by Zaza, Agatha
5
Anne had watched the scenery as the cab purred through the city streets. She felt John’s hand resting on her lap. Once or twice, he tapped his fingers on her thigh or traced shapes along the fabric of her clothes. She wondered if he knew he was doing it, or if they’d been together for so long that she was now an extension of his own body and that resting his hand on her was the same as laying it on his own.
The cab held four: two couples. Occasionally they spoke, but Anne could sense their nervousness. She could still feel the effects of the previous night’s celebratory drinks coursing through her system, though she’d had less to drink than the others. The rest of them, Jasper’s parents included, emptied bottle after bottle of sparkling wine, abandoned bottles of beer half-drunk, and imbibed sherry, remarking on its flavour as if they were connoisseurs. She’d paced herself, floating above the conversation, observing them, fetching glasses and loading the dishwasher.
Holly made some bland observations about where they were going, something about hoping Edmund would like her and really hoping that she’d like him. Anne looked up briefly, but Holly had moved on to whispering something to Jasper. Anne turned back to the window, noting the streetscape, the spring scenery, and the changing architecture. John, who was to be best man, looked thoughtful and relaxed. For the last few years, he’d been not only Jasper’s best friend but also his confidant. He’d once told Anne that he was sure he knew everything of importance in Jasper’s life, though they’d been friends for only a few years. After the celebration the previous night, all he’d wanted to talk about was the depth of the bond he shared with Jasper.
‘I even know how much he earns.’ John had woven through the house, incapable of walking in a straight line, and in bed, he whispered to Anne as if it were a secret. ‘Let me tell you, guys don’t go around telling each other how much they earn.’
Still, Anne thought John’s eagerness to accompany Jasper that morning was excessive.
‘Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!’ he’d declared, elbowing her when she’d asked why. ‘A bottle of champagne on a spring morning … Well what else are you going to do on a Saturday?’ he asked when she again voiced her reluctance.
‘Maybe,’ he began, and Anne realised he was going to suggest that he go on his own. He was right, she quickly reconsidered, she didn’t have anything else planned for the day.
As Anne dressed, John lay on the bed behind her, sighing heavily when she began doing her hair — rubbing in mousse and shaking her head, tousling her short blonde bob. She glared at him when he hummed, examining his nails as she examined her figure in the full-length mirror in their bedroom. She turned to scrutinise her side profile. She checked that her foundation blended into her neck. It gave her skin a hint of a tan, lending colour to her otherwise ivory complexion. She sucked in her stomach and reminded herself that she hadn’t lost all the weight she’d gained during her pregnancies. She grimaced at the fullness of her hips and the roundness of her stomach and then pulled off the pair of jeans she’d put on first in favour of a looser pair.
At that point, John lurched off the bed and left through the bedroom door. With him gone, Anne rummaged through her wardrobe again and found a loose floral top, and, this time, the image in the mirror met with her approval. She twirled, telling herself that she was a woman over forty yet still stylish and with, at least some, sophistication. She’d called after John and found him on the landing tidying away their daughters’ dollhouse and its occupants.
‘You look gorgeous,’ John said rising from his knees.
‘Thanks for the support,’ she replied.
‘You don’t need my support.’ John kissed her on the ear. ‘You look perfect every single day.’
He’d put his arm around her waist, and they’d gone down the stairs together.
Anne had come along because she was John’s wife — or partner, he occasionally reminded people, since they’d never married — but still she managed to work up her excitement about her friends’ impending big day.
Holly had asked Anne to be her to be maid-of-honour less than an hour after Jasper’s proposal.
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Holly joked when Anne’s only reaction was that her jaw dropped and she sat arrested in her chair at the dining table.
‘You’re supposed to start squealing and go on Twitter,’ Jasper said, as John laughed.
Holly said she needed someone who was not only a good friend but also had a bit more sense than most of her other friends. Anne said yes, in part because no one else had ever asked her, and she couldn’t think of anyone else who ever would.
