by Imogen Clark
‘Honestly,’ said Dorothy, ‘do you lot never stop? What will Tessa think of us?’
Tessa chose that moment to appear, leaving Dorothy madly replaying the last few sentences in her head to see if they had said anything that she could be offended by.
‘And here she is,’ said Sebastian proudly. He crossed the room so that he was standing next to her and put his arm protectively around her shoulders. Tessa leaned into him and gave them a languid wave. She reminded Dorothy of a Siamese cat.
‘Sisters,’ he said, ‘this is Tessa. Tessa, this is, well, everyone.’
‘Except Clare,’ said Anna.
‘Well, yes. Except Clare. She is coming, isn’t she?’ Sebastian looked at Dorothy, who nodded.
‘She is indeed. Now, Anna, if you’re not going to get changed then can you put that clean towel in the cloakroom and the rest of you can help me move the food into the dining room. Ah, Richard. Good to see you. How are you?’
Miriam’s husband shuffled in carrying a plastic mat under one arm and a bag overflowing with disposable nappies in the other.
‘Hello, Dorothy. Hello, siblings. Can I put these bottles of formula in the fridge?’
‘Help yourself, Richard dear. Shift the other things around. You can pass me a plate of those sandwiches when you’re in there, make some space. Frank, will you get these good people a drink? They’ll be parched, so they will.’
‘Coming right up. Water all round? Only joking, only joking. We have red, white, beer or lager, or some rather iffy sherry that’s been in the cupboard since Adam was a lad.’
Everyone shouted out their orders and soon they were standing, glasses in hand, around Abigail, whose eyes were drooping as Sebastian rocked the car seat with his foot.
‘So, Anna, daughter of mine, how does it feel to have reached the heady heights of thirty years of age?’ asked Frank.
‘Old,’ said Anna. ‘Well, not old exactly. More like the world should start taking me seriously.’
‘And does it? Take you seriously, I mean.’
‘Not entirely.’
‘Well, I propose a toast,’ said Frank, raising his half-empty glass to the ceiling. ‘To Anna, my beautiful and intelligent daughter, who must henceforth be taken seriously by all and sundry, on the occasion of her thirtieth birthday. Health, wealth and happiness.’
‘Health, wealth and happiness!’ chorused the others.
The kitchen door swung open.
‘Well, this is all very cosy, I must say,’ said Clare.
‘Clare! My darling girl. We were just toasting the birthday girl,’ said Frank.
Clare looked at them each in turn but didn’t smile.
‘So I see.’
No one spoke. Sebastian scuffed his trainer against the floor.
‘Someone get Clare a drink!’ said Frank. His voice sounded overloud all of a sudden.
‘Coming right up,’ Sebastian leaped in. ‘What would you like, sis?’
‘Red wine,’ said Clare.
‘We were just asking Anna how it felt to have hit thirty,’ said Miriam.
‘And,’ said Clare, ‘how does it feel? Pretty shit, going by my experience.’
Dorothy flinched. She blinked slowly and bit back her instinct to pull Clare up for her language.
‘Pretty much like twenty-nine, if I’m honest,’ said Anna. ‘Only with more celebrating!’ She raised her glass and everyone laughed awkwardly.
The door swung again and in strolled Dicken. He was a shortish man with a full beard and a round belly that sat above his belt, as tight as a drum. He was wearing a jumper with stripes of rainbow colours which ran violet to red rather than the other way. Its effect was disconcerting and Dorothy found herself staring at it.
‘Not quite the thing, eh, Mum? Dicken’s top?’ snapped Clare. ‘Well, Anna hasn’t exactly made an effort, has she?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Dorothy. ‘It’s a fine sweater, Dicken!’
Anna leaned in to kiss Dicken on the cheek. ‘How lovely to see you again,’ she said sweetly. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, I’m still breathing,’ laughed Dicken. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s all getting a bit congested in here,’ said Dorothy. ‘Shall we move next door where there’s a bit more space?’
‘Then it’ll just be congested in there,’ said Frank. ‘No one told me that when I had four children they would all grow up and take up so much space.’
The group laughed again but the tension hovered around them all.
Clare, having taken a hefty swig from her wine, looked up and Dorothy saw her notice Tessa.
