by Emma Rous
“I know you’ve been discussing me with Mother behind my back again,” I heard Ruth say to him. “You both use identical phrases—it’s pathetic. I’m fine. We are fine. I’m having my scan on the eleventh of February, and I’m happy with my doctor. You’ve got to let me do this my way, Dominic. Trust me to know what’s best for my baby.”
“Our baby,” Dominic said, and then I heard her weeping and him murmuring soothing words.
I agreed to look after Edwin from a Sunday evening until a Tuesday evening so that Dominic could take Ruth down to London for a couple of days and accompany her to her scan. On the Monday afternoon, I had Edwin and Joel kneeling on chairs at the kitchen table, stirring cake mixture, when a taxi pulled up on the drive.
For a minute, I thought it was going to be Alex. I hovered in the kitchen doorway, watching through the hall window, waiting for him to step out and look up and perhaps catch my eye. But it was Ruth who emerged, handing money to the driver, marching up to the front door with a broad smile on her face.
“Guess what?” she said, bustling in and shedding her coat, checking her hair in the mirror. “It’s just one baby, and all is well.”
Edwin galloped from the kitchen to wrap his arms around her middle, and Joel hung back in the doorway, a streak of flour on his cheek.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” I said. “I thought your scan was tomorrow?”
“Oh, it was, but I popped in this morning, and they said they could do it today. I couldn’t say no. It was so magical to see it. Him or her. I must ring Dominic straightaway and tell him.”
I brushed the flour from Joel’s cheek, and ushered both boys back into the kitchen.
“Could Dominic not go with you then?”
“No, like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.” She licked her lips. “Would you like to see the scan picture?”
I looked properly into her eyes for the first time. A suspicion that she might not have actually had a scan had been unfurling inside me, and I hadn’t anticipated this offer of proof. But she was already reaching into her handbag, pulling out a little square image, handing it to me.
I held it gingerly. It showed a fuzz of white on black, and had Ruth’s name and the date at the top. She leaned over it, her hair beneath my chin.
“That’s the head,” she said, “and that’s the backbone. The legs are up there, and that’s part of an arm, you see?”
“It’s amazing.”
“You could see the little heart beating,” she said. “It was perfect. And, you know, I thought I might be disappointed it’s not twins, but I think it will be easier this way.”
“Yes,” I said, blinking unexpected tears away. My only personal experience of a twin relationship was a decidedly negative one—my mum’s virtually estranged sister whose occasional postcards from exotic locations made my mum scowl. So it was ridiculous to feel sad for Edwin, sad for this new sibling of his. “And you don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“No. I don’t want to know. I want to meet this baby when he or she is ready to be met. Enjoy the moment.”
I nodded. “And did they tell you a due date?”
She froze.
I bit my lip. When she eventually moved, it was to twitch the picture from my grasp.
“End of August,” she said, and then looked at me.
“Okay.”
“I need to ring Dominic. Would you mind getting back to the boys?”
“Of course.”
I closed the kitchen door, not wanting to hear any of that conversation.
Later, when Edwin and I had returned from delivering both Joel and a box of fairy cakes safely to Michael’s cottage, Ruth showed Edwin the scan picture.
“That’s your baby brother or sister,” she said, smiling.
He wrinkled his nose at it. “It’s not very good.”
“The baby will look much nicer when he or she is born, I promise,” she said.
“I’m going to paint a picture of my baby,” Edwin said, heading off to the day nursery with the picture. “I’ll stick this on my treasure box.”
“Good idea, darling,” Ruth said. I must have looked surprised, because after he’d gone, she added in a slightly defensive tone, “Dominic can still see it when he gets home. It’s my baby at the moment. Once it’s born, he’ll fall in love with it, and everything will be fine.” She went upstairs to have a rest.
Later that afternoon it began to snow heavily, and for a number of days, the three of us didn’t leave the grounds of Summerbourne. On the eve of Valentine’s Day, Ruth made much fuss at the discovery of a parcel of sweets on the doorstep.
“Oh, Edwin, look. Jack Valentine has left us a present.”
She and Edwin were in high spirits that evening, eating the sweets and peering out of the windows to look for footprints in the snow from the mysterious gift giver. I had to confess that Jack Valentine had never ventured as far as my home in London, but evidently, here he was just as important as Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy.
Ruth begged Dominic not to risk driving on the icy roads to get home for the weekend, and in the end he agreed to stay in the city. Snowed in for several days at Summerbourne, we made popcorn and watched movies and built snowmen, raiding the freezer for fish fingers and pizzas, going to bed early and getting up late. On the day the snow finally melted, I had to suppress a twinge of disappointment that our mini holiday was at an end. But the Summerbourne woods had never looked more beautiful than on that day: snowdrops huddled in clumps on either side of the path, and the dark skeletons of the plum trees showed off delicate white blossoms against the palest of gray skies, promising that spring was on its way.
