he has an easy confidence, doesn’t need to push himself to the forefront in order for his presence to be noticeable. And Bennie, the baby brother, who is still in school, is like an illustration of harmony out of a Renaissance painter’s manual, the family features assembled into the most pleasing composition possible, a cherubic face and graceful body that already hints at the strong man ahead, though of course, being sixteen, he does not realize all of this, merely jostles a little awkwardly against his big brothers and gazes at them in adoration.

  And Adam, Adam is slighter and more earnest, and he is hers, she realizes with a small thrill; even if they haven’t been going out for that long, this meeting of the family is a consecration of that, and while he may have grown up with these boys, while they may share uncannily similar features and much of the same genetic material, still there is a place for her in his life, a different one.

  And it makes sense of Adam, somehow, of the even keel of his character, that he has these loving, shoving mirror images of himself to ground him, to remind him of what he is and what he is not, in the ways they are alike and the ways they are different, that he has had them to define himself with and against since the day he was born.

  Eva wonders what it feels like, to have siblings, what other person she would be if she had grown up with three boisterous brothers at her side.

  Adam ducks out of the jostling and comes over to her, laces his arms around her waist.

  ‘You all right? Shall I go see if my mum’s done making that cup of tea?’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll go – I’m feeling unhelpful enough as it is, I don’t want your mum to think I can’t even fetch my own tea.’

  ‘No need to feel unhelpful, honestly – she’ll have had everything planned out since this morning, there’s usually no room for outside intervention.’

  ‘Oh, really? That sounds like a spoilt child’s excuse for not helping with any of the housework to me …’

  ‘Hey! I’m very good with the washing-up, I’ll have you know …’

  Unfortunately, Adam’s brothers overhear this, and it opens up a rich new vein of mockery. Eva slides out of his embrace and walks over to the kitchen.

  Adam’s mother is standing at the sink, rubber-gloved hands poised in mid-air around a foamy pan, gazing fondly out of the window at her boys.

  ‘Must have been quite a handful, raising that lot.’

  She turns with a smile.

  ‘You can say that again. I kept hoping we’d have a daughter, balance things out a bit, but no, just me and five men around the house.’

  She says it proudly, as though it is actually an achievement that her womb will only bear male children.

  ‘You’d like your tea, I suppose? It should be nicely stewed by now. Pot’s over there, and there’s milk in the fridge.’

  Eva pours herself a steaming cup from an enormous teapot. She baulks at the weight of it, and wonders where they can have got hold of such a thing, it must be twice the size of her parents’ teapot at home – but then, of course, this is a family of six, twice the size of her own, life on a different scale altogether.

  Adam’s mother chuckles fondly, and Eva turns towards her; she gestures outside with her chin, her hands now busily scrubbing the contents of the sink. Eva goes over to stand next to her, and sees that the boys have fallen into a full-blown tussle, a heap of pushing arms and legs and laughing faces on the grass, like young stags testing their antlers.

  ‘It’s – er … nice they still play with each other.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Though they’re not usually quite this excitable. I think they may be trying to impress you, Eva my dear.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Though you strike me as someone who is not that easy to impress.’

  Adam’s mother smiles conspiratorially.

  Eva blushes, and wonders how she can have given off that impression.

  ‘Um … You’re really sure you don’t need a hand with anything?’

  ‘Oh no, honestly, it’s all pretty much ready to go. You go outside and enjoy your tea – though if you could herd the boys towards the dining room in about twenty minutes’ time, that would be much appreciated.’

  Eventually they are halfway through Sunday lunch, Eva having ushered in the boys at the required time and Adam’s dad having returned from his errand, a pleasant, quietly witty man. There is an open lovingness about Adam’s parents which seems to radiate over their sons, and provokes in Eva an unsettling feeling of inadequacy.
They are all so confident, so worldly, so English, stretching their legs out in front of their chairs with the easy comfort of gentlemen in a London club. Eva dreads to think what they would make of her small, provincial family, of her odd, German mother and her nervous father, and it makes her tongue-tied – which hardly matters anyway, since most of the meal so far has been taken up with Matt relaying juicy political gossip and discussing his electioneering prospects, a topic she has little to contribute to. Or, in fact, she reflects, she has much to contribute to, since her father has been a lifelong and very active member of their local Labour Party, but this again seems so laughably provincial that the mere idea of bringing it up makes her cringe.

  She feels so – so unimpressive. So not-cosmopolitan, not-tuned-in, so ordinary. Like a mongrel thrown in with the pure-breds.

  Then the father asks Matt about some other young New Labour hotshot who is also being considered for the seat he might stand in, and Matt responds with expert evasiveness, something about not having the exact facts on where things are with that, and lets the topic slip into thin air by turning to Eva with a look of oily curiosity.

  ‘So, Eva – sorry, I didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation like that, just lots to fill everyone in on, as you can hear. But we’re all here to meet you. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?’

  With six near-identical pairs of blue eyes directed at her, Eva feels a paralysing flush creep up her stammering throat.

  ‘Oh. Er. I mean … I don’t know. There isn’t much to tell, really.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it sounds like you’ve got a far more interesting family than us lot. Adam was saying you’re half German?’

  ‘Oh, um – yes, my mother is from Berlin. East Berlin, in fact. But, I mean, yeah, she came over to Britain in the seventies. I mean, she escaped from East Germany, and ended up here eventually.’

  ‘Escaped? What, like, you mean, she got out clandestinely?’

  Bennie’s eyes have widened into a goggle, and something about his intonation in asking this question, the excitement, the disbelief, the fascination, snaps Eva’s timidity in two. She looks around at the attentive faces, and realizes she has a story, an exceptional one: a story that makes her special. She sees Adam look at her, the pride and love in his eyes.