‘And who’s this?’ Clare asked, nodding sidelong in Tessa’s general direction.
‘I’m Tessa,’ said Tessa, her head held high and her shoulders back, and Dorothy thought again what an enviable air of confidence the girl had about her.
‘Right,’ said Miriam, taking control as she always did and leaving Dorothy feeling slightly redundant. ‘You lot go through, then, and I’ll stay in here and feed the girls. Richard? Could you bring Rosie in from the car. She should be awake by now. And Sebastian, stop rocking Abigail or we’ll have no peace later!’
There was a general shuffling around as people made space for each other.
‘Drink, Dicken?’ asked Frank.
‘I’ll take a beer if you have one, thanks, Frank. Very civil of you.’
‘And I’ll have another red wine,’ said Clare.
No one commented but Dorothy was aware of Sebastian trying to catch Anna’s eye. She ignored him.
‘No River?’ asked Frank as he ripped a can from the plastic linking it to the others and passed it to Dicken.
‘No. He wasn’t keen on coming so I said he could stay at home.’
‘On his own?’ asked Dorothy. She really mustn’t interfere but ten was far too young to leave a child alone. If she wasn’t careful, someone would report her to Social Services.
‘I think he said his friend was coming. He didn’t feel all that welcome here, after last time.’
Sebastian played with a lock of Tessa’s hair and didn’t meet anybody’s eye.
‘Oh, now, don’t be so silly, Clare,’ Dorothy said, and then, when Clare bristled, wished that she’d chosen her words more carefully. ‘Of course he’s welcome. It was only a toy and it didn’t even matter, did it, Sebastian?’
She threw a warning glance at Sebastian.
‘No,’ he answered on cue. ‘It didn’t matter at all.’ His voice was flat and must have sounded totally unconvincing even to Clare.
‘Right. We’ll go through, then,’ said Frank, and started to usher his family out of the kitchen.
‘Do you need any help, Miriam?’ asked Anna as she left. Dorothy saw her cock her head in Clare’s direction and pull a face at Miriam.
Miriam shook her head, her eyes wide, and then turned her attention back to Anna.
‘That would be great, Anna,’ she said in a voice that sounded overly cheerful. The kitchen door closed behind the others. Dorothy busied herself in the pantry, leaving Miriam and Anna in the kitchen with baby Abigail.
‘This has the makings of a disaster written all over it,’ said Miriam in hushed tones, though loud enough for Dorothy to hear. ‘Did you see how fast she downed that wine? Do you think she and Dicken have had a row in the car? They didn’t come in together and there was a definite atmosphere.’
‘Well, Dicken seemed all right. I think it’s just her. It didn’t help that she walked right into the middle of Dad’s toast. She’ll have thought that we’d started without her.’
‘Well, we had! She needs to grow up and stop being so sensitive all the time. So we started without her. It’s a party, for goodness’ sake. People arrive when they’re good and ready. What do you think of Tessa?’
‘Hard to tell,’ said Anna. ‘She doesn’t give much away, does she? She’s gorgeous, though. They make a very handsome couple. I just hope Clare doesn’t kick off in front of
her and scupper things for Seb. You know how she can be when she’s had a drink and if she’s already feeling got at . . . Right, I’d better go through before she thinks that we’re hatching a plot against her as well.’
‘Sebastian’s in there.’
‘Yes, but he’s a boy. He can’t read atmospheres like we can. I’ll go and try to smooth things over. Here. Pass me that bottle. She might lighten up when she’s had a couple more drinks.’
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,’ said Miriam doubtfully, but Dorothy noticed that she passed Anna the bottle anyway.
‘You will come through, won’t you? I don’t want to have to deal with her all by myself.’
‘Of course. I’ll just get these two sorted and then I’ll be right there.’
Dorothy came out of the pantry and as she didn’t comment on her daughters’ musings, they clearly thought that she hadn’t heard them.
‘You coming through, Mum?’
‘Yes. In a mo. I’ll just check that the food’s all ready.’
As Anna opened the door, Richard appeared with a sleepy-looking Rosie over his shoulder.
‘This may take some time,’ he said, tickling the soles of his daughter’s feet to try to rouse her.
