by Zaza, Agatha
He climbed up another floor and exhaled in preparation, visualising opening one of the doors and finding Ovidia and Edmund’s bedroom, the place where they’d make love and afterwards sleep with their arms wrapped around each other.
He steeled himself and pushed open the first door. He found what appeared to be a TV room. He could see that this was where their lives really took place. It was large, and in its centre was a long velveteen sofa in deep grey, with a scattering of cushions in bold bird and floral prints. To one side of the sofa were several women’s magazines neatly arranged, unread, unopened in their plastic wrapping. On them were two wine glasses, dredges of red wine dried within them. In a magazine rack were copies of The Economist and National Geographic. Edmund had had subscriptions to both magazines since he was a teenager. On the wall was a large flat-screen TV. A single shelf extended along the width of the wall at his eye level, and on it were books that had really been read — their spines were bent and folded, and here and there a ripped piece of paper marked a place where its reader had abandoned the book. Two Hundred Classic Cryptic Crosswords had a pencil jammed within, its covers dog eared from Edmund’s efforts.
Jasper could imagine Ovidia here, though someone had come in after and straightened her notebooks and tidied her cache of pencils into matching pale wood cups. Three giant photo prints of Icelandic ponies in motion, their manes flowing in the breeze, were mounted on the wall, each in tones of grey framed in the same pale wood. On the sofa was a throw, a simple hand-knitted pattern, amateur but neatly done. He remembered Ovidia saying that if she ever had more time she’d knit — but she’d always been too busy when they were together.
It seemed she’d found the time since she’d left him. Jasper stroked the throw with his fingers and visualised her bent over it, knitting, the needles clack-clacking, stopping every so often to see how much she’d done. He realised that in his mind, she still had shoulder-length hair, but it was gone — as were the reasons why she could not find enough time to knit.
Jasper sat down on the coffee table with his head in his hands and imagined Edmund beside her, holding the knitting magazine, pointing out where she’d gone wrong and helping her untangle the wool. He imagined them giggling like lovers so often do.
He and Ovidia had had wonderful times, too, especially in the beginning. They’d spent whole mornings in bed, escaping only to make a cup of tea and toast.
‘I’ve met someone special,’ he’d told Edmund when they’d met soon after at their parents’ house. ‘No, I’m not going into details now. I don’t want to jinx it.’
‘Jinx it! What are you twelve? Tell me or don’t tell me.’
‘She’s beautiful, smart — a civil engineer. I know that doesn’t make her sound particularly special, but I can’t put how I feel in words. She does talk quite a bit, though.’
They’d both shrugged in good humour. ‘You’re used to it,’ Edmund had said, referring to their mother.
‘She’s not like Mummy. She can talk about absolutely anything on earth, no matter how trivial or ridiculous, and make it sound intelligent.’
‘I’m sure that’s what Dad says about Mummy, too,’ his brother had replied. ‘Well, I can’t wait to meet this woman. I’ll bring my earplugs.’ He’d patted Jasper affectionately on the shoulder and handed him another beer.
‘You’d really like her. I know you would,’ Jasper had replied, and Edmund had nodded.
Obviously, Edmund did like Ovidia. Edmund had also recognised that Ovidia was in fact beautiful and amazing and smart, and this house was theirs. Jasper slammed his fist against his thigh.
The last time Edmund had bought a flat, Jasper had been his first guest. They’d arrived at the building and, as they entered the lift, Edmund had thrown his jacket over his arm, while Jasper remained in his, drops of rain clinging to its fabric.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Edmund had asked, gesturing ahead of them as the lift doors opened.
Its front door had been open. A man had been polishing already immaculate wood floors with a large machine. He’d nodded at their entrance, not stopping to take the earbuds from his ears.
‘Oh my god.’ Jasper’s line of sight had been immediately drawn to the view of the city and the river. ‘This is really nice.’
Jasper had greeted the cleaner over the sound of the machine, though he’d barely looked at the man as he was already distracted by his opulent surroundings. Edmund had headed directly to the large glass windows that stretched across the expanse of the wall and stepped through onto a terrace.
