The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  He came in via A&E, yes. But because of the extent of his injuries and the embedded arrowhead, he was rushed straight to theater.

  They were concerned about internal bleeding on the way here, but he’s stable now.

  I can’t help you, I’m afraid. We don’t give out patient notes without consent.

  He’s sustained significant injuries. That’s the most I can tell you without breaching confidentiality.

  As I said, we don’t give out notes without the patient’s consent. And he’s currently unable to give that.

  Not a good time. He’s been in theater and he’s had a general anesthetic.

  I’d let him sleep for now, and aim for a sensible conversation in the morning.

  22

  At the dining table back in the lodge, Alex relaxed in her chair after lunch, watching Scarlett chat happily with Claire and Matt. She felt more ashamed of herself with every minute. Her thigh throbbed with a tender pre-bruise from her surprisingly violent journey down the Splash Landings river. The patch on her thigh was solid, waiting to flare into the deepest shades of purple and green.

  Adults really shouldn’t do that kind of thing, she decided.

  Alex reached for more salad and a chlorine smell wafted out from her arm. At least…she hoped the chlorine smell was from her arm. You never knew with prewashed supermarket leaves. And Matt had prepared the salad, so there wasn’t much hope the leaves would have been washed by hand.

  Matt’s phone rang. He got up to answer it.

  “Mate.” He sank down onto the sofa across the room, nodding. “Sounds tense. You can’t be there with your mum for a week over Christmas doing each other’s head in.”

  Alex could hear a recognizable outraged voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Walshy,” Alex said to Claire.

  Claire snorted. “Walshy’s still living with his mum? That’s been a long two weeks.”

  “You could join us here if you need to get away,” Matt said into the phone. “If you don’t mind the sofa? Claire won’t mind.”

  Alex strained to hear what Walshy said. She couldn’t hear his words, just the incredulity in the tone.

  Matt furrowed his brow. “Oh, OK.”

  Alex waved her hand to get Matt’s attention. Walshy deserved a reward for understanding how wrong this weekend was. “He’s got keys to our house—maybe tell him he can stay there for a few days?”

  “Hear that?” Matt paused to hear the reply, then looked at Alex. “Walshy says you’re a legend. And that he’ll change the sheets before he leaves.”

  “He won’t,” Claire said to Alex.

  “I know,” Alex said.

  Matt finished his call and came back to the table.

  “We need more milk,” Claire said. “I forgot that Matt drank it for no reason when there are perfectly good other drinks. Anyone fancy a trip to the supermarket?”

  “Isn’t there a shop on-site?” Alex said.

  “There was one last time, but it’s closed for refurbishment.”

  Alex mentally finished the sentence for her. Last time Matt and I were here. “Then I’ll go to the supermarket after this.”

  She could go out in a car, like a normal person, she decided. Get some air that was more urban, less complicated.

  “We need a few other things.” Claire turned to Patrick. “I’m taking Scarlett pony trekking—could you go with Alex if I do a list?”

  “I’m fine on my own, honestly.” Alex sat up. “I’ll find the supermarket.”

  “Patrick knows where it is,” Claire said. “We passed it on the way in.”

  Alex slumped back in her chair.

  * * *

  —

  Coat on, Alex sank gingerly onto a dining room chair, trying to keep the weight off her thigh.

  Claire tidied up the lunch things and put the dirty plates on the draining board. Matt filled the sink with water. In his signature move, he squirted in far too much washing-up liquid.

  “Scarlett”—Claire grabbed a tea towel and leaned over the kitchen unit to look at her daughter in the lounge—“you’re not still on the iPad, are you?”

  “Is this what goes on when I’m not around, Claire? She’s parented by the iPad?”

  Claire whipped Matt amiably with the tea towel; he jumped back.

  “I’m not the only one parenting today, Matthew, can I point out. You’re actually present.”

  “If you say so, Claire Jane,” Matt said with emphasis.

  Claire picked up the tea towel and whipped him again. “What’s Alex’s middle name?”

  Matt looked toward Alex, smiling.

  Claire bit her lip. “Don’t say you don’t know?”

  He thought for a bit. “She hasn’t got one.”

  Claire looked at Alex. Alex nodded.

  Claire laughed. “Nice save.”

  Alex made herself smile. She wondered if Claire had played the same role as Alex in her relationship with Matt. The eye-rolling, indulgent straight man. The one who got to lean forward and smell the suspiciously plastic flower; the one who got the bucket of confetti water in the face.

  Alex watched the two wash and dry up next to each other, chatting as they went. Claire handed back half the plates Matt washed up, like Alex always did. Matt looked unfazed, like it was perfectly normal to wash every item twice, like he always did.

  Alex tried to ignore the creepiness of the situation. She looked down at her phone, checking status updates on Facebook.

  Claire handed him a plate. “That’s dirty.”

  Matt peered at it. “No, it’s not.”

  Alex didn’t look up from her phone. “It is.”

  Claire laughed. “See?”

  Patrick walked into the room, jangling his car keys. He glanced at Claire and Matt; he turned to Alex. “Ready?”

