Moonlight on the Thames

by Lauren Westwood

  ‘Nothing. It’s stupid, it’s just…’

  ‘It’s not stupid – whatever it is.’ Nicola stood up. ‘Do you want to come over here? Or I can come to yours—’

  ‘No – wait. Just a minute.’

  Nicola waited, anxiety clawing at her chest. In the background she heard shouting and the sound of a child crying. She’d been so happy when Jules had married Stuart, had kids, bought a house in Putney within walking distance of a good school. It had made her feel like some of those years spent protecting her had had an effect. What could be going so wrong as to make Jules cancel Christmas?

  ‘Stuart’s home – finally.’ Nicola heard the anger in her sister’s voice. ‘I told him I’m going out. I’ll be at yours in half an hour.’

  ‘Yes, great. And Jules – we’ll sort it. OK?’

  Her sister ended the call.

  *

  By the time there was a knock on the door forty-five minutes later, Nicola was frantic with worry. She’d tried to distract herself by going through the accounts, noting down a page of questions and points that needed clarification. But she couldn’t keep her mind on the facts and figures. Why was Jules cancelling Christmas?

  Nicola rushed downstairs and opened the door. Before her sister could even speak, she threw her arms around her and gave her a hug. She breathed in the warm floral scent of her hair that hadn’t changed since childhood. They lived so close – why didn’t they see each other more often?

  Finally, she let go. She held her sister at arm’s length. Jules gave her a strange look.

  ‘What’s that for? Are you OK, Nic?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Sorry, it’s just good to see you. Now, come upstairs and tell me what this is all about. I have wine.’

  ‘OK,’ Jules said, like the single word was an effort. It had been about two months since she’d last seen her sister and Nicola noted the change in her. Jules had always been shorter, plumper, more bubbly and happy. Now, she looked tired, gaunt, and diminished. The light was gone from her blue eyes.

  Nicola took Jules’ coat and hung it up. She led the way upstairs to the sitting room, where she’d already poured her sister a large globe of red wine.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jules picked up the glass and started to bring it to her mouth. Then, with a sigh, she set it down again. Leaving the glass on the table, she went over to the doors that led out on to the balcony, opened them and walked outside.

  Nicola came up beside her. It was dark and cold, but there were lights along the river, making oblong sections of the water sparkle. A few houseboats moored on the other side were outlined with Christmas lights.

  ‘I hate this time of year,’ Jules announced.

  ‘No!’ Nicola said, completely taken aback. ‘No you don’t, honey. You’re upset, that’s all. You’re going to get through this. You have a lovely family, and you’re young and—’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘What?’ Nicola stared at her, stunned. ‘But that’s wonderful!’ She went again to hug her sister, but Jules pushed her away firmly.

  ‘Wonderful? Is that what you think? You?’ There was no mistaking the venom in Jules’ voice. A cold wind blew down the river. Her sister started to shiver.

  ‘Of course!’ Nicola said. She had never seen Jules act like this before. ‘Now come inside and get warm. I can drink your wine for you.’ She said it lightly, as a joke, but Jules only sighed.

  They went back inside and Nicola locked the doors. Jules went to the sofa and sat down.

  ‘Do you want something else?’ Nicola said. ‘Water? Or coffee? Tea…?’ She was embarrassed that she had so little to offer.

  ‘Nothing,’ Jules said. ‘If I have anything, I’ll just be sick.’ She gave Nicola a recriminating look. ‘How does everyone expect me to cook all that shit for Christmas when I can’t even keep down water?’

  ‘Of course you don’t have to cook.’ Nicola sat down next to her sister. As much as she really wanted a glass of wine, it probably wouldn’t improve Jules’ mood. ‘I’m sorry that the burden always falls on you.’

  ‘Are you?’ Jules snapped. ‘Because you sure as hell have never said.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Nicola shook her head, feeling ashamed. ‘I thought you liked doing Christmas. And as you can see…’ she gestured around them at the room that was devoid of anything bright or festive, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve never got why you hate Christmas so much. I mean, when we were kids – even up to the time you were at uni – you used to like it.’