‘Bless her,’ smiled Anna. ‘Wasn’t life straightforward when you were two?’
In the lounge, small groups seemed to have formed. Sebastian was talking to Dicken, who nodded at him as he spoke, Tessa stuck to Sebastian like glue, not speaking to anyone. Clare was balancing on the arm of the sofa and talking to Frank. Anna sat herself next to Frank. Dorothy busied herself with bowls of crisps, not wanting to sit down in case she inadvertently said something wrong. It was so easy to set Clare off and she so didn’t want to spoil Anna’s party.
‘Bring those over here, Mum. I’m starving!’ said Sebastian, and she immediately felt better for having something to do.
As the afternoon wore on and things seemed to be going well, Dorothy felt herself relax a little bit. Everyone was happy enough and Abigail and Rosie were being delightful. Grandchildren were such a blessing, she thought. It was disappointing, though, that River hadn’t come. She wondered whether it was really at his instigation or whether Clare was keeping him away for some reason of her own. It hurt her to think it but holding him back was the kind of thing that Clare might think up as punishment for some imagined wrong. It was so difficult to form any kind of relationship with River as she saw him so rarely and there was generally a row of some kind when he was there. She would try to talk to Frank about it when they had all gone. Maybe they should invite River to stay on his own in the holidays? Clare had always refused in the past but it might suit her to have a little time on her own with Dicken.
Dorothy was just fetching the trifle when she heard raised voices in the lounge.
‘That’s right. You take their side. You always do.’
It was Clare. Of course it was. Her voice was shrill and ever so slightly slurred.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Clare,’ replied Dicken. He was speaking in a slow, calm voice as if he were reasoning with a child. ‘I was just saying—’
‘I know exactly what you were saying. It’s what you always say. You sound like my bloody mother. You should learn to live a little, lighten up, have some fun.’
‘You’re making a show of yourself,’ replied Dicken.
‘Like you’d care. You used to be fun, Dicken Ezard, but now you’re just like all the others. Booooring.’
Dorothy hurried into the lounge. Clare was just upending another bottle of red into her glass. She was sitting on the coffee table with her feet on the sofa. Dicken was staring thunderously at her from his place on the nearby armchair.
‘I think we should leave,’ he said, making to stand up, ‘before you totally ruin what was a pleasant afternoon.’
‘You leave if you like, Mr Boring-Britches,’ said Clare in a sing-songy voice. ‘I’m having a perfectly delightful time here in the bosom of my lurverly family.’ Her words dripped with sarcasm. ‘Look. There’s super-duper grown-up Miriam with her sensible husband and her two-point-four children. And Anna the Perfect who can do no wrong. Although you haven’t found yourself a man yet, have you, sis? That’s a bit of a blot in your copybook. And lovely, handsome Sebastian with his puppy-dog eyes and his big brain. And then there’s me! Clare the Social Embarrassment. Clare who everyone wishes would go away because she’s just soooo difficult to control.’
Dorothy put the trifle down on the table.
‘Clare, love,’ she said, ‘would you not like to go and have a little lie-down? You can use your old room. Would you like to do that?’
‘No, I bloody would not!’ shouted Clare. ‘What am I? Ten? Honestly, Mother. You’re as bad as the rest of them. When the chips are down, you just can’t help yourself, can you? I know. Let’s just patronise Clare. She might shut up then and stop embarrassing us all. Well, I know. I know what you all think of me. I’m not stupid. I can see it in your eyes. The pity. Poor old Clare. Just can’t seem to get her life on track. Always crashing from one disaster to another. A son with no dad. No money. No job. A crap, hippy boyfriend. Well, that’s me, so you’d better all get used to it. I’ve had enough of having to be constantly apologising for myself. And I’ve had enough of you. And I’ve had a bloody bellyful of you, Dicken Ezard! So you can all go to hell!’
‘Clare!’ shouted Frank, standing up and taking a couple of steps towards his daughter. ‘Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that.’
‘What are you going to do, Daddy dearest? Take me over your knee and knock the living daylights out of me? I’m a bit big for that kind of thing now, aren’t I? Don’t worry. I’m going. I shall just take this . . .’ She grabbed wildly at a half-empty wine bottle, almost knocking it over but then catching it at the last moment. ‘And I’ll leave you to enjoy your lovely little party. Happy birthday, Anna the Perfect. Many happy returns.’