  Alex took a last look at Claire and Matt. She looked at Scarlett playing with the iPad in front of them, on the floor of the lounge.

  Alex cleared her throat. “Enjoy the pony trekking, Scarlett,” she said.

  Of course, Scarlett didn’t look up.

  23

  Scarlett watched Mum and Dad wash up and laugh in the kitchen together. They found each other funnier than she remembered.

  She remembered Mum and Dad arguing about things. About jobs and lists—about Scarlett, even. Often Dad hadn’t remembered to do something, or bring something, and Mum was sick of having to think of everything. Mum said that a lot. Scarlett tried to remember things herself for Dad in the end—Do I have a swimming lesson today? Have you got my packed lunch? Did you remember to bring the shopping list?

  Posey tugged Scarlett’s sleeve. “Let’s keep the iPad. She’s forgotten she’s given it to you.”

  Scarlett looked down. “Mum wouldn’t like that. She likes to choose when we have it.”

  “She hardly uses it though. You know she always says the Internet is for zombies, and the iPad’s just a sucking-time machine. She won’t miss it. It’s wasted on her.”

  Scarlett glanced up at Mum and Dad at the sink. Dad wasn’t even washing up anymore, he was just leaning back on the side, tea towel over one shoulder, nodding at something Mum was saying.

  Mum prodded him. He stood up and started washing again.

  “Besides, I want to look up what the scientist said about me yesterday,” Posey said. “She said being with me was like ‘living in Harvey.’ What did she mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think it was something mean. It’s best if we keep the iPad—we need to look things up whenever we want, especially with her here. We need to be on our guard.”

  Scarlett thought about that.

  She stood up and turned to face Mum and Dad, holding the iPad behind her back. “Posey and I are going upstairs now,” she said. “We don’t want
to be disturbed.”

  Dad smiled. “OK, chicken.”

  She turned and moved the iPad in front of her, so Mum and Dad couldn’t see it. She hurried upstairs with Posey.

  * * *

  —

  In the bedroom, Scarlett and Posey left the door ajar. They flopped onto their fronts on one of the single beds.

  Scarlett could hear her mum’s voice coming from downstairs.

  “I know he might not be up your street, but I thought he was a good man. No, that’s not fair. He is a good man. A very good man.”

  Scarlett pressed the button for the Internet and typed the letters into the search box on the screen.

  There was a Harvey in her class, but that Harvey was an idiot who kept touching his own eyes to scare people. Posey hated him. But at least Scarlett knew how to spell the name.

  Mum’s voice was still going downstairs.

  “When I met him, I thought he was different. And he is. Some of the things that get to me aren’t bad, exactly, they’re just about his own hang-ups. If he could just be happy in his own skin, he wouldn’t worry so much what people thought. And Lindsay doesn’t treat him very well, so Amber and Jack have no respect for him. And he’s a good man.”

  “You’ve said that already. About five times. Just pointing that out in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Pick that one,” Posey said, pointing to an entry on the screen.

  Scarlett clicked and read something about a furniture sale. An extra 10% off dining sets—hurry, ends Tuesday!

  “That’s not it.”

  “I’ll try another,” Scarlett said.

  “He was such a grown-up. Really polite and respectful. He called me to ask for a date and he’d remembered me from a work thing ages before. And—I just thought it was so attractive to go out with a man that wasn’t you. Someone I could rely on.”

  “You went out with him because he wasn’t me. What flattering criteria you had, Claire. Any man in the world except me.”

  “I can rely on him, though, so I was right.”

  “Ouch.”

  Scarlett scrolled down the list and clicked on one entry at random.

  They tried to read it. A fat man in a suit was saying what he did in his job. Scarlett read how he’d maximized his sales targets to deliver strategic advantage in a shrinking marketplace.

  “It’s gobbledygook,” Posey said. “Try something else.”

  “Like what?” Scarlett said.

  “Try Harvey Rabbit.”

  Scarlett typed the words in. “Smart.”

  “And he’s so good with Scarlett. She loves him. I’m just not sure I can see myself spending the rest of my life with a man who thinks the whole world is something to be scared of. You know?”

  Scarlett clicked on the page that said Wiki.

  “I should never have let him move in, but he was just so keen, he did it bit by bit, by stealth. And I was psyching myself up to end it, but then Patrick surprised me by saying he didn’t mind coming away on this holiday, so that made me think, maybe? See what I mean? He’s a really good man.”

  Posey looked at the door.

  “Don’t eavesdrop,” Scarlett said firmly.

  “It’s like he wants to know exactly what I want, so he can be that person to me. And it just doesn’t work like that, does it? He keeps trying to box me in—always saying what I like or don’t like, always trying to learn about me, but I don’t always know what I think, you know? I don’t like being told what I think when I’m not even sure myself.”

  “Your mum talks really loud.”

  “I know. Now keep your voice down before she remembers we’ve got the iPad.”

