In Virginie’s courtyard, Alice tries to photograph these stunning insects, but not one of them shows up in the picture. When she complains to Bruno about this, he asks, ‘Why do you want to photograph them anyway?’
‘So I can remember them,’ Alice replies.
‘Can’t you just remember them with, you know, your memory?’ Bruno asks.
And for once, Alice finds herself lost for a reply.
Twice, Matt drives her over the mountain for supplies, and Alice nervously presents her Visa card. But it continues, against all expectations, to function. All is well.
On the second Saturday of her visit she heads to the cabin for lunch, only to find Bruno’s parents have arrived, too.
Observing Connie and Joseph with Bruno, Alice finds that she perhaps understands Bruno a little better. They’re so relaxed together, so completely natural, so informal, so caring – it’s such a shocking contrast with any family gathering that Alice has ever attended that she can’t help but wonder where she and Ken went wrong. Of course, she figures, Connie and Joseph seem to actually like each other. That must, after all, help a bit. Plus Joseph doesn’t seem to be a psychopath, either. And they’re both young and clever and educated, and, she guesses, reasonably wealthy. That must make life easier. She starts unconsciously to hate them.
For a moment, sprawling on blankets beneath the apple tree, Alice forces herself to smile through one of the most acute pangs of jealousy she has ever experienced. For a few seconds, she detests all three of them for being such shiny, happy people. But then Connie throws back her head and laughs uncontrollably at one of Alice’s strange metaphors, and Joseph rolls his eyes and winks at Matt, and Alice caves in to the inevitability of loving Connie and Joseph also. It’s simply impossible, she realises, to do anything else.
In the midst of this summer lovefest, Alice carries some plates into the cabin, where she finds herself alone with Matt at the sink.
‘Let me do that,’ Alice offers. ‘You must be sick of doing dishes.’
‘Dad just phoned me,’ Matt replies, his voice stony.
Alice gulps. She feels as if she has been cut loose from her balloon. She feels as if she has hit the ground with a nasty bump. ‘Oh,’ she says, her smile on entering the kitchen a mere memory.
‘He wanted to know . . .’ Matt coughs. ‘You know . . .’
‘If I’m going back?’ Alice says quietly.
Matt’s hand, engaged in slow, circular motions as he scrubs the plate, freezes. ‘He wanted to know when you’re going back,’ he says, without looking up. ‘Not if.’
Alice reaches out to grip the draining board. She feels suddenly dizzy. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I had no idea,’ Matt says. ‘I didn’t think it was my place to . . . you know . . . pre-empt . . . or whatever.’
‘No,’ Alice says. ‘Of course not.’
‘You’re not going back though, are you?’ Matt asks, nervously looking up from his dishes at Alice beside him.
Alice licks her lips. Her eyes dart around her son’s face as if perhaps the answer lies there. And then before she even knows that she has found the said answer, she hears herself speak. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I’m never going back.’
Matt screws his features up. His eyes are glistening. ‘Good,’ he croaks. ‘That’s good.’
‘You think?’
Matt nods. ‘You’ve been so different, Mum. These last few days . . .’
‘I . . .’ Alice starts.
But then Bruno bursts into the kitchen and the moment is lost. ‘Come on!’ he says, wrenching the sponge from Matt’s grasp. ‘You can do that later. Or I can. Come outside. We need you for charades!’
Once Connie and Joseph have driven away, arms hanging out of windows, and once Matt has ‘suddenly’ realised that he’s late for work and rushed off in a flurry of excuses, Alice finds herself alone with Bruno again.
‘I should be getting home, too,’ she tells him once they’ve cleared away the remaining lunch things from the table.
‘Really?’ Bruno says. He sounds surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve had enough of me by now!’
‘Nope,’ Bruno says. ‘So sit down. It’s aperitif time.’
Alice smiles indulgently. ‘Oh, OK,’ she says. ‘But just for the aperitif. And then I’m going to leave you be.’
Bruno fetches a fresh bottle of rosé and some delicious, salty pistachio nuts. ‘Here,’ he says, handing Alice the corkscrew. ‘You do the honours. I’m just gonna put some music on and feed the dog.’
