The Things You Do for Love

by Rachel Crowther

  She sits down beside the bed and touches his hand. She forgot to turn down the thermostat, but just as well: his hands are cold. Old man’s hands, these days; those square pianist’s fingers, sprigged with dark hair, have shrivelled like something left in the oven for too long. She smiles, and takes both his hands in hers, and he smiles too.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  33

  It took Kitty some time to make herself understood. Lou didn’t react to her anguish as she’d expected: the ever-competent big sister sounded distracted, almost violently distracted, as though Kitty had rung in the middle of a hurricane and she was struggling to hang onto pieces of furniture that might fly away.

  ‘For God’s sake, Lou,’ Kitty shouted in the end, ‘please listen. Daniel is Henry’s son. Henry was his father. What the fuck am I going to do?’

  There was a long silence then, and eventually Lou said, ‘I’ll meet you in London. Can you hang on until 2?’

  ‘Where?’ Kitty said. ‘Here?’

  ‘Wigmore Street,’ Lou said. ‘Is Wigmore Street OK?’

  And so here Kitty was, and here was Lou coming through the door, looking every bit as miserable as Kitty felt.

  ‘My poor Kitty,’ she began, leaning across to enfold Kitty in her arms. ‘I haven’t digested it yet. Are you sure it’s true?’

  ‘It’s not the kind of thing anyone would make up, is it?’

  ‘I meant more . . .’ Lou straightened up, her face soft with anguish. ‘Could it be – mistaken identity? It’s a common enough name, Henry Jones.’

  ‘He’s living at Orchards,’ Kitty reminded her. ‘They know exactly which Henry Jones they’re talking about.’

  Lou nodded, hesitated a moment longer, then slid onto the seat opposite Kitty.

  ‘And is there proof?’ she asked. ‘Did he offer you any evidence?’

  Kitty gave a wan smile. ‘It isn’t a legal case, Lou. They’re not asking for anything. They just felt I ought to know. We ought to know, so we’d –’ She bit her lip, stopping tears. She’d kept thinking, these last few hours, that she should have guessed; that maybe she had known, at some level, and had chosen to ignore it. The violence of her feelings, the dread and the uncertainty and the temptation: she must have understood, deep down, that there was a reason for it all. ‘I thought things were bad enough when Henry died,’ she said. ‘I thought that was a pretty shitty deal.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Lou, ‘it’ll be OK. I don’t underestimate – but you will get over it, you know. Maybe it would help if we found someone for you to talk to.’

  Kitty waved a hand irritably. ‘Lots of fun for them, an inadvertent victim of incest.’

  ‘You can choose not to be a victim,’ Lou said.

  ‘Oh, shut up.’ Kitty scowled at her. ‘God, Lou, you’re not that wise and well-balanced, even you. I can’t . . . It’s just so horrible. How the hell are we going to tell Flora? And you know, he’s our half-brother. He doesn’t have any family. He’s never had a family, except his grandparents, and they’re both dead.’

  Lou made a face. ‘You’re right, that’s all very tricky.’

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Kitty felt herself crumple. ‘Oh God, I can’t . . .’

  Lou reached across the table and put her hands on Kitty’s hunched shoulders, enclosing them both for a moment in a little private space of their own. ‘Poor baby,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry to do the lawyer bit, and the therapist bit. I’m on your side, you know.’

  Kitty nodded; a tiny movement. Now there were tears she couldn’t hold back, spilling through her fingers as though something had burst in the fierceness of her grasp. If only she’d found out a few days earlier, while her feelings for Daniel were still unsettled. If only the visit to Orchards had ended differently. That was the final piece of cruelty: that she’d yielded at last to Daniel’s blandishments that afternoon, when inside the house Martin and Miranda had already known the truth. ‘The thing is,’ she began, ‘he’s like the other half of me, and now I know why, and I know it’s a terrible thing, but I’m in love with him, and if I have to see him . . .’