Anne enjoyed Jasper and Holly’s company, but sometimes felt she saw them too much, as if she was meant to keep Holly entertained while John and Jasper watched sport or had long conversations from which their partners were excluded. Countless times the two men sat in John and Anne’s garden or lounge, while Anne and Holly found space elsewhere — the kitchen, the conservatory, even the top of the landing while Anne’s girls slept. Anne was glad Holly didn’t feel the same about her, that Holly didn’t regard their relationship as borne from necessity. She genuinely liked Holly — but didn’t see her as someone with whom she’d have chosen to spend so much of her time and would never have considered her asking her to be her own maid of honour. However, Holly also had excellent rapport with Anne and John’s daughters, who had been delivered the afternoon before to Anne’s mother for the weekend.
‘This is nothing like his last place,’ Jasper remarked as they disembarked. Holly adjusted the cardigan she was wearing and smoothed down her blue culottes. Anne caught Holly examining her distorted reflection in the blackness of the taxi window as Jasper took off his jacket, revealing a slightly crumpled tee-shirt.
Anne glanced around and her gaze landed on a neat metal nameplate fixed to the gate which read ‘E Everard’. Jasper turned to pay the taxi driver.
The small patch of shrubbery beyond the wrought iron gates was neat and manicured — professionally tended. A dark grey Range Rover stood gleaming beside where the taxi had stopped. Jasper pointed out that it was Edmund’s. Anne glanced into the car and was taken aback by the pile of magazines, takeaway paper cups, and brochures strewn on the passenger seat and floor. The disorder seemed unlike Jasper’s brother, who she knew liked neatness and order, and it ruined the façade — the perfect house and car — that stood in front of the visitors.
They assembled in couples and crossed the minuscule front garden and mounted the steps to the front door.
‘Oh, I love this door,’ Holly said as they went up. ‘I could live here just for the front door.’
Anne also found something to admire, smiling at the paving that ran along the walkway and silently assessing the price of the house.
‘Are you thinking about how much this house costs?’ John whispered to her.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Aren’t we all? I know Edmund has a bit of money, but this …?’
‘He used to have a penthouse,’ Jasper said, as Anne considered the house’s period style. ‘Some shiny place with a great view of the Thames. Can’t imagine why he’d swap it for this.’
‘Maybe its proximity to a few Russian oligarchs,’ John chuckled.
The front door was ajar.
‘Who leaves a front door unlocked?’ Holly asked. ‘This is London!’
‘Someone asking to be robbed?’ John suggested. ‘He probably has great insurance. You’re not going to just walk in, are you?’ he said, as Jasper firmly pushed the door wider and entered.
‘Well, the front door is open — it’s more of a surprise this way,’ Jasper replied, smiling. Anne had seen him check the piece of paper that he’d scribbled the address on several times.
6
Holly followed beside Jasper, watching him moving with longing. Her eyes were bright in anticipation, and she caught up with him and clutched his arm, rubbing it, already having nursed it throughout the journey. This, to her, was a milestone more intimidating th
an meeting his parents, who, despite the idiosyncrasies of the elderly, she liked. She’d met them several times since she and Jasper had started dating. In their seventies, they were far more youthful than her own parents. Lucinda, Jasper’s mother, wore jeans and linen blouses. His father’s hair was grey but still retained the headful of curls that Jasper had inherited. The two of them travelled quite often and had a small house in Spain that they insisted that she must come to visit. On the first visit, Holly found Lucinda’s chatty exterior made her almost impossible to read, let alone get to know. Phil’s conversations bordered on interrogation, ‘Have you been to Spain? Where in Spain? Did you see this, that, or the other?’ He asked about her family — parents, brothers, and sisters — and only seemed to ease off when she mentioned her grandparents had recently passed away, as if he’d just realised that he was being oppressive.
The second time they’d met, there’d been an excitement about Jasper’s parents that hadn’t been present at their first meeting. Phil’s barrage of questions was replaced by a gentle conversation. He spent most of the afternoon leaning back in his armchair discussing gardening and forest walks. Holly was sure that they must have realised that Jasper was serious about her. His mother had pulled out a photo album and shown her pictures of Jasper when he was a teenager.