‘What was wrong with the last one?’ Jasper had asked as he followed his brother, turning around twice to see as much of the sitting room as he could on his way. The finishing in the flat had been in dark greys and black, almost in contrast to the late-autumn blue sky that the flat had looked out upon. Penthouse, Jasper had corrected himself. ‘Except that it was tiny by comparison.’
‘Sold it,’ Edmund had said, running his hands along the railing that encompassed the enormous balcony. Jasper had joined him outside, pulling his jacket around him.
‘Really?’ Jasper had replied ‘I kind of liked it. This one’s great, but I don’t know, a little trendy maybe.’
‘What’s wrong with it being trendy?’
‘Well, if you like it — nothing,’ Jasper had replied off-handedly, turning back to the view and realising he could see a restaurant that he and Ovidia had recently been to and liked. ‘It’s not something I’d thought you’d choose.’
‘Really?’ Edmund had replied. Then he nodded. ‘Good. I just wanted a second opinion. This one’s a financial stretch. It’ll be a good investment.’
‘Another investment,’ Jasper had said, childishly skipping a few steps across the balcony to test his nerve — they had been on the twelfth floor. He’d skipped back to Edmund and asked, ‘When are you going to buy somewhere to live? You know, where you’re not going to think about how much it’ll be worth next year, and, I don’t know, paint it yellow and install floor-to-ceiling pine panelling.’
They’d both laughed, recalling their childhood home, which had been built in the sixties and never substantially redecorated until both sons had moved out.
‘God, it must have taken years to convince them to get rid of that panelling.’ Jasper had leaned against the railing beside his brother. ‘Dad seriously thought it would ruin the house price.’
‘Probably doubled in value over night,’ Edmund had said. ‘Do you remember Mummy’s face when she first saw the sitting room without the panelling? She looked devastated.’
‘I would have put it back up, if I could.’ Jasper had thought about how miserable she’d looked as they’d shown her the newly plastered and painted walls in a duck-egg blue, the pale yellow gone forever.
‘I guess they’d been so proud of what was then a fashionable house that they didn’t realise it had just become ridiculous,’ Edmund had said. ‘Well, not ridiculous …’
Jasper had thought he knew what Edmund had been trying to say, that they had underestimated how much the house’s outdated décor had meant to the two who’d worked hard to buy and care for it.
‘I asked them if they’d consider moving, but they seemed content with a new conservatory,’ Edmund had said. ‘Insisted that the house held too many memories to leave it to strangers.’
‘Memories,’ Jasper had scoffed. ‘Of what? Projectile vomiting and loose teeth? It’s not as if we had the most exciting family life.’
‘I remember the first night you ever got drunk,’ Edmund had said. ‘I took you out, remember? Mummy had sat up waiting for us the whole night and, when we came home, she served you dinner at two in the morning.’
‘I can’t believe she sanctioned a night of illegal drinking. She’d never have let me out without you. Absolutely everyone else was going to that party.’
‘And I had to spend a Saturday night with a bunch of fifteen-year-olds. At least if the party had been near a pub, I could have gone for a drink aro
und the corner. But I knew she’d kill me if anything happened. I spent the party staring at the ceiling and avoiding the attentions of underage girls from your school.’
‘Yeah, but you were quite discreet, I remember. No one knew I’d been chaperoned by my big brother.’ They’d both laughed. ‘Strange to think half of those teens now have kids and responsible jobs, houses and things.’
‘Well, you could have all that soon,’ Edmund had said, he’d winked and crossed the balcony and stood at the large windows. ‘One-way glass,’ he’d said. ‘No one can see in. I can have my privacy while watching the rest of the world.’
‘And that’s your plan?’ Jasper had asked. He’d known he was repeating the question, but his brother had been, as usual, making plans that never seemed to involve, or leave room for, another person.
His own relationship with Ovidia had been solid. Their evenings had been spent together, or if they were apart it would only be for a short while. Something about Edmund sitting watching the world from his penthouse had struck him as incredibly lonely.
