Pretenders. The

by Zaza, Agatha

  Jasper paused again. ‘Oliver — is he …’ He looked for an appropriate euphemism.

  ‘Dead?’ Edmund suggested. He nodded, slouching back in the sofa. ‘It took less than half an hour in the end.’

  37

  She was being good, Holly thought to herself. She’d even been to the bathroom to reapply her make-up and straighten her clothes. She reassured herself that the day was almost over, that Jasper would emerge after talking to his brother and feel satisfied that he’d done his fraternal duty. Then they’d all leave, and she’d return to her life as a bride-to-be: wedding planning, thanking her friends for their congratulatory messages, and deciding if she should change her last name to Jasper’s or not or perhaps go for the double-barrelled option.

  Ovidia, Holly told herself, was just an ex. Jasper and Ovidia’s relationship had probably ended in some dramatic scene or perhaps had been embarrassing — like when Immanuel had abandoned her for a wealthy brunette whose family originated from the same part of India as his. Afterward, she had berated herself for not having foreseen that their relationship would not last — his constant references to affluence, her never being introduced to his family, periods of overwhelming attention and affection followed by long disappearances and apathy.

  Still in the bathroom, Holly typed Immanuel’s name into Facebook but closed it before the search results were listed. The difference between her and Jasper was, if she met Immanuel now, she wouldn’t be plunged into an abyss of unhappiness.

  But Holly didn’t believe herself when, in a whisper, she reassured herself that everything would be all right. Nonetheless, she continued to tell herself that Jasper would explain to her what happened and then everything would be as it had been before. Inside, she could feel her emotions escalating, and all she wanted was to leave the house with Jasper.

  Earlier, when Edmund and Ovidia had been out of the house, she and John had coerced Anne into telling them the little more she knew about Oliver and to show them the pictures. Jasper had glanced at them as they handed them to each other, the rest of them lingering on each image. Having seen Edmund’s pallor when he arrived, she hadn’t needed him to confirm that the baby was dead.

  ‘Do you think I’m being really shallow if all I can think of is my relationship?’ she asked, joining Anne and John in the kitchen again. ‘What if this wrecks everything? What if Jasper goes back to her?’

  ‘Holly,’ John wrapped his hand around hers. ‘It’s okay to be worried and even scared. This is a pretty bizarre situation.’

  ‘Even if he stays with me, how will I ever socialise with Ovidia? How will I ever like her?’ Holly asked, her resolve to be optimistic already disintegrating.

  ‘It’s been at least four years, Holly.’ Anne leaned in, resting her elbows on the kitchen peninsula. ‘He’s had time to get over her.’

  ‘Right,’ Jasper strolled in with an obviously feigned levity. ‘We’re through. We can go home now.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘What a bloody awful day this has been.’

  Holly could tell he was pretending to be all right. His eyes refused to meet hers, and he rocked back and forth on his heels. Holly curled her hands into fists.

  ‘What do you mean “a bloody awful day”?’ Holly straightened up in her seat, erect and angry. ‘We announced our engagement today.’

  ‘You know I didn’t mean it that way,’ Jasper said, dismissing her reaction with a flick of his head. ‘Besides, we can pick up tomorrow where we left off.’

  ‘Really? Burying your nephew is “picking up where we left off”?’ Holly said accusingly. ‘How are we supposed to have a wedding with your ex sitting at the high table with us. And what about today — are we just expected to never say anything about Edmund’s charade or Oliver to anyone?’

  ‘It’s no one else’s business,’ Jasper replied in defence of his brother.

  ‘Well, I don’t see why I should have to keep it a secret,’ Holly said, feeling her aggression growing. She scratched her fingernails against the top of the kitchen peninsula.

  Jasper was becoming agitated. He tapped his fingers against the empty stool and then, resting his weight against it, asked, ‘Why would you tell anyone anyway?’

  Holly hesitated for a moment. Anne and John were sitting silent, their body language telling of their discomfort. Disregarding their presence, Holly continued. ‘That’s beside the point.’ Again, she paused, jutting out her chin. ‘Jasper, why didn’t you tell me about her?’