‘He looks …’ Holly had hesitated, riveted by one particular photo of Jasper outdoors in dark blue corduroys and a red T-shirt, ‘he looks exactly the same, just younger.’
In truth, she’d been shocked by the picture. The image was of someone as far from the Jasper she knew as it was possible to be. In the photo, Jasper wore an enormous smile and a cheer that radiated from his face. His eyes narrowed in the spontaneity of the smile. Even in an old photograph, his skin seemed a warmer hue, and his cheeks were rounded making him seem healthy and spritely. Slightly ganglier, his hair had been longer with tighter curls, which emphasised his physical resemblance to the older boy who stood beside him, whose smile was more reserved yet still hinting at mischief.
‘Did you take it?’ Holly asked Lucinda, who nodded. ‘What was so funny?’ Holly continued when she managed to pull her gaze away.
Lucinda took it back from her and frowned. ‘Nothing special. It was summer, I remember, evening. Those two were always larking about.’
‘Edmund had probably just told him some dirty joke,’ Phil said, glancing at the photo over Holly’s shoulder.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Lucinda tapped her husband on the shoulder. ‘Edmund doesn’t tell dirty jokes.’
To which both Jasper and Phil laughed.
Today, Holly was to finally meet the big brother — she’d heard a lot about Edmund, of course, but somehow, she’d never been to an event at which he was present. Other things seemed to have always been in the way: illness, business trips, or Jasper declaring, ‘He’s just so boring — we’re not going to invite him,’ as they made plans to go to a concert or for dinner. ‘We have really different ideas of what makes a night out, that’s all,’ Jasper explained when she pressed him.
Holly would wonder, if Edmund was so boring, why then did Jasper disappear to long lunches or evening drinks with his brother?
‘We don’t really do anything together. We just talk endlessly,’ Jasper defended this contradiction. ‘You’d be bored if you came along.’
She knew that she wouldn’t get anything more out of him.
Once, after they’d made a firm plan to meet Edmund and he’d called to apologise that he was going to Hong Kong, Holly suggested that maybe the brothers weren’t as close as Jasper imagined.
‘You’re joking, right?’ Jasper replied, his eyes wide, offended.
‘Then he’s avoiding me?’
‘He’s just busy making money and doing crossword puzzles in airports.’ Jasper tried to make light of it. ‘Don’t take it to heart. He just likes his life.’
‘After all this time we’ve been together, he can’t find half an hour for a cup of coffee with me?’
Jasper hadn’t answered. He’d simply shrugged, and, that evening, they’d met John and Anne instead.
She’d been certain Edmund was avoiding her. After all, he met Jasper fairly regularly. Jasper would arrive at her flat sometimes tipsy from having consumed wine all afternoon with his brother, to tell her where Edmund had been and what he’d done, and once or twice had shared a tasteless joke that Jasper admitted ‘was funnier with booze’.
Holly wondered how alike the two brothers were — physically. She contemplated Jasper’s body moving in front of her and thought how much she loved that the man she’d fallen for was strikingly attractive — now. She considered him the perfect physical match. She, an acceptable few inches shorter, was blonde and his hair was a deep brown — nearly black; her hair was straight, thick and heavy and his was a mass of light, springy curls that he often allowed to grow too long. He’d had it cut earlier that week, telling her he had a big event to attend later that week — she hadn’t guessed that he’d meant her betrothal. She admired the weight he’d put on since they began dating, as she told him ‘in the best possible way’. When they’d met, he’d been gaunt with an anaemic pallor that was accentuated by eyes perpetually ringed in blue that he rubbed frequently. He’d always seemed tired and disinterested. Though she had been attracted to him, even as he was then, watching him now, she wondered if it was her that turned that troubled, lethargic man into the one in front of her today.