‘Well, I need furniture first.’ Edmund had tapped the glass. Jasper could see he was dismissing the question.
‘It sounds as if you’re not even looking.’
‘I’m not,’ Edmund had shrugged.
‘You don’t see yourself with a pine-panelled yellow living room of your own? Kids …’
‘Kids …’ Edmund had given a comic imitation of shock. ‘You and Ovidia are at the thinking-about-kids stage?’
‘Not yet. But we are moving in together properly soon. And yeah, we talk about things like that. It’s not on the cards immediately, but,’ he’d nodded, his heart swelling in happiness at the idea, ‘I see kids in our future.’
The cleaner had leaned in and waved once, indicating that he was going. They’d both nodded in response, and Edmund had thanked him.
‘Remember, my offer’s still open for your deposit.’
‘We talked about it, but Ovidia’s keen to do it on her own. She moved a few times when she was young. I think her family had a few financial hiccoughs. I guess that’s why she’s pretty much obsessed with buying a flat. But then, you’re obsessed with property, but you’re just making money.’
Jasper had darted from the room, realising that he hadn’t seen the whole flat. While it was majestic, it didn’t mean anything, he’d thought. It was just an investment. That realisation had dampened his enthusiasm for it. The polished wood floors had continued into two large bedrooms, each large and empty, the fixtures gleaming, unused and unspoilt. Each bedroom had pale contemporary marble tiling and windows that were operated with a switch. The master bedroom had been enormous. In the middle of its floor had been a large bed, also new. A kilim rug at the foot of the bed had lent some colour. Several suitcases had lain neatly on their sides, and a few large unopened boxes were labelled ‘books’.
‘What do you think of that view?’ Edmund had asked, appearing behind him.
Jasper hadn’t even looked out of the window. He’d glanced out.
‘It this all of your stuff?’ Jasper had demanded, and Edmund nodded nonchalantly. ‘Where’re the things from your old place?’
‘Nothing worth keeping.’ Edmund had shrugged.
‘But,’ Jasper had stuttered, ‘you’re over forty, and this is all you’ve accumulated? What about souvenirs and, I don’t know, junk?’
Edmund had snorted. ‘You mean my equivalent of pine panelling. You know I don’t like to hold onto things.’
‘Still, this is a bit extreme. It’s so cold, so impersonal. There’re no memories.’
‘And I’ll fill it with new memories.’
‘But you’re selling it.’
‘It’s just stuff, Jasper, and this is just a house. There’s nothing special about it. Someone lived in it before me and someone will come after. Someone out there’s lying on my old sofa thinking what a deal he got from Oxfam.’
Jasper had shaken his head. ‘That was a perfectly good sofa. If I didn’t have such a cool one myself, I’d have nabbed it.’
‘Then next time I move, you’ll be first to go through my rubbish.’ Edmund had sat down on the bed and crossed his legs in satisfaction.
26
It was the afternoon after a race. Ovidia and Edmund had been in a family-owned café in a small seaside town. It had been raining since morning, and Ovidia was sitting with Edmund in a small glass conservatory from which they could see the sea in the distance. A scattering of dogwalkers and determined tourists clad in waterproofs tramped across the sand. Occasionally, a small huddle of a family or a lone passer rushed by trying to get somewhere without being soaked.
‘Are we boring?’ Ovidia had asked. After hours of exertion, her feet plodding on the country gravel roads, her legs had ached pleasantly, her feet throbbed gently, and a magazine lay on her lap unread. At times like this, she felt a peace and happiness and, glancing at Edmund, the feeling intensified.
Sunlight had been filtering in between the light rainclouds, which drifted away only to be replaced. In the background, on a radio show, a panel of experts discussed a book, lauding its merits.
‘We’re in a village in Somerset eating cake?’ Edmund had flipped the magazine he was reading closed. Slices of apple cake lay half eaten, empty cups of tea and a pot beside them. ‘We were in Cape Town a few months ago.’
‘Eating cake and drinking tea.’
