by Zaza, Agatha
Glancing back, Jasper caught Ovidia’s eye for a moment, and she immediately turned back to her music. She inserted the headphones in her ears, absolving them of all need for formalities and shutting Jasper out. She continued standing despite the row of stools beside her, only now she’d shrunk forward, her spine curved forward as if she was to curl into a ball.
Holly, Anne, and John followed Jasper through the doors and out of the kitchen. Jasper caught Holly furtively looking back and side to side, most likely, Jasper guessed, like he was, repressing questions that were begging for answers. The distance to the seating in the extension couldn’t have taken a third of a minute to cover, but that twenty seconds had seemed interminable. Though he marched quickly and determinedly towards where his brother was meant to be, Jasper felt time and distance slow and lengthen, and his stomach began to churn painfully.
Upon seeing Edmund in the glass extension, Jasper was relieved to finally confirm he was at the right house. So relieved, that he briefly ignored the incongruity of his surroundings with what he knew of brother’s life. But this disbelief returned and was intensified when he looked down and fully took in his older brother.
What Jasper saw was a man that hadn’t moved since he’d first sat down two hours earlier. His newspaper was still turned to the undone crossword, his pen still beside it. The glass still held the alcohol he had yet to drink. He was immobile in pyjamas and a dressing gown that appeared smudged with dirt, and his guests’ arrival seemed to have had had no effect on him despite the clattering of Anne and Holly’s heels.
This picture of a man staring into space, unmoving, was how Jasper introduced Holly to her future brother-in-law. He could see her confusion: she pinched the fabric of her culottes and twisted it, like a little girl brought in front of the class. Jasper had promised her a man of almost regal demeanour, with poise and finesse. Their mother constantly lauded the quality of his clothes and the wonders of his posture and personal hygiene.
Yet, today, Jasper’s brother was slumped in his seat. Though his pyjamas and slippers were, as with most of his clothes, new and high-end, Edmund himself looked worn down, older than his forty-seven years, his skin pale and the lines around his eyes deeper than they’d ever appeared before. He and Jasper shared their father’s nose and a long-dead grandfather’s lean silhouette that today looked gangly. Even Edmund’s hair lay limp and unkempt, and his fingernails were dirty.
‘A bit early for whiskey?’ Jasper pretended it was a light-hearted greeting, but he knew something was wrong. He knew that his brother did not sit outdoors in his pyjamas with a glass of whiskey and undone crossword on a Saturday morning. Jasper tried to fit Ovidia into this scenario but couldn’t. Everything was wrong. He clenched his fists in the melange of confusion, the desperation and terror of a small animal caught in a trap.
‘Good morning!’ Edmund sat upright in his seat, startled. He immediately appeared conscious of his appearance; his hand went to his unshaved chin and then traced its way to his uncombed hair and then ran down the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed and tried to rise from the chair but then lowered himself back down again, his hands on each of the armrests, steadying himself. ‘Oh hell,’ he said, leaned back into his chair and took a deep breath.
‘Hard night?’ Jasper asked. ‘Hair of the dog?’ He pointed at the whiskey, and Edmund looked at it as if it were the first time he’d ever seen the glass.
The last time Jasper and Edmund had seen each other had been for lunch in the city two months earlier on Jasper’s invitation or, rather, his insistence. Edmund had arrived exactly on time, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit in contrast to Jasper’s blue jeans and casual button-down. Edmund had ordered right away, claiming to be starving and at first eschewing the wine as he was going back to work, then changing his mind and ordering a bottle of red that they shared. Edmund had barely touched his food in the end and had apologised for having recently been so busy that he’d been unable to see Jasper for a while. He’d claimed he’d been constantly rushed off his feet. Edmund had been distracted, repeatedly checking his mobile, looking around himself and abandoning sentences incomplete. Still, he’d stayed with his brother for several hours, talking about Holly, their parents, work, and trivia with no further mention of returning to work.
‘I must be coming down with something.’