  “And I look at the next thirty years, or forty, or fifty, even, and I think—how much fun am I going to have? It’s just exhausting to be with him and his hang-ups all the time. There are things I don’t tell him, because it’s too much hassle and—why are you doing that flapping thing with your hands? Am I talking too loud?”

  “I think this might be it,” Scarlett said.

  They both leaned forward to read.

  Harvey is a 1950 comedy-drama film based on Mary Chase’s play of the same name, directed by Henry Koster, and starring James Stewart and Josephine Hull. The story is about a man whose best friend is a pooka named Harvey—in the form of a six foot three and a half inch tall invisible rabbit.

  “I’m not that tall.”

  “No.”

  “And I’m not invisible.”

  Scarlett didn’t know what to say to that. “What’s a pooka?”

  Posey shrugged.

  Scarlett typed pooka into the search box with one finger.

  pooka

  /'pu:kә/

  noun: pooka; plural noun: pookas

  (in Irish mythology) a hobgoblin or sprite able to take on the form of various animals.

  Posey looked at Scarlett.

  Scarlett lifted her palms in the air.

  “I don’t understand the first bit,” Posey said, “but I’m definitely not a hobgoblin.”

  “No.”

  “I think she’s making fun of me.”

  Scarlett patted him between the ears to make him feel better. “I’m sorry, Posey.”

  “I hate her,” he said.

  Scarlett sighed. “I know.”

  “If she does one more thing to upset me, Scarlett—just one more thing—I’m gonna make that scientist sorry.”

  24

  As Patrick drove to the supermarket, Alex found herself staring out of the window, watching the forest blur into a wet montage of cabbagey greens.

  It was ridiculous that they were sitting here in awkward silence. Patrick might have tried to race her this morning, but he was her natural ally here. Another one on the outer circle of the family. It was stupid not to be on the same side.

  “So.” Alex turned to Patrick with a smile. “My thigh still hurts from Splash Landings this morning.”

  Patrick stared straight ahead.

  “If Matt had got a bruise like this, he’d call it a hematoma.”

  Patrick changed gear.

  “It isn’t a hematoma.”

  Patrick indicated left.

  Alex gave a little laugh. “I’m not sure adults really should do that kind of thing.” She tried to keep her voice light. “It was…intense.”

  Patrick coughed. “I’m quite competitive when I get going, I’m afraid. I’ve booked to do an Ironman later this year. In Wales.”

  “Did you grab my ankle when we were racing?”

  There was a pause. “Did you kick that kid with the pigtails in the face?”

  Alex turned in her seat to study Patrick. He was still staring straight ahead, expressionless.

  Was that a joke?

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Patrick said.

  Alex sat back. So it was a joke. Maybe they could do this after all. Maybe he thought this whole situation was terrible too?

  “It’s nice,” Alex said carefully. “Seeing Matt and Claire so easy together.”

  Patrick nodded.

  “Are you like that with your ex? Friendly?”

  Patrick twisted his mouth in an expression that could have been anger or pain. “No.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Patrick glanced at Alex. “Lindsay isn’t a friendly person.”

  He turned back to the road.

  “I think most people say that sort of thing about their exes.” Except Matt and Claire. “It must have been a particularly amicable split,” Alex said. “But Claire’s sensible and resilient—she would have taken it well.”

  Patrick threw her a glance that contained a question.

  “Sorry,” Alex said. “This is probably an inappropriate conversation.”

  P
atrick still didn’t say anything. Still, deliberately said nothing.

  “What?”

  Patrick stared straight ahead. “Nothing.”

  Alex frowned. “Were you going to say something?”

  Patrick turned to her slowly, then turned back to face the road. “The air has a particularly bracing quality this far north, don’t you think?”

  25

  Patrick slowed for a T-junction and turned left.

  This wasn’t fair. Patrick really hadn’t been prepared for this conversation.

  There was no way—no way—that Matt could have been the one to end it with Claire. There was punching above your weight, and punching above your weight. Claire was about seventeen fighting categories above Matt.

  So Matt had lied. And this was a problem.

  Because, if Alex worked that out and it caused problems this weekend, it would end up being Patrick’s fault. Lately, with Claire, everything ended up being Patrick’s fault.

  It would be Patrick’s fault even though Matt was the one who lied. And what was fair about that?

  There was tension in Patrick’s neck in anticipation of a conversation that hadn’t happened yet. He rolled his shoulders back and forward a few times.

  Already the weekend wasn’t going how he’d planned. Claire was being short with him. It was like all the goodwill tokens he should have had in credit for spending the weekend with her kid, rather than his, had already been used up. And that wasn’t right. Because he should have had a lot of tokens for this.

  And then there was Nicola and the stalking to consider. (No, not stalking. Unknown, well-intentioned proximity. Which was—objectively—completely different.)

  Patrick turned to look at Alex. She appeared to be asleep in the passenger seat.

  At least she wasn’t talking anymore.

  Patrick felt his face redden at the thought of the race that morning. He was a fair man, and that was his fault. Though, he might have started it off, but at least he hadn’t been the one to kick a kid in the face. That gave him a small section of moral high ground, at least.