‘We had a fair amount of wine, too.’ He’d chuckled.
Ovidia had laughed. She’d hoped he knew what she meant. They’d settled into a way of life that she wasn’t sure how to define. He had his flat and she had hers. They ate out, they travelled, they did almost everything together, even very occasionally socialising, tentatively meeting other people together. But that wasn’t what she meant.
‘The term you’re looking for is “old married couple”,’ Edmund had offered.
‘That’s not it.’
He’d leaned towards her, moving his cake away of the way. ‘It’s the question of what happens now, I think,’ he’d suggested. He’d inhaled deeply before he began. ‘Jasper has made enough progress. This girlfriend seems to actually be a positive influence. He’s putting on a little weight. I think it’s time for us to consider telling him.’
‘Why?’ Ovidia had said after a pause. And how, she’d thought. And when?
‘We’re back here again, aren’t we?’ Edmund had said. ‘We have to.’
‘So we’ve said, I don’t know how many times.’ She’d shaken her head. ‘But it’s not as if it’s hurting our relationship. Or is it, and I just can’t see it?’ Ovidia had scratched the back of her head. ‘It’s not as if we’re sneaking around. The whole world can see us. I still haven’t heard the hammer of angry fists on our front door.’
‘I imagine that, when I tell him, he’ll completely break down … or worse,’ Edmund had said. ‘What if it gets so bad that it ruins what we have?’
She saw him ponder it. She’d known part of him hated keeping their relationship from Jasper. The other part she hadn’t been so sure of.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he’d said. She could tell he was putting off the conversation he’d started.
‘It’s raining,’ she’d replied.
‘Not that hard.’
They’d paid and bade the teller goodbye, despite her offer to refill their pot for free if they’d wanted to wait for a while.
‘Old married couples,’ Ovidia had said as she tucked her arm in his, ‘make plans for the future. They acknowledge each other’s place in their lives. I feel as if we live in the now, as if we were twenty-five-year-olds who don’t really believe that they’ll last together.’
‘I would marry you in an instant,’ he’d said. ‘But that for me would be pushing our secrecy too far. To have a wedding, no matter how small, and not invite my family would be too much. I think you feel the same way about yours.’
He’d been right. Even though they had what she’d felt was an idyllic relationshi
p, the secret was a wall around utopia, making it something that couldn’t be shared.
‘The way I see it,’ Edmund had said, ‘when we tell him, or I tell him — it’s my responsibility. No, it is.’ He’d stopped her as she opened her mouth. ‘I know you still carry a lot of pain and guilt, but Jasper is my brother.’
She’d forced herself not to argue.
‘We’ll pretend it’s just happened. That our relationship is new.’
‘What?’ She’d stopped.
‘Think about it. It’s much longer since you two broke up, if we say we met last week or even last month and that it’s all new …’
She could see he was excited about his idea.
‘We could say we wanted to tell him before we took it any further,’ she’d suggested. ‘It would be nowhere near as painful as the truth.’
There had been a lightness in her step as they’d continued their walk. They’d looked like everyone around them, she thought, an innocuous couple. She’d felt a thrill. Soon Jasper would know, and the two of them together, even if Edmund had insisted it was his responsibility, would help him heal. They’d have to pretend for just a little while. Edmund would be faultless in front of his brother and family — he deserved that.
‘What would we do if Jasper told your family about what I did, in this new scenario?’
‘He won’t.’
‘But what if he …’
‘Ovidia … this is the best idea we have. We’d be free.’
They’d climbed over a low beach wall onto the beach of damp grey sand and gravel. Their hoods pulled over their heads. The rain had been forgivingly light. Still, Ovidia had felt a drop or two running down her back.
‘Then we’ll tell Jasper as soon as we can,’ she’d said. ‘So you can marry me.’
‘Well, no — I haven’t actually asked you yet,’ he’d squeezed her tighter.
‘I could ask you,’ she’d said.
‘No way. And it’s not about being hopelessly old-fashioned, it’s because —’ His phone had rung. ‘Sorry,’ he’d said and answered it.