  The time at uni. Nicola felt her mind slide downwards towards the black hole of memories. Towards the thing she’d never told Jules. Would never tell her.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Nicola said with forced brightness. ‘I think it’s just more fun for people like you who have a family. Kids.’ A perfect life, she didn’t add.

  ‘Kids,’ Jules snorted.

  Nicola frowned. This was all so unlike Jules – it was starting to scare her. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that…’ Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  Nicola wanted to comfort her, but Jules shook her head.

  ‘I’ve got three kids,’ she said. ‘And I love them, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that Stuart works all the time. He’s never around because he’s always got something important to do. I spend my time doing the shopping and having coffee mornings and doing yoga. And I know that people look at me and think I’ve got the perfect life.’

  Nicola nodded reflexively. There was no point trying to pretend otherwise.

  Jules eyed her. ‘Yeah, I know you think I’m mad. But you have no idea. I’m so sick of it. So bored. Tired of wiping bottoms and tidying up. Watching Iggle-sodding-Piggle on C-sodding-Beebies. Reading Aliens love underpants for the fifty millionth time.’ She sighed. ‘And do you know, I had started to make plans. The twins can go to nursery full-time starting in March. I had this idea – this crazy idea – that I was going to get a job. Get a life – do something worthwhile. I mean, I’m not qualified to do anything, but I thought maybe I could go back to university. Finish my degree.’ She wiped away another tear. ‘I know it was a stupid idea, but now, it’s impossible. I’ll have a new baby. Four kids!’ She grimaced. ‘All I’m ever going to be is… a mum!’

  As the tears rolled down her sister’s face, Nicola took her hand. This time Jules didn’t pull away. Between sobs, she continued.

  ‘All I want, Nic, is to be like you. Have the things that you have. A clean house and an exciting, glamourous job. And someone like Ollie – God, to be able to jet off to somewhere exotic and warm. Lounge around on a beach all day and have hot sex all night. That’s my idea of the perfect life.’ She swallowed. ‘Your life—’

  ‘No.’ Before Jules could continue, Nicola cut her off. The time had come to end the lies. She never should have started them in the first place. Over the years, she’d told herself they were to protect Jules, shield her from the ugly truth. But that was a lie too. She’d told those lies to protect herself. ‘That’s not my life,’ Nicola said. ‘My life is miserable and empty. And there is no Ollie, either. Not any more.’

  ‘What?’ Jules looked shocked. ‘You broke up? Why?’

  Nicola recognised that look of shock and disappointment on her sister’s face – the same one as when she looked out the window all those Christmas mornings and didn’t see a pony grazing on the lawn or a puppy frolicking in the snow. In those days, Nicola had comforted her by saying that Father Christmas had got the wrong house; Jules would surely get what she’d asked for on her birthday instead. And later on, telling her sister that Dad was fine – no, there was no need for her to come round…

  ‘Because Ollie’s not free to go jetting off somewhere exotic.’ Nicola said the words, bracing herself. ‘In fact, right now, I suspect he’s home with his wife and kids.’

  Jules jerked her hand away. ‘What the fuck are you saying?’

  ‘I lied to you,’ Nicola said. ‘Ollie
and I are not some glamourous, loved-up couple. We’re just two colleagues who have sex when it’s convenient, and then he strings me a line about this life we’re going to have together someday. The life he already has. And the rest of the time, I just work.’

  Nicola had barely even finished speaking when the slap came, hard and stinging across her cheek.

  ‘You bitch,’ Jules yelled. ‘You’re a tart, just like Mum.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nicola said. Her lower lip trembled as she put her hand to her cheek.

  ‘I’m leaving. I never want to speak to you again.’

  ‘No, Jules, please. Will you just hear me out?’ The words came out sounding futile and hollow. Jules’ reaction was no less than she deserved.

  ‘Hear you out? What more can you possibly say? All these years, I’ve fucking worshiped you. I tell everyone – my sister is perfect. She has it all. I wish I was her. I’ve always wanted to be you, Nic, you know that. And now…’ She slumped back on to the sofa, as if the fight had gone out of her.