When Dominic returned the following Friday evening, he was full of plans for booking a real holiday for the three of them before the baby came.
“I don’t want to go abroad,” Ruth said. “And I don’t want to leave it too close to my due date. And I’d rather take Laura too, to help with Edwin.”
I was in the kitchen with them, but I abandoned my washing up and moved to the door, avoiding eye contact with Dominic.
“Wait,” he said. “Laura. It’s not that I don’t want you to come.” He turned toward Ruth again. “I just think it would be nice to be just the three of us. Special.”
Ruth sighed, and Dominic shot me a pleading look. I rested a hand on the doorframe.
“I could do with a week at home, to study,” I said.
“Well then,” Dominic said, turning back to Ruth. “There you go. Let’s take a look at the Center Parcs brochure.”
As it turned out, I went home to Mum’s for longer than originally planned. Edwin came down with a cold and a cough, and then Ruth and I both caught it. It left me feeling drained and lethargic, and I spent three weeks recuperating at Mum’s, during which time Ruth, Dominic, and Edwin had their holiday. Thankfully, Beaky went down to Kent for a couple of weeks on a job, so Mum and I got along better than we had for ages, but I still kept to my room for much of the time.
A certain reluctance to return to Summerbourne began to grow in me. I wasn’t sure I could summon enough energy to face more of Ruth’s mood swings, Dominic’s awkwardness, or the ridiculous jolt of desperate hope I felt every time the doorbell rang, wondering if it might be Alex. I browsed local job adverts, and considered applying for part-time waitressing or bar work.
“But I thought you loved it there?” Mum asked when she caught me underlining phone numbers in the local paper.
“I do. I did. But this would bring in money too, and I could pay you rent. I could study at home then, for these last few weeks.”
“You don’t need to pay rent, love.”
“Beaky thinks I do.”
Mum sighed. “He just wants you to learn to take responsibility for yourself.”
I slammed the paper onto the coffee table and stood up. “I mad
e one mistake. How long do I need to keep paying for it?”
“He just thinks—”
“I don’t care what he thinks.” I glared at her. “You sound just like him, you know that?”
I barricaded myself into my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, shoving Beaky’s wine boxes up against the door. I half hoped Mum might attempt to coax me out, but she didn’t. I pulled out the resignation letter I’d written to Ruth and Dominic that morning, and it trembled in my hand as I read it through. I hadn’t signed or dated it yet.
When Beaky got back a few days later, I turned up the television volume to drown out the noise of him ranting to Mum in the kitchen. He stalked in and turned the set off with a snarl.
“We’re not a hotel. You’re well enough to work. You need to go back and get on with it.” His lip curled as he looked me up and down. “Your mum says you’ve barely moved since you got here. I thought you were gonna get fit at this posh mansion, playing tennis all day with your snobby friends. Got fed up of you, did they?”
I rang Summerbourne that evening, and headed back the next day. The unsigned resignation letter remained tucked at the back of my biology ring binder. I dozed on the train, but my spirits lifted as the taxi approached the house. Edwin burst from the front door and flung himself into my arms with a whoop of joy.
“He’s been rather difficult,” Ruth told me a few minutes later, out of the little boy’s earshot.
“More than ready to go to school,” Dominic said.
Ruth gave my arm a quick squeeze. “It’s good to have you back.” She smiled, and I was sure then that I had made the right decision in returning. My life was tied up with Summerbourne now. It was in my blood. It wasn’t the sort of connection I could just walk away from.
When I found Ruth sobbing over a box of baby clothes a few days later, distressed by the mold that had bloomed on them in the attic, I took charge. I rang Vera and arranged for her to come and look after Edwin the following day, and Ruth and I went shopping in Norwich together. After months of baking and curling up indoors, with no daily training sessions at the pool anymore, I had lost the sharp angles I’d arrived at Summerbourne with. When I looked in the mirror, I was pleased that I no longer had dark smudges under my eyes, and I relished the idea of buying some new clothes and makeup, and perhaps even a floppy sun hat to match Ruth’s.
Ruth and I spent a happy couple of hours trying on clothes and then cooing over rompers and choosing a whole new set of essential nursery items. Ruth bought us coffee and cake in the department store restaurant afterward.
“Thank you for doing this,” she said.
“It’s been fun. I can’t wait to find out if it’s a boy or a girl now.”
She gave me a sudden intense look. “You will stay with us the whole summer, won’t you? After the baby comes? It’ll be perfect—lazy days in the garden, down to the beach every day. We must make the most of it, before Edwin starts school and you have to leave us.”
My last forkful of cake hovered over the plate as I glanced around at the bags and boxes of baby equipment surrounding us, and then I smiled at her.