Once he has connected a small portable speaker to his telephone and settled Jarvis in his basket, he takes a seat and raises his glass. ‘To family,’ he says. ‘And rosé.’
‘To family,’ Alice agrees. ‘I must say you seem to get on very well with yours.’
Bruno nods. ‘They’re pretty cool.’
‘I feel a bit jealous really,’ Alice admits.
‘Jealous?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Of the way you all get on, I suppose. There doesn’t seem to be any tension at all. And Connie and Joseph seem to have led quite a charmed life really.’
Bruno looks thoughtful. ‘They’ve had their share of heartache,’ he says.
‘Really?’ Alice asks. ‘If they have, they hide it well.’
‘Dad wanted to be a pilot,’ Bruno says, ‘but he’s colour-blind. It meant it was impossible back then, apparently. Not sure about now. But he’s scared of heights, so I’m not sure how that one would’ve panned out anyway!’
‘But he had a whole career in electrical goods, didn’t he? It sounded like he built a whole empire.’
‘I’m not sure about an empire, but they had ten stores. It’s not what he wanted to do though. Not at all. And Mom wanted babies. She wanted lots of babies. But she could never have kids. Something wrong with her womb, I think. She lost a few before they gave up trying. Dad said it was really tough on her.’
‘Yes,’ Alice says. ‘That will have been tough.’
‘I think that’s why she became a grief counsellor,’ Bruno says. ‘So she could, you know, help herself.’
Alice frowns confusedly. ‘So does that mean . . . are you . . .?’ she stammers.
‘Adopted,’ Bruno says, matter-of-factly answering Alice’s unfinished question. ‘Yeah. My mother was a junkie apparently. Heroin. She died of an overdose when I was two. I never knew her or anything.’
‘Gosh!’ Alice says. ‘I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Bruno says. ‘Mom and Dad are awesome. It was a lucky escape, I guess.’
‘That’s amazing,’ Alice says. ‘You couldn’t possibly tell. I mean, you all get on so perfectly.’
Bruno flashes the whites of his eyes at Alice. ‘Maybe that’s why,’ he says. ‘I mean, they chose me from all the other abandoned babies out there. And I’ve always kind of known how lucky I am. People always say you don’t choose your family, but I guess we kind of did.’
‘Yes,’ Alice says, ‘I suppose you might be right.’
‘More wine?’ Bruno asks, waving the bottle at Alice.
She glances at her glass and sees that she has emptied it during Bruno’s brief and surprising story. ‘More wine!’ she affirms, pushing it forward.
‘So what do you think of this?’ Bruno asks, nodding at the speaker.
‘The music? It’s strange,’ Alice says.
‘Just strange?’
She shrugs. ‘No, it’s OK actually. I hadn’t really thought about it. It is strange. But in a good way.’
‘They’re called Boards of Canada.’
‘So they’re Canadian?’
‘Not even,’ Bruno laughs. ‘I thought they were – it’s why I got into them in the first place. But no, they’re Scottish.’
Alice concentrates on the wafting waves of sound coming from the speaker, then says, ‘It sounds like something from a film really. Or a dream.’
‘A dream sequence in a film maybe
?’ Bruno offers.
‘Yes, perhaps. So tell me about Virginie,’ Alice says. ‘I found some photos. I mean, I know I shouldn’t have, but . . .’
‘Who could ever resist forbidden photos?’
‘Not me, sadly. That’s for sure.’
‘She’s lovely,’ Bruno says. ‘She’s coming up soon to meet you. Well, to see the cats mainly, but she wants to meet you too. You’ll like her. She’s fun. She speaks a bit of English, too.’
‘And she’s my age, you say?’
‘Uh huh. Maybe a bit older. She was a nurse, I think. But she’s retired now.’
‘A nurse? That explains the uniform in the closet,’ Alice says. ‘I thought it might be for fancy dress or something. It’s a very old-fashioned nurse’s uniform.’
Bruno laughs. ‘Matt tried to get into that for a party once. But it was waaay too small.’
‘Was she ever married?’
‘Not that we know of.’
‘And no children either?’
‘Just the cats. The cats are her children, I think.’