  Jasper looked at his shoes.

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s because it was a long time ago.’ Holly forced herself to say it to him. ‘You’re still in love with her — she left you, and you aren’t over her.’ Her face reddened and tears came to her eyes.

  Jasper didn’t respond.

  ‘I’m second best, aren’t I?’ Holly said, choking back her tears.

  ‘You weren’t …’ Jasper began and trailed off.

  Holly flinched. He’d used the wrong tense. It was tantamount to a confession. She turned to John and Anne looking for help — they must have heard him, too.

  Anne and John glanced at each other and then the floor. They looked uncomfortable and desperate to escape.

  Anne cleared her throat. ‘I think perhaps you guys should wait until tomorrow to talk about this — things will be a bit clearer then,’ Anne said. ‘Right, Jasper?’

  ‘I have to talk to Ovidia,’ Jasper said instead. He turned and hurried up the stairs.

  Stunned into silence, Holly slumped on to a barstool and cried.

  38

  Ovidia wasn’t expecting him or anyone else. She was in front of the TV when he found her. It was off. She had been readying herself to leave and instead found herself curled on the sofa, caressing the grey blanket she’d knitted. She’d gone first into Oliver’s room, ran a hand over his cot and fluffed his pillow. She’d opened and closed his drawers, smoothed down his neatly folded clothes. She stopped in the middle of room and realised every item within it would be removed, that the walls would be repainted, the whole space used for someone else, perhaps not even a baby. She thought of another child wearing his clothes and the other little boy called Oliver that would own the handcrafted metal letters. Somewhere soon, another baby would lie on his back in his cot mesmerised by Oliver’s mobile, and another mother would lean over the cot stroking her own baby’s face, whispering to him that he was the most wonderful creature who’d ever lived.

  Ovidia had said goodbye to the room and its contents, closed its door quietly, and crossed the corridor to the TV room. The first thing she noticed was one of a pair of running shoes that she’d misplaced months earlier. She and Edmund would sit here like polite guests, not touching anything except the TV’s remote. Her magazines accumulated unread, and bookmarks remained exactly where they’d been inserted in a previous life when they read and played music.

  Ovidia picked up her shoe and recalled the morning four months earlier when its loose insole had been irritating her on her run. She’d come up here afterwards, shoe in hand to examine it. Edmund had been in here, on his mobile, with Oliver asleep in his arms. She’d walked past him, brushing the top of his head in greeting and had sat down on the sofa, completely engrossed in examining the shoe.

  A few minutes later, she’d felt Edmund standing above her, still on his phone, holding Oliver out to her.

  ‘Just a minute,’ she’d said, trying to extract the insole, turning away from him. He’d left the room, and she’d heard the nursery door close.

  She’d been considering her options for a tool to lever out the insole when she’d heard Edmund in the corridor on the phone, asking for something to be repeated when Oliver began wailing, all four months of him. She’d smiled and returned to her shoe. For some reason, the shoe had her attention — Edmund would look after Oliver.

  Now, the insole was still as she’d left it, half peeled off, the job incomplete, the shoe neatly placed beneath the chair, the housekeeper knowing that Ovidia didn’t like anyone to interfere with he
r running equipment.

  ‘You were never one for crying,’ Jasper said, startling her. She got the impression he’d been watching her for a while. He closed the door behind himself.

  He looked frightened. Here, out of earshot of the others, did he still believe she was the woman who’d tortured him all that time ago? How was it, she asked herself, that after five years apart, she could still terrify him?

  She watched him take several deep breaths. Jasper sat down at the other end of the sofa, facing her at an angle. What Ovidia saw were the times she and Edmund had sat together on this sofa and watch TV. She’d often put her feet in his lap, or he’d lay his head on her lap, or they’d lean against each other eating popcorn.

  ‘When Edmund mentioned he was watching a show on TV, I should have known a woman was involved,’ Jasper said. ‘It all feels a bit ridiculous now, all those little hints and giveaways are finally in context.’