  Lou’s grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘Poor baby,’ she crooned again. ‘Poor, poor Kits. And Henry just dead, too. I can see –’

  Kitty pulled back sharply. ‘If you think I’ve fallen in love with Daniel because I’ve lost Dad, that’s fucking rubbish,’ she said. ‘That’s like me saying you fell in love with Alice because you didn’t want to end up like Mum, being betrayed by a man.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Lou said. ‘I meant –’

  ‘It’s all right for you, Ms Smuggo Life-all-sorted-out Lesbian,’ Kitty said. ‘Life isn’t that fucking simple for all of us.’

  ‘Stop swearing,’ said Lou. ‘Alice is leaving me.’

  Kitty stared. ‘What?’

  Lou took a deep breath. ‘She’s going to America. I’ve just taken her to the airport.’

  ‘For ever?’

  ‘Her mother’s had an accident,’ Lou said. ‘She’s flying home.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound –’

  Lou shook her head. ‘It’s all a terrible cock-up,’ she said. ‘I lost my temper, and said things I . . .’

  It was her turn to weep now: Kitty gazed at her helplessly.

  ‘Poor Lou,’ she said. ‘What a sorry pair we are. Bloody hell.’

  The café was almost full today: all around them people were eating and laughing. What would all these good Muslims say, Kitty wondered, to one sister inadvertently sleeping with her half-brother, and the other deserted by her lesbian lover?

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Lou said, ‘perhaps we should go and see Flora.’

  ‘In France?’ Kitty said. ‘You mean – now?’

  ‘It’s just – I’ve booked some holiday, and I thought we . . . I thought you might like to . . .’

  Kitty stared at her. Oh, to disappear like that, she thought: to slip away to some quiet French village a million miles from Daniel. To see her mother, too – although that thought caused a flutter of apprehension as well as pleasure.

  ‘Would Flora want us?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not? She’s got a whole house.’

  ‘But isn’t she . . . Hasn’t she gone there to get away from everything?’

  ‘I think she’d be pleased,’ said Lou. She managed a smile – and if she was persuading herself that things were simpler than they really were, Kitty thought, she was making a pretty convincing job of it.

  ‘The mothership,’ Lou said. ‘Two drifting satellites returning to the mothership.’

  34

  The truth was that such a precipitate departure presented Lou with several difficulties, all of which she decided to ignore until the flights were booked and the plan was irrevocable. That, she told herself as she and Kitty made their way back to Waterloo, was something she was good at – dealing calmly with let and hindrance.

  She was glad Kitty was coming home with her for the night: she’d been dreading returning alone to Veronica Villa. The previous evening had been horrible, with Alice shut up in the studio for hours, talking to her family, then emerging at last to sit and pick at the salad Lou had made. Lou had longed for the evening to end. She’d wanted so badly to undo what she’d said in the car, but her words had hung in the air, too monstrous to deny. They would still be there, she thought, lying in wait for her in the familiar, deserted rooms.

  But Kitty’s presence made a difference. It felt almost like being children together again in some comforting, uncomplicated place in the past. They stopped to buy fish and chips, and when they had stuffed the greasy remains in the bin they curled up on the sofa to search the web for cheap flights.

  ‘France is an hour ahead,’ Lou said. ‘That makes it eleven thirty. Is that too late to call?’

  Who knew, she was thinking, what Flora’s routine was these days? She felt a spring of doubt, suddenly, about landing themselves on their mother out of the blue.


  Kitty yawned. ‘The flights won’t sell out overnight,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to bed. We can ring her first thing.’

  *

  They were both up early in the morning, shivering a little in the kitchen while the kettle boiled. Looking out at the garden, damp and disconsolate after a night of heavy rain, Lou felt a surge of yearning at the prospect of abandoning the disappointing English summer for sunnier climes, and an equal and opposite surge of desolation at the thought of turning her back on Veronica Villa. Not that there was any point in keeping a vigil here all summer, but even so . . .

  ‘It’s eight in France now,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘She was always up early,’ Kitty said. ‘But she’s on holiday, I suppose. She might . . .’