‘So do you think she was just unlucky in love?’
‘Ha!’ Bruno laughs. ‘The million-dollar question. We’re not sure. There are some pictures of her with a woman. On holiday and stuff. Did you see those?’
Alice nods.
‘Probably just a friend though.’
‘It’s not like you not to ask.’
‘I guess,’ Bruno says. ‘But I always got a bad vibe about that one. Like there was some heartache in that story, you know? It’s always seemed best not to go there. Matt agrees.’
‘So you can be tactful when you want to?’ Alice says with a wink.
‘Apparently so,’ Bruno says. ‘I just try, you know, to negotiate things with some grace. It’s not always easy.’
‘With grace?’ It strikes Alice as a strange word for a young man to use.
‘Yeah. To do the right thing. To say the right thing. But sometimes you need to be tactless, I reckon. Sometimes you need to push people so that they open up a bit. Otherwise there’s no contact. Otherwise it’s all shouting over walls, you know?’
‘Like with me, for instance?’
‘Maybe.’
‘That sounds very wise,’ Alice says. ‘Actually, you are very wise for – how old did you say you are? Twenty-nine?’
‘Yeah. I’m not so sure about wise though,’ Bruno says.
‘I am. Honestly. You seem very . . . I don’t know . . . centred? And you seem to have a lovely simple life here. You both seem very settled.’
‘Most of that is Matt’s doing,’ Bruno says. ‘I would never have dreamed of living up here without him. But Matt fell in love with the place. He convinced me that we could be happy here. And he was right.’
‘Really? That surprises me. I thought that was your influence.’
‘Nope. Matt worked out that if we lived here, I could carry on doing my ceramics. And he could work part-time so we can do more stuff together. And Mom and Dad don’t mind. Not for the moment anyway. Yes, Matt’s the great anti-consumer around here. The rest of us are just playing catch-up.’
‘He’s an anti-consumer, is he?’ Alice says doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I’m even sure what that means.’
Bruno smiles. ‘You should talk to him about it. He reads loads, you know: religions, Buddhism and stuff, ecology, new age philosophies, psychology . . . He’s made having no money into this whole lifestyle thing.’
‘Isn’t that just an excuse though?’ Alice asks. ‘Isn’t it just an excuse for being broke all the time?’
‘Maybe,’ Bruno says, ‘but I don’t think so. You should talk to him about it, Alice. Talk to him about life, about happiness. He has heaps of things to say.’
Alice forces a smile and takes a moment to look around her, a moment to think about this. She sees the log cabin and the tatty plastic table. She sees Bruno’s vegetable patch and thinks of their battered car and his rusty motorbike. She sees the tumbledown garden shed at the bottom of the lawn and pictures Bruno in his potter’s shed. And in her mind’s eye, she compares it with Tim and Natalya’s place, with the sleek sheer expanses of concrete and glass and shiny, shiny success. She compares Matt’s kind of happiness with Tim’s, too, Bruno’s frugality with Natalya’s constant spending, her constant grasping for status. And suddenly she sees that Matt’s lifestyle isn’t born of constraint, as she had imagined. It’s not born of failure, as she had feared; it’s a choice – of course it is! She’s still not convinced that it’s the right choice, but it’s perhaps no more crazy than its exact opposite. It’s no more unreasonable than continuous, unsustainable consumption, after all. And that thought feels like something of a revelation to her.
‘So what about you?’ Bruno asks, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Did you ever date anyone else? Or was there only ever . . . Ken? Is that his name?’
Alice stares at Bruno. His question, as often, strikes her as impertinent. But as she looks questioningly into his eyes, she realises that it’s nothing of the sort. He’s treating her as an equal, that’s all. He’s treating her like someone who might want to get tipsy with him on a bottle of rosé, like someone who might enjoy listening to this strange electronic music. It makes such a change from the usual compartments we put each other in. It makes such a change, as Bruno would say, from all of that shouting over walls.
Yes, Bruno is treating her like a real human being who might have something interesting to share with him. She wracks her mind for a story to prove him right.
‘OK,’ she says finally, ‘but if you want that story, I’ll be needing to eat. Because all this wine on an empty stomach is making me too tipsy to think straight.’