  Ovidia didn’t respond.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Oliver.’ Jasper changed track, as if beginning again.

  Ovidia nodded.

  ‘Are you going to hold a funeral?’ he asked with a tremor in his voice.

  ‘We haven’t thought about it,’ Ovidia replied, willing him to go away.

  ‘If you did, then I’m sure no one would … confront you about all the secrecy. Everyone would think it was the wrong time,’ he suggested.

  She thought for a moment that he was about to reach over and touch her. She drew back, repulsed by the memory of his touch. It was a lifetime ago when he’d last held her. She had been a different person, a vile and violent person, someone she didn’t want to remember.

  ‘So,’ Jasper slapped his thighs and seemed as if he was about to stand up. ‘I’ve seen you again — like I dreamt I would. Still nothing is sorted out, no questions answered.’ He scratched his forehead.

  ‘It’s not as if I was ready for this either,’ Ovidia said.

  ‘It’s unfair, Ovidia,’ he said. ‘Within a year you were in love with someone else, and I was still suffering. Everything you touched turned to gold: great career, you live in a place like this with your partner and child … Where’s the justice?’

  Ovidia stopped in mid-motion, frozen in the act of stroking the blanket.

  ‘Oh God, no, I didn’t mean to insinuate that Oliver’s death was anything about justice — I’m sorry,’ he blabbered hurriedly.

  They were both silent for a moment.

  ‘Anne showed us Oliver’s pictures. He was beautiful,’ Jasper continued. ‘Then I realised that he had my eyes … I’d never really thought about it before, but Edmund and I have the same eyes. It was like seeing what our kids, yours and mine, would have looked like.’

  Ovidia resumed stroking the blanket — surprised. It had been such a long time since she’d been in Jasper’s presence that the idea that Oliver would have looked like his uncle had never occurred to her. Oliver and Jasper had never existed in the same realm. Jasper and the life she’d lived with him hadn’t overlapped with the life of her child.

  ‘Did you ever imagine us with a family?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘Never.’ Ovidia shook her head. ‘I’m glad we didn’t make that mistake. I was a frightening, horrible person. No child should have to grow up with a mother like that. We’d have been tied together forever if we had had a child — it’d have always been an excuse. We’d never have been able to escape, to be happy again.’

  ‘And you’ve been happy with Edmund?’ he asked.

  ‘Unbelievably happy,’ Ovidia replied. She wanted Jasper to leave so she could be alone with her sadness. ‘Jasper, I don’t want to be mean, but do we have to talk about this right now?’

  ‘When will you want to talk about it?’ he asked. ‘When it suits you? When your world is all right and cosy, then you’ll want to talk about it — maybe?’

  Jasper stood up, straightening his shirt as he rose. ‘I can’t believe how wrong I was about you. It wasn’t enough that you ended up almost killing me, but then you just left. Just like that. Not an “I’m sorry” or a cliché “it’s not you, it’s me”. No. You just went. And now, five years later, living with my brother, you can’t spare me an explanation — something. I’m just supposed to be okay?’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘I have been on the brink of suicide,’ he said, and a jolt shot through her. She’d had no idea. ‘I have clutched those pills in my hands. I have held the knife to my wrist. If it weren’t for Edmund …’

  He took a few steps towards her.

  ‘Did you love me?’ he asked her, looking down at her on the sofa.

  ‘I thought I did,’ Ovidia replied.

  ‘But when you met Edmund, you realised that you actually hadn’t.’ Jasper interpreted it for her. ‘You never even came back to pick up your books and clothes. You left your photos and stuff from your childhood with me — remember, the chipped Take That mug you used every morning?’

  ‘I wrote them off. I thought about calling you and concocting some ludicrous plan where I could get my things and you wouldn’t be at home. Then I realised it was all just material, meaningless — I hadn’t listened to Take That in years. And their solo careers were …’ She stopped herself from rambling. ‘It wasn’t easy to stay away. And now, again, everything about my life has changed. Over these last few months, I’ve lost everything. I no longer have a career, or a child, and soon I won’t even have my partner. So, there, you have your justice — or something like it.’