  ‘Let’s try her,’ said Lou. ‘We need to book the flights.’

  Scrolling through her contacts list, she found the landline number for Les Violettes first. The phone rang twice, three times, four, and then a male voice answered.

  ‘Bonjour?’

  ‘Oh!’ Lou’s French deserted her in her surprise, as did her tact. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘This is Landon Peverell. Is that – Lou?’

  ‘Landon! Are you staying with Flora?’ Lou raised her eyebrows at Kitty. Landon, she was thinking, would be a welcome addition to the house party.

  ‘I had a concert nearby, by happy chance.’

  ‘How is she?’

  There was a hesitation at the other end which gave Lou a moment’s uncertainty, but Landon’s voice was unchanged when he spoke again.

  ‘She’s very well. She’s found herself a beautiful house to stay in. She’s right here, if you want to speak to her.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s very nice to hear you, Landon.’

  ‘Goodbye, Lou dear,’ he said, and then there was Flora’s voice, exactly as Lou had imagined it.

  ‘Lou?’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  *

  Half an hour later, her chest tight with the knowledge that she was committed to being at Gatwick by four thirty, Lou was shepherding Kitty out of the house.

  ‘Do you always leave this early?’ Kitty asked, as they drove through woodlands dark with summer rain.

  ‘Earlier, most days. It’s a hard life, being a grown up.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be one, then,’ said Kitty, and she laughed, almost her familiar little-girl chuckle.

  The 8.11 was packed. They stood in the corridor, saying little, and parted on the platform at the other end with a brief hug.

  ‘Will you be OK?’ Lou asked. ‘Hand luggage only, remember? I’ll see you at the airport.’

  Kitty nodded, waved, and disappeared towards the escalators.

  All right, Lou thought. Seven hours to extricate herself from work, home and the promise to take Maebh to the zoo on Saturday. If she had a camera crew on hand she could be a one-woman reality TV show. She set off on foot towards Waterloo Bridge: a brisk walk, she thought, would help her think.

  Work should have been the biggest problem. Lou only had three days of annual leave left, and she was determined to be away longer than that – but a plan had lodged in her mind last night. The firm had settled an embarrassing and expensive discrimination suit last year, and the partner concerned happened to be Lou’s boss. By the time she reached the office, Lou had prepared her request with careful attention to phrasing and nuance. It fell, strictly speaking, between the rules for sick leave, maternity leave and compassionate leave, but as she’d hoped Clive Fletcher almost fell over himself in his eagerness to approve it.

  ‘Not a problem,’ he said, trying hard to introduce an expression of sympathetic consideration into his bluff face. ‘Speak to HR, but tell them it’s absolutely not a problem from my side. Important to, er – at this sort of time, I know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lou. She felt a small qualm at what was, in its way, as ruthless an exploitation of a weak spot as the behaviour that had got Clive into trouble, but only a small qualm. Ruthlessness was a quality much admired at Harvers and Green. ‘I’ll make sure everything’s straightened out before I go.’

  She glanced around his office – filing cabinets, sleek desk, glimpse of sky through the window – and resisted the fleeting suspicion that she was making a mistake. It was only a holiday, after all. She smiled at Clive and shut the door quietly behind her.

  Lou had finished two significant pieces of work the week before, and she despatched various loose ends in the next couple of hours, leaving her desk clear and her inbox empty. Just as she was leaving, Phil Zadig sidled up to her.

  ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Lou said. ‘I’m just taking some leave.’

  Phil glanced, not very covertly, at her belly. He wasn’t the only one of Lou’s male colleagues to hope that her pregnancy, announced the week before, might hamper her in the race for partnership, but Lou had to admire his gall.

  ‘Happy to cover anything that comes up,’ he said; and Lou, who hadn’t the least intention of giving him any ground, smiled graciously.

  By midday she was on her way again. The next thing on her conscience was Maebh and Dearbhla. Lou felt queasier about letting them down than she did about tying her boss into such an elegant knot, but she was let off this commitment, too, more lightly than she’d feared.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ Dearbhla said, when she picked up the phone. ‘Maebh’s got slapped cheek.’