Seeing Edmund slumped in the seat, Jasper could tell his brother was lying. ‘Well, it looks like you have someone to take care of you,’ Jasper said, raising an eyebrow, not wanting to be explicit in front of his friends — various possible explanations flicking through his mind, none feasible. Jasper examined his brother’s expression, trying to decode the situation from his face. He could see Edmund, in turn, scrutinising his own face but offering no clues as to what was happening that morning.
‘Hello.’ After a moment, Edmund greeted John, who was standing just behind Jasper, with a visible lack of enthusiasm.
John grinned and gave his characteristically brisk and firm handshake brushing against Anne to get to where Edmund was sitting.
‘And Anne — lovely to see you again.’ For her, he forced a smile.
Anne smiled and shook Edmund’s hand almost reluctantly, not making eye contact and looking around, perhaps embarrassed by his appearance. Jasper understood; it was as if they’d found their host naked.
‘And …’
‘This is Holly,’ Jasper said with a theatrical flourish of his hand, which landed too firmly and too possessively around her waist, just above her coccyx. Holly winced beneath his touch and immediately let go of her culottes and extended her hand towards Edmund.
‘Is this a bad time?’ Anne began, but Edmund cut in, directing himself at Holly.
‘Our mother told me everything — very late at night — in incredible detail and repeatedly.’ This time Edmund stood, though it appeared to take considerable effort. He shook Holly’s hand but did not give her a kiss on her proffered cheek or embrace her. Jasper had warned Holly ahead of time that Edmund wouldn’t. He wasn’t given to hugging, back slapping, kissing, or other physical expressions of affection.
‘Congratulations, and, please, take a seat. I think I have some champagne in the kitchen,’ Edmund continued. ‘Let me get it, and we’ll toast.’
He fumbled as he turned, appearing to trip on an invisible obstacle. Jasper watched him take a deep breath before he passed through the French doors. Jasper glanced at his little group. Not a single one of them was at ease.
8
‘Oh god, why today of all bloody days?’ Edmund said as he stood just inside the French doors after closing them behind himself. He realised Ovidia hadn’t heard him. Her back faced him, and she was slouched over the kitchen peninsula.
He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was just after ten. He realised how long he’d been outside. He looked at Ovidia, and he once again felt ill. He bit his lower lip, fortifying himself to speak to her when what he really wanted to do was cocoon himself in one of the many barely used rooms in the house and wait.
Edmund quietly took the few strides needed to get to her and gently tugged the earphones from her ears. She reluctantly raised her head.
Edmund coughed to clear his throat of the weight that seemed to constrict it then inhaled deeply. ‘What do we do now?’ he asked, though he could not see a way to free them of the people outside. He could hardly go back out and tell them he had far more important things on his mind and could they come back another time.
‘Maybe I should go to my place? I’ll come back when it’s time?’ Ovidia suggested, stretching as if she’d come out of a long nap. They both faced the French doors side by side, touching — she came to just below his shoulders in her socks.
She wouldn’t come back. Edmund was sure of that. He couldn’t trust her to keep her word today. He looked momentarily at the pot of tea, remembering that they had intended to drink it more than an hour ago. ‘No. Jasper will think you’re running away.’
‘Aren’t I?’ Ovi
dia asked. ‘Running away seems like a good idea.’
‘No. You belong here, you know that,’ Edmund replied. ‘This is your home,’ he said quietly. ‘Besides, he and Holly are getting married — I can’t just ask them to leave. Well, I could, but what if Jasper takes it the wrong way’.
‘You could say you’re not feeling well,’ Ovidia suggested. She leaned back, resting her elbows on the peninsula. ‘But Anne’s a nurse, isn’t she?’ When Edmund didn’t respond she said, ‘We’ll put on our brave faces; we’ve certainly had plenty of practice at pretending everything is okay.’
Edmund touched her hand.
Despite her apparent confidence, her voice faltered. ‘I think I’ve felt every second of this morning. It feels like eternity since I got out of bed. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You know Jasper doesn’t know anything about us — I’ve never told him,’ he said. He clenched and released his fists.