  Ovidia stood up, holding the grey throw.

  Without asking, Jasper put his arms around her. At first, she became rigid, unwilling to concede to his comforting her. Then she let her head fall onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. His familiarity instead became comforting, and she felt the warmth of his breath as he lowered his head until it was just above her. His scent, his heartbeat, everything about him, reminded her of losing Edmund.

  ‘You could have stopped me before this,’ Ovidia murmured, her voice muffled in his shirt. ‘Why didn’t you tell someone, have me locked up?’

  Her words became indistinct as they turned into thoughts in her head. She could smell his scent and feel his body through his clothes. Minutes passed, and Ovidia let Jasper hold her, knowing this would be the last time it could ever happen. Then she straightened, being gently woken from a trance.

  ‘You should go,’ Ovidia suggested.

  Jasper nodded and left the room without turning back.

  39

  Jasper arrived in the kitchen to find John, whose face was taut with irritation, and Holly, who was resting her face on the kitchen peninsula. Jasper took many deep breaths as he approached, each one feeling more useless than the last.

  ‘Holly was right. It’s time to get home,’ John said. ‘But Anne’s making Edmund tea. We’re going to be here all night.’

  ‘What did you two talk about?’ Holly asked, raising her head, her eyes rimmed red, puffy and bloodshot.

  ‘Oliver,’ Jasper replied. His response was too quick to be believable.

  ‘You’re lying, Jasper,’ Holly accused him, glaring at him.

  ‘Let’s call a taxi the minute Anne’s finished. We can talk when we get out of here,’ Jasper said.

  Anne returned, walking briskly back into the kitchen from the extension where she’d been with Edmund.

  ‘Are we ready?’ John asked.

  Anne went to the furthest door in a row of cabinets and sprung it open revealing an array of dehydrated pot noodles and powdered mashed potato.

  ‘Just a few more minutes.’ She peeled off the lid of a noodle cup that proclaimed itself to be authentic Korean flavoured and poured hot water into it.

  Holly watched her and then picked up her handbag and said, ‘I’m going.’

  John went to stand next to Holly. ‘Anne, I think these two can take care of themselves.’

  ‘Remember, I didn’t even want to come here this morning,’ Anne said, holding the hot cardboard pot with a dish towel as she walked back
out into the extension.

  ‘Then we just leave her here. She’s a big girl, she can find her own way home,’ John said.

  Taken aback at John’s suggestion, Holly and Jasper hesitated before following him up the steps through the ground floor’s large lounge and to the front door. Even in his haste, John hesitated.

  ‘Imagine you’re a kid with all this to run around in — play hide and seek, break things?’ John said. ‘Endless fun. What a shame.’

  When John put his hand on the front doorknob, Jasper noticed that once again the front door had been unlocked and slightly open. John fiddled with the latch, trying to lock it behind them.

  Holly followed him out, breathing in the evening’s fresh air as she stopped on the top step, turning to look up at the house. Jasper stopped beside her, taking in its façade, sure that he’d never return. He took Holly’s hand, feeling its warmth and she let him hold it.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to her.

  Holly smiled.

  With one foot off the top step, Jasper froze.

  ‘What did she mean?’ Jasper asked aloud. He looked at their faces and realised that neither John nor Holly knew the answer.

  Looking momentarily at Holly, who again was agape and again on the verge of tears, Jasper spun and raced back into the house, the door sprung against its broken jamb unable to lock them out.

  ‘What now?’ John demanded.

  Jasper barged into the extension where Anne sat in the three-seater and Edmund, still in his armchair, was eating the pot noodles with a spoon. Edmund was talking in low tones, and Anne was nodding; they stopped, both startled.

  ‘What did she mean when she said I should have stopped her “before this”?’ Jasper demanded.

  Holly and John caught up with him, remaining just inside the kitchen.

  ‘Edmund?’ Jasper’s voice rose, nearing hysterical. ‘What did she mean?’