‘Mind the body in the library,’ Holly said, and she clapped her hand over her mouth when her voice seemed to reverberate through the silence that met them. Jasper’s brow furrowed as if to let her know what she’d said wasn’t funny. Anne came in last and closed the door firmly behind them. Holly noticed it creep back open but said nothing.
Once inside, Holly paused to look around the contemporary interior that greeted them. The century-old ceilings retained their height giving the room a modern, angular glamour which, though pleasing, was antithetical to the building’s exterior.
The house seemed deserted. The windows must have been double or even triple glazed, ensuring the interior was completely insulted from the noise of the street. Holly was sure they shouldn’t have just walked in. She felt a sense of unease, as if something unpleasant was waiting for them.
They lingered too long in the reception. This was a show room, Holly thought, and if Edmund was home, he’d be somewhere comfortable rather than in a space as impersonal as this reception room. She was about to tell Jasper when he darted for a set of stairs and headed down them. John followed. Holly glanced back as she started to descend, seeing Anne pause momentarily to look back at the leather Chesterfield sofa, the grey and blue carpets and light grey armchairs. Apart from a side table that held a few books, the rest of the room seemed as if no one ever used it.
7
‘Hello,’ Jasper said, glimpsing a figure in the kitchen. It was standing at the kitchen peninsula, a plate empty except for crumbs and a bacon rind. A grey teapot stood beside a tray, two orange mugs, and a bowl of sugar.
The figure didn’t react. It was obviously not Edmund. It was female with headphones plugged in her ears. She stood in ankle-high socks and running clothes, upright and rigid, not leaning against the stools or table. Though Jasper could now hear muffled music from the headphones, neither her feet nor fingers tapped in time, nor did she nod her head or acknowledge the music she was playing in any way.
It took Jasper an almost imperceptible delay to recognise her. The moment he did, he felt as if he’d been plunged into a deep, dark pool and was drowning. Breathless, his hands began to shake.
‘Ovidia?’ Jasper said — his voice too low for the others to hear, his hand of its own volition reaching out and touching her shoulder.
Startled by his touch, Ovidia jolted around, her headphones snapping out of her ears as she turned to face him. The shock was visible on her face.
As his eyes met hers, Jasper felt emotions he believed he’d buried rise like magma bubbling in a volcano,
setting his heart pounding and stealing his voice. For an instant, he was afraid, his body seized, and he was unable to move, his face flushed and eyes wide.
But none of his group said anything to indicate they’d noticed his change of posture. Neither John nor the women put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder or asked if he was okay. Jasper’s back was to them. He couldn’t see them, but he was acutely aware of their presence. He knew they would be watching him, perhaps wondering if they were in the wrong house.
Ovidia was standing in the last place she should have been on this particular morning. Why was she here? He couldn’t understand.
‘Hi,’ Jasper hesitated, pulling back from Ovidia and forcing himself to smile. His instinct took over. Without thinking, he launched into an act, pretending he didn’t know the woman in front of him. ‘I’m looking for Edmund. I’m his brother.’
Jasper saw Ovidia silently colluding with him.
‘He’s in the extension,’ she replied.
The look of astonishment at seeing him could easily be misread as the shock of seeing a stranger in her house. She nodded at the French doors behind them that opened outwards, and his eyes followed her gesture.
Jasper turned immediately, saying nothing else. He’d hoped she’d become upset and say, ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ and demand that they leave the house, perhaps even threaten to call the police. Then they’d leave, quickly, slightly embarrassed, apologising as they went, and they’d laugh about it later, putting it down as a Saturday morning misadventure. He wanted to be wrong. The plaque on the house flashed through his mind. E Everard — his brother’s name, it had to be his house.
He turned back to his friends. ‘Come on,’ he said as they appeared to be hesitating. They glanced uncertainly at Ovidia. Jasper prayed Holly wouldn’t try to be polite and speak to her, and, John, please, Jasper begged him silently, don’t fancy her and want to chat. Anne opened her mouth, as if she was meant to say something — an apology to Ovidia perhaps. She closed it again.