‘It’s always made perfect sense not to tell him, but now it doesn’t,’ Edmund said. ‘God knows what he’s thinking right now. He looked a little shocked.’
Ovidia replied with a slowness that said she’d had to think hard. ‘If he’d told his friends or Holly about me, they’d understand if he wanted to leave, wouldn’t they? John’s his best friend?’
‘Yes, and I can’t begrudge him my time, not after everything he’s done for Jasper.’
Ovidia was silent, and Edmund took it to mean she understood. Ovidia had once said of herself that silence wasn’t something that came naturally to her. ‘If I’m not talking, then I’m working or something’s wrong,’ she’d said cheerily, but he’d already found that about her. Not so long ago, he’d listen to her conversing, even with a complete stranger, fascinated by her wit, her observations, and her intelligence. Now she’d sit or stand for long periods without speaking, her pen, book, or computer useless in front of her. Her silence had become something to which he’d almost become accustomed.
He looked at her now, still, despite everything, the woman he loved. ‘Please — come out and join us. I don’t think I can sit with them on my own.’ Edmund put his arms around Ovidia and drew her close. He used to joke about the view from above, that he could see the top of her hair. His line of sight followed the outline of her spine down to her feet. He kissed her, faint traces of salt and breakfast obscured by the hours that had passed. He once again was insensible to time as he stood breathing in the familiar scent of her skin and the odour of dried runner’s sweat. He exhaled, forcing away the fear of never being able to smell her again.
‘I’m here for champagne,’ Edmund said, remembering the visitors waiting outside. ‘I’m sure we still have some around.’
Ovidia blinked rapidly and craned to look around. ‘We do somewhere. It’ll be warm, though. It was for that dinner when we found out —’ she stopped. ‘The glasses are on the top shelf.’
They sought out the glasses and champagne together, as if they were once again entertaining some of the few guests they’d ever invited to this house. Edmund paused to watch Ovidia as she selected wine glasses from a shelf on which they were lined up according to their size and purpose. At the sink, she rinsed off the dust that had settled from disuse and dried each of them with paper towels.
Oxfam would probably sell the glasses for a fraction of what they were worth, he thought. He wouldn’t take them with him wherever it was he would move.
Edmund rifled through an upper cabinet filled with assorted bottles of wine and spirits that had never made it to the wine cooler, finding the champagne and flinching when he recalled why it had not been drunk.
The brief task they completed together reminded him of the thrill and anticipation of the life they thought would lead together in this house. Moving in together had been like unwrapping a large gift from the aunt who always got her presents just right. Even when combined, their individual possessions could not have filled this house; everything in Ovidia’s flat would have only taken up two of the five bedrooms. This kitchen was cavernous in contrast to the kitchens he’d owned before. This place had been the first time he’d ever visualised himself remaining in a house, not one or two years into the future, but five or ten, not an investment but a life.
He’d never been more insecure of himself than when he chose and prepared the house for him and Ovidia. Only when it was renovated had he brought her to see it. It had not been his intention to ask her to move in with him — he’d been afraid she’d refuse. He’d bought the house on the premise that the proximity to her house would mean it would be almost as if they lived together.
But Ovidia had been a step ahead.
‘Are you asking me to move in with you?’ she had asked as they’d wandered through the reception rooms and down to the kitchen for the first time together.
‘Well,’ he’d hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he’d said. ‘No.’ It was unlike him to prevaricate. ‘I mean the house is here, and I’m in it. If you’d move in, it would make me really happy.’
He’d asked the designer to add a few useful items, and, when he and Ovidia had first moved in, they’d opened drawers in this kitchen to find neatly organised cutlery, crockery, and glassware gleaming with newness. The designer had selected them to match the style of the house — urban and quietly sophisticated.
‘It saves us from running around headless trying to find pots and pans that match the place,’ Ovidia had said that first morning, pressing the cabinet doors open and shutting them again. The designer had created areas for privacy, for comfort, for entertaining, skilled as she was in anticipating the needs of a contemporary household.