  Nicola sat where she was, unable to move. This was all just too awful for words. What possible gain had there been to tell Jules the truth?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nicola said. ‘I’m sorry for what I’ve done, and that I lied about it. But I can’t change the past.’ It dawned on her then what Jules had said about their mum. ‘Any more than Mum can, I guess. But I thought you were fine with what she did.’

  ‘Fine!’ Jules snorted. ‘How could I be fine? She tore our family apart – tore you and I apart. But what else could I do? Where else did I have to go? You took sides, so I did too. But do you think I liked it when Ben was born? That stuck-up, entitled little brat. You don’t see it – you’re too busy “working” or having sex with married men – whatever it is you do. Dad’s been dead for a long time. But you’ve left them all to me. “Jules doesn’t work – she can do Christmas; pick Ben up from football; hang out with Mum’s family”.’

  Nicola nodded slowly. She’d been so busy going through the motions of existing rather than living, and trying to avoid her own pain, that she hadn’t even realised how selfish she’d been. It hadn’t been enough to ‘protect’ Jules – not that that was even possible. She should have been doing more, putting herself out there on the front lines the way her sister did. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged, ‘that isn’t fair. I should do more. I should talk to Mum, go see her. Take some of the burden off you.’

  Jules shrugged. ‘I don’t even care any more. What does it matter?’

  ‘It matters,’ Nicola said. ‘Family – even Ben.’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘Do you know,’ she continued, ‘I think I understand why Mum did what she did. Life is short. She had a chance at happiness, and she took it. I don’t blame her for that.’

  ‘Could have fooled me.’

  ‘OK, well, maybe I’m finally getting closer to forgiving her.’

  ‘Yes, I guess you would.’ Jules got up from the sofa. Once again, Nicola felt a rush of pain that her sister was leaving, walking out of her life. But instead, Jules went to the kitchen and took a tiny sip of the wine in the glass. For a second, her face looked like heaven. ‘So how does it feel? Being with Ollie?’ Her nose twitched as she said the name. ‘Being with someone else’s husband?’

  ‘It felt safe – because it wasn’t going to go further.’

  ‘Safe – that’s bullshit.’

  Nicola sighed. ‘OK, at first it felt exciting. Daring, I guess. But, as time went on, it felt painful. And then, it just became a habit. Habits are hard to break.’

  ‘I just can’t believe you.’ Jules put down the glass and pushed it away. ‘I mean, why would a woman like you, need to do that? You’re gorgeous, smart, thin – you could have any man you want. Why?’

  ‘Not any man,’ Nicola said, half to herself. Those texts… the day she’d ruined… That damn music that she couldn’t get out of her head. Pushing all of it aside, she turned to her sister. ‘Look, what do you want me to say, Jules? That I’m sorry? That I’m a husband-stealing bitch? Fine. Guilty.’ She held up her hands. ‘Is that going to make things better for you? Or do you want my advice? From the dark side?’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘Well, I’ll give it to you anyway.’ Nicola took a breath. ‘Love this new baby. And being pregnant. The sickness will pass. Go ahead and make your plans for the future but start enjoying now. Get your hair cut, go to a spa, buy some nice knickers – whatever it takes.’

  Jules came back over to the sofa and sat down. ‘God,’ she said, finally, ‘I must sound so ungrateful.’

  ‘No,’ Nicola lied. ‘It’s just that you already have so many things that count. A family, people who love you. Don’t sell them short.’ She took a breath. ‘That’s what Ollie did.’

  Jules looked at her. ‘So what are you going to do now?’ she said. ‘About him.’

  ‘It’s over. I told him so today. That’s why I’m home early.’

  ‘And how did he take it?’

  Nicola sighed. Why was it so tempting to lie? Tell Jules that it was fine, like she’d told herself earlier. That Ollie was relieved; she was relieved. No one had got hurt and everything was going to be all right. But she’d been truthful for the first time. She didn’t want to spoil that. ‘He didn’t believe it,’ she said.

  ‘So why end it now?’ Jules asked.

  ‘Because I’m tired of hating myself!’ Nicola replied, the words bursting out. ‘I’m tired of being complicit. Of doing the wrong thing and knowing, deep down, that I don’t deserve anything better.’

  ‘Why on earth would you feel that way?’