Clare lurched towards the door. Dorothy’s stomach lurched too. She looked at Dicken in desperation, hoping for him to provide a solution, but he just shook his head slowly.
‘Better let her alone for a minute,’ he said as he drained his glass.
‘But where will she go? We can’t let her wander off on her own. Not in that state. Anything might happen to her.’
The front door banged shut so loudly that the house shook.
‘She’ll not go far,’ he said. ‘I’ve got all the keys and her cash.’ He patted his jeans pocket reassuringly.
‘Oh, Dicken,’ said Anna. ‘I had no idea. How long has she been like this? I thought she’d cut back on the drinking.’
‘It comes and goes,’ said Dicken with the resigned air of someone who had seen it all. ‘There’s no telling what’ll set her off. Sometimes she can have a drink and she’s nice as pie. And others . . .’ He flicked his head towards the door. ‘Well, you saw for yourselves.’
‘Is she getting any help at all?’ asked Anna. ‘I mean, AA or something?’
‘She can’t see that she’s got a problem and until she does . . .’
‘She’s a liability,’ said Miriam, holding Rosie to her chest and rubbing her hair gently. ‘There, there, Princess. Don’t you worry. Mummy’s here.’ Rosie could be heard sobbing gently. ‘I’ve had enough of her. I really have. She spoils everything. Well. She’s done it this time. She’s burned her bridges, as far as I’m concerned. That was her last chance.’
‘Oh, Miriam,’ said Dorothy, aghast at her daughter’s suggestion. ‘You can’t say that. She’s your sister. You can’t abandon her. You mustn’t.’ Dorothy couldn’t bear to let this happen. Her beautiful family seemed to be ripping apart from the inside.
‘I really don’t see that I have much choice, Mum,’ said Miriam. ‘You’ve seen what she’s like. She’s got a self-destruct button a mile wide and there’s nothing that any of us can do to help. I’m really sorry, Anna, but I’m going to take my girls home now so that they don’t get any more upset. It’s been lovely, M
um. Thank you.’ She gave Dorothy a quick kiss on her cheek and Dorothy felt the tears pricking at her hot eyes. ‘Richard. Can you help me collect our stuff, please?’
‘I’ll go and find her,’ said Dicken, standing up with a sigh. ‘Thanks for a lovely party. Sorry about . . . Well, you know.’ He shrugged. ‘And happy birthday, Anna.’
Dicken let himself out and five minutes later Miriam and Richard were also gone. Sebastian and Tessa stayed where they were having watched the party unravel around them. Dorothy wished that Tessa hadn’t been there to witness what had just happened but right now she had bigger things to worry about.
‘Oh, Anna,’ she said with her hand over her mouth. ‘What on earth should we do about her?’
CLARE
I
Who the fuck did they think they were, the patronising bastards? How dare they talk to her like that, like she was a child incapable of understanding the adult world, when in fact it was them that had no idea what was really going on here. They sat there with their perfect little lives and thought that it was appropriate to criticise her, to offer their trite platitudes, as if everything would be all right if only she would do what they said, follow their advice.
It was ironic, really, almost enough to make Clare laugh out loud. There they all sat, offering their half-baked solutions, and not one of them would know a real problem if it knocked on the door and invited itself in for tea. They had all pootled along in their blessed little existences, never once having to deal with one tenth of the amount of shit that had been thrown at her. They had no fucking idea. Miriam in her cosy little marriage with her two angelic children and her nice, boxy house that was just like the nice, boxy house next door. What did she know about pain and suffering? How could Saint Miriam even begin to comprehend how crap Clare’s life could be?
And bloody Anna. Clare tried to spit at the thought of her sister’s name but the wine had made her lips numb and she couldn’t seem to get up the necessary amount of power. Instead of firing a satisfying ball of phlegm at the pavement, the spittle got caught around her tongue and ended up on her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Bloody Anna with her charmed bloody life. Thirty years old and still not put a single foot wrong. How could that be? Why did things fall at Anna’s feet in beautiful gift-wrapped boxes when Clare had to stumble across broken glass just to get the most basic of tasks done?