Of course, what they were meant to do was to build upon it with their own taste, but that had happened only sporadically, a few colourful mugs, a few souvenirs from their trips. Ovidia had kept her flat, so most of her decor remained there. The few times he thought about it, their families not knowing about the house robbed it of the sense of permanence it could have had.
Edmund had paused while examining the vase of large silk flowers in muted shades of pink and purple that the designer had left as a gift perched on the peninsula. ‘To tell you the truth. It’s a bit overwhelming.’
Ovidia had grinned, her teeth showing. ‘That’s hilarious, you being overwhelmed? By a house?’
‘It's not just the house,’ he’d replied, not meeting her gaze. ‘It’s a new life. It’s moving in with someone for the first time in my life — at my age.’
Ovidia had looked taken aback. ‘Hang on, you didn’t tell me that. You’ve never lived with someone?’
‘It’s just never happened for me. I moved a suitcase in with ...’
‘The Lady in Beige,’ Ovidia had teased, referring to a woman he’d mentioned he’d dated.
‘Not “the Lady in Beige”. This one habitually wore linen pants.’
‘In beige?’
‘Off-white,’ he’d replied, handing her a plate for her approval. ‘We lasted about two months after that. Our breakup was calm, peaceable, no drama, about as exciting as our relationship.’
He had listened to her giggle.
‘So when I've been superseded, what will you call me?’ She’d planted her hand on her hips, still grinning.
‘The one who wore rainbows.’ It’d come out flat. He couldn’t joke about the idea of her leaving.
9
Anne had met Edmund three times. The first time, sitting beside him at dinner more than a year and a half previously, she’d found him disinterested in her presence, spending most of the dinner with his back turned towards her, cutting her out of the conversations.
That evening, Anne had already felt slightly brushed aside. She hadn’t wanted to go to the evening get-together; she’d wanted to watch the first episode of a new interior-design show that was premiering. Instead, she’d found herself at the end of the table beside Edmund while the others — Jasper, John, Phil, and Lucinda — were chatting animatedly without making an effort to include
her, while constantly asking Edmund’s opinion on business and economics. He’d replied each time with a brief, succinct response as if refusing to be drawn into the conversation.
John had occasionally leaned across the table to her asking, ‘You all right?’ And each time she’d replied ‘yes’, though she wasn’t. She’d tried to engage Edmund in conversation, asking about his work and the last location she’d heard he’d visited, but he hadn’t answered her third question, instead refilling her glass with wine. Anne had interpreted it as a request for silence, and she was not inclined to beg for his company. Later, she’d described Edmund’s behaviour to Jasper, and Jasper had apologised to her, saying he wasn’t always like that, not unpleasant anyhow. Edmund was always at least polite and was an excellent conversationalist.
The next time, Edmund had seemed much more pleasant to her. It had been at a bookshop celebrating how well John’s book had been received. There had been perhaps four dozen people at the event. Finger food had been served, and she remembered feeling flattered that he’d chosen to talk to her, especially since there’d been a number of people from the publishing industry that had to be more interesting for Edmund to talk to. Anne decided that he’d been paying attention to her in lieu of an apology — checking if her glass needed refilling and asking insightful questions about her daughters. However, she felt that he wasn’t particularly interested in her answers. At the end of that evening, she was sure she knew why Jasper always had an excuse not to invite him to socialise. He was, despite his manners, distant and preoccupied and at times seemed to be disinterested in her company, though he had chosen to remain beside her. There was something about his eyes, as if he had something on his mind, or, as she’d thought at the time, as if he was bored. Despite his efforts, Edmund hadn’t been nice enough to overcome the first impression she’d had of him.
The third time, they’d barely spoken. It had been at his parents’ house, and, having seemed impatient and distracted, he’d left before dinner without an explanation. His mother and father had briefly discussed what could have made him leave and then shrugged his behaviour away.