‘Food!’ Bruno says, standing. ‘You got it!’
By the time Bruno has returned with two doorstep sandwiches, Alice is hesitating about telling her story after all. Fuelled by rosé and the intimacy of the moment, it had seemed like a good idea, only now she’s not so sure.
‘So,’ Bruno says, sliding a plate towards her, ‘you were going to tell me your story.’
‘Yes,’ Alice says, ‘but I think I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Oh, go on, Alice,’ Bruno pleads. ‘I made you a sandwich and everything.’
‘OK, I’m not sure how much of this . . .’ Alice starts hesitantly. ‘But, OK, here goes. There was someone before Ken. I was . . . in love . . . perhaps. In a way.’
‘You were, huh?’
‘We used to go for long walks together. We liked the park. Joe wanted to become a gardener. I’m not sure if that ever came to pass or not.’
‘You didn’t stay in contact?’
‘No,’ Alice laughs. ‘No, not at all.’
‘But you think you were in love with this Joe?’
‘As I say, in a way . . . It’s complicated. But we used to laugh a lot. Just silly stuff. We were still kids really. But we used to have lots of silly in-jokes. Things only we understood. We used, for instance – and I still do this actually – but we used to make up these silly metaphors together. We would say that someone was as fat as a ferret. That was a favourite one. Or that someone was a thick as a fiddle. Or as difficult as a difficult Tuesday. I’m not sure that will make any sense to you. As I say, it was an in-joke.’
Bruno nods enthusiastically. ‘Matt still does that,’ he splutters, his mouth full of sandwich. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, belatedly covering his mouth with one hand.
‘Does he?’ Alice asks. ‘Really?’
Bruno chews and swallows before continuing. ‘Yeah, Matt’s always saying things are as flat as a ferret. Or as pernickety as a pumpkin. Weird, funny stuff like that.’
Alice laughs. ‘Well, that all came from Joe. And it used to make us giggle so much . . .’
‘Complicity,’ Bruno says.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You had complicity.’
‘Yes, I suppose we did. We made each other laugh a lot, anyway.’
‘But Matt doesn’t know about Joe, eh?�
�
‘No, nobody does.’
‘I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to, don’t worry.’
Alice shrugs. ‘It’s all so long ago anyway,’ she says. ‘It’s ancient history now.’
‘So what happened? How did you end up with Ken?’
‘Ah,’ Alice says. ‘I’m not sure I can explain that. Not satisfactorily, I mean. Joe wasn’t right for me. It was just a silly crush really. It was one of those blips that happen. Like a freak whirlwind that sweeps through. It was obvious to everyone that it wasn’t any kind of normal relationship. My parents were against us seeing each other, so . . .’
‘Because?’
Alice sighs. ‘Joe wasn’t right,’ she says. ‘Anyone could see that. And my father knew Ken’s father. He had his own business. He was successful. We were quite poor back then, so . . .’
‘So it was like an arranged marriage?’
‘Almost,’ Alice says, then, ‘Yes, pretty much.’
‘And Joe didn’t fight for you?’
‘No,’ Alice says. ‘No, um, Joe knew as well as I did that it couldn’t work out.’
‘But I don’t get why,’ Bruno says. ‘If you loved each other.’
‘Like I say,’ Alice says, ‘it was a funny kind of relationship. Childish, perhaps. And it’s so long ago. It was a whole different time. The rules about what you could and couldn’t do were very different. I know this isn’t making much sense to you now, but . . .’ Alice shrugs. ‘And Joe didn’t have a penny. And nor did we. And with our parents against us even being friends . . . Well, it was nigh-on impossible. It was impossible.’
Bruno is staring at Alice intently. It’s making her feel nervous.
‘Anyway, I wasn’t against marrying Ken. Not at first, at any rate. I mean, I got to stop work – I was doing shifts in a horrible soap factory. And Ken gave me Tim and Matt, after all.’
‘Were you scared of the thing with Joe?’ Bruno asks. ‘It sounds a bit like you were. When you say it was like a freak whirlwind and stuff.’
The Other Son Page 29