  Nicola shook her head. Enough had been revealed for now. She wasn’t going to lie, but she was still Jules’ big sister. There were things that she didn’t need to know. On the other hand, holding it inside for all these years had done nothing but cause a deep, gangrenous rot that infected her whole life. She would tell Jules, she decided. Just not—

  A bright, happy, tune began to play. ‘Let it Snow’. Of course, it was just like Jules to have her ringtone set to a Christmas carol. Dmitri would appreciate it, even if she didn’t. Dmitri. Taking a breath, she banished the thought of him from her mind.

  Jules frowned at the screen and answered the phone. A man’s voice spoke on the other end. ‘Thirty-nine?’ Jules replied. ‘That is high. Did you give him Calpol?’ Another pause and she spoke again. ‘Yes, I think it’s 50ml, but check the box. OK? I’ll…’ she trailed off, looking at Nicola. ‘I’ll be home in about thirty minutes.’

  Nicola stood up with a sigh. She got her phone and called a taxi, wishing her sister could stay a little longer.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Jules said, getting up. ‘Danny has a fever. He’s asking for me. I’ll wait for the taxi downstairs so I don’t disturb your work.’ She glanced over at the charity accounts, strewn out on the dining table. ‘Another big acquisition?’

  ‘No,’ Nicola said. ‘I tried to donate my knickers to a charity shop. They didn’t want them, but I stayed and helped out a little. They’re practically insolvent.’

  For the first time all evening, Jules laughed. ‘Your fancy knickers? God, I can just imagine.’

  Nicola laughed too. As unfunny as the whole charity shop incident had been, if it had happened to someone other than her, well—

  Jules came to her and gave her a hug. Nicola felt tears welling up in her eyes as she pulled her sister close and stroked her hair. ‘We’re going to be OK, aren’t we?’ Jules said.

  Nicola saw her life flash before her eyes. Her sister’s face when she finally got that puppy; her father’s hunched-over form as he worked at the deli counter; a Christmas party, a snowy night, footsteps on an icy path. Like the needle on an old vinyl record player, she forced her mind to skip forward. To her office at work, Ollie’s face in the executive loo, a phone thrown underneath a car. And finally, her memory came to rest on a man seated at a piano, his back to her, his long fingers igniting a spark unlike any she’d ever felt before. The aching sense of loss as h
e disappeared into the underground.

  ‘I hope so,’ Nicola said.

  A horn beeped outside. Her sister pulled away.

  ‘Call me,’ Jules said. They both went downstairs and Jules put on her coat. ‘We still need to figure something out for Christmas.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nicola said, smiling at her sister. ‘We do.’

  25

  The church was freezing, but he barely noticed. Night after night he’d been here at this time – coming up to 4 a.m. Earlier in the week, he’d copied some sheet music from the library and playing from it, rather than from memory, had at first dampened his enthusiasm. So many years had been lost; this was ludicrous. But Nicola’s comment, thrown out with such assurance: ‘Why don’t you just play piano?’ – had widened the seismic rift inside of him. At the end of the day, though, her arguments fell flat because she knew nothing about it. It was not possible to start again – it just wasn’t. At thirty-six, he no longer had the potential that he’d had at eighteen. And, in any case, that was not why he was here now.

  He played through the scales, arpeggios and exercises, again and again. Strengthening his fingers, lengthening his reach. Trying hard, not so much to get the notes flowing, as the words. The words to the essay he was supposed to write for the Oxford application – on why he wanted a doctorate in choral music.

  The cold reminded him of his short-lived days in Moscow. He had taken masterclasses from some of the greatest pianists of the late- and post-Soviet era. He remembered that wellspring of terror bubbling up as his turn to play in front of the others approached. That certainty that when he sat down at the piano his fingers would be limp and useless. The knowledge that he was sure to fail and that the other students in the room were hoping he did just that. And then, the breathing exercises would kick in, the muscle memory. The years of training and the hours spent rehearsing. The music had a life of its own; his only role was that of a medium, channelling the spirit into tangible form. His hands were magic, the music was perfect, and at that moment, he would be perfect too. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t possible to please the tutors. Their role was to tear you down so you could be built up again. But if you did well, you knew, and so did the others. If you did well, then it was infinitely worth it.