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘She’s got slapped cheek disease. I couldn’t let you have her just now. I know the risk’s small, but I’d never forgive myself.’

  There was a brief silence while Lou processed this information. Dearbhla clearly still assumed everyone had read the parenting manuals as carefully as she had: or did she just assume it of Lou, these days?

  ‘It’s most dangerous in the first trimester, of course,’ Dearbhla went on, her tone that of someone used to husbanding her patience carefully, meting it out without a flicker, ‘but you never know, with these teratogenic viruses. I’m sure there’ll be another chance before you’re – you know, busy with your own.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Lou said. ‘I suppose it would be safer.’

  She should admit the truth, she thought; she didn’t like to be in a false position with Dearbhla. But the whole truth was more than she could bear to acknowledge.

  ‘Let’s fix another date,’ she said. ‘Send Maebh my love.’

  Well, Lou thought, she’d successfully negotiated Mumsnet and the legal establishment. But there was still a proper parting to be taken from Veronica Villa.

  As she made her way through Lincoln’s Inn Fields and down towards Aldwych, Lou’s mind followed a trail like an Escher print, circling from one premise to another. It was odd that something inanimate should present the greatest obstacle to her departure; ironic that something inanimate should be the principal thing she and Alice shared; poignant that what they shared made it hardest for her to go away. A kind of logical entrapment that made her feel both sad and helpless, like the impossibility of arguing or negotiating or brazening her way out of the impasse she had found herself in with Alice.

  The commuter line was deserted at this time of day, its dirt and drabness more obvious without the usual density of passengers. Her only companion was an elderly woman who checked her handbag compulsively every few minutes as though fearful that invisible hands might have rifled through it while she wasn’t looking. It seemed to Lou that she had already left her normal life, slipping into a realm full-time workers never saw.

  Over the next few hours Lou tackled the domestic problems raised by her departure one by one. A neighbour agreed to feed the fish; the car’s MOT was deferred; bills were paid and the fridge cleared. The emotional effort involved in all this felt disproportionate to the time it took, but Lou had expected that. All afternoon she was conscious of how little sign of Alice there was in the house. She thought back to the evening, n
ot so long ago, when Alice’s belongings had seemed to be everywhere. Now it was as if – like a prudent burglar careful to leave the crime scene cleansed of incriminating DNA – Alice had deliberately removed all traces of her personality from the house before she left. Tell me what’s going on, Lou kept wanting to say, as she wandered from room to room. However did things go so wrong?

  Thank God, she thought often and vehemently, for Kitty and her distracting drama, and for Flora’s uncharacteristic acquisition of a bolthole in deepest France. Thank God for the ease with which a temporary escape had presented itself.

  35

  Flora heard Landon before she saw him, the next morning. He was talking – perhaps in his sleep, she thought at first, half-asleep herself still. It took her a few moments to realise that he was on the telephone, and a few more to understand to whom he was speaking.

  ‘Your mother’s right here,’ he said, when he saw that she was awake. ‘Goodbye, Lou dear.’

  ‘Lou?’ Flora was abruptly alert, and horrified by the thought that her daughter might guess she was lying in bed, and with Landon. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Well,’ said Lou, ‘not entirely. But I’m not ill; nothing like that.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Never mind now,’ said Lou. ‘Listen: how would it be if we came to visit you?’

  ‘You and Alice?’

  ‘Me and Kitty.’

  ‘It would be lovely.’ Flora pushed her hair behind her ear with her free hand. ‘Can you spare the time?’

  Lou laughed briefly. ‘We both find ourselves in need of a holiday,’ she said. ‘There’s a flight to Tours this evening. Is that within reach?’

  ‘This evening?’ Flora felt a lurch of shock and surprise that registered partly in her mind and partly in her belly. ‘Yes, I could come and meet you. But Lou –’

  ‘Are you sure? That would be wonderful. The plane lands at nine.’

  ‘All right,’ said Flora. ‘I’ll be there.