“Sounds like we have the perfect summer ahead,” I said, and she returned my smile, her hand drifting down to her gently rounded abdomen. But that last mouthful of cake turned to glue on my tongue. I forced it down with the dregs of my tea, determined to be optimistic about the next few months: Ruth’s baby would have a great father in Dominic; Dominic might become less awkward with me; Alex might come back to Summerbourne . . .
I placed the cup carefully down on the saucer and leaned forward to admire a tiny cardigan that Ruth had pulled from one of the carrier bags. Alex might come back to Summerbourne.
“Are you okay?” Ruth asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I said. “Worn out from all that shopping!”
She laughed, and turned to catch the attention of a staff member, asking him to carry our purchases out to the car for us. And all the while my insides squirmed, as if a sea serpent was rearranging its coils inside me.
21
Seraphine
EDWIN AND I unpack the grocery bags together on Saturday morning. As ever, the effect the fresh ingredients have on him is powerful: he smiles as he rubs his thumbs over the onions, flexes the celery, sniffs at the Parmesan, and inspects the prawns. He’s in his element, relaxed and happy; at moments like this, he reminds me so much of Dad.
Danny is still in bed. I set out cutlery and glasses on the old red tablecloth in the dining room, fussing with napkins, irritated by my inability to be calm like my brothers. I’m wearing a new cotton dress, but I can’t find my sandals that go with it, and when the doorbell rings, I answer it barefoot, distracted.
Joel stands there with a bunch of hydrangeas.
“From Michael’s garden,” he says. “For the table.”
“Oh.”
“Everything okay?”
I realize I haven’t moved. When I reach for the flowers, our fingers brush against each other, and I come close to blurting out a jumble of questions: Did you really not know Michael has a key for Summerbourne? Why didn’t you hit Ralph back at Edwin’s party after I kissed you? Did you know Michael’s old weed torch was stolen from Ralph’s van last week? What did you mean when you said we could start over? As friends? As more than friends?
“Edwin’s in there,” I say, indicating the kitchen door, and I escape to the dining room with the hydrangeas. The pink flower heads are full and heavy, droplets of water still clinging to their petals. A wave of nostalgia washes over me: for Summerbourne’s formerly beautiful garden, for the days when Michael ruled over it with cheerful authority, and for a time when Joel and I were friends and life was uncomplicated.
A whole hour before she’s expected, Kiara arrives. I happen to be passing through the hall, still barefoot, and I freeze, watching her through the window as she unfolds herself from the driver’s seat. She wears some kind of silky black sleeveless jumpsuit, and delicate heeled sandals which must surely make driving difficult. She’s tall and slender, and I realize the word I’m really searching for is elegant. I swallow.
Danny has come down the stairs behind me in old shorts and T-shirt, bleary-eyed, and he whistles now as he peers through the window past the visitor.
“Nice wheels.”
Edwin is at the kitchen door, with Joel standing behind him, both watching curiously. When the doorbell rings, Danny gives me a shove in the small of my back.
“Your idea, sis,” he says.
I take a deep breath as I swing the door open.
“Kiara. Hi.” I do my best to smile at her. Her hair is how I remember, with the pink streak to one side, but up close, I am transfixed by the tiny diamond stud in the side of her nose, and the rows of similar sparkles in her ears. She thrusts a box of Belgian chocolates at me.
“Hi. I’m sorry I’m so early. I allowed extra time, and then the roads were so clear.” She sounds nervous, and I’m not proud of the fact that this helps me relax a little. I turn around as she steps into the hall, ready to make introductions. I glimpse Edwin passing the vegetable knife he was holding to Joel, who places it carefully on the countertop behind him. They move properly into the hall then too.
“This is Danny,” I say, “my twin brother.”
“All right?” Danny says, and Kiara smiles and nods at him.
“And this is Edwin, our older brother,” I say.
Edwin reaches out a hand and shakes hers.
“Pleased to meet you. I remember your father. I liked him a lot,” he says.
Her smile widens. “Hi.”
“And this is Joel, a neighbor,” I say. “He’s not staying.”
Edwin coughs, as Joel shakes Kiara’s hand too.
“Nice to meet you,” Joel tells her. Is her gaze lingering on his face? Does he think she’s attractive? I’m regretting this visit already.
She smiles at him. “I’d love one.” She follows him through to the kitchen.
As Edwin joins them, I stand alone for a minute in the hall with Joel, listening to the polite chatter between my easygoing brothers and this stranger. I don’t look at Joel directly, but he watches me, a serious expression on his face. In the end, he steps closer and touches the back of my hand with his fingertips, and finally, I do look at him.
“Good luck,” he says, with the briefest of smiles, and then he leaves.
Edwin has resumed his chopping of ingredients when I enter the kitchen. Danny is pouring milk into coffee mugs, and Kiara is studying the old photos on the corkboard.
“It must have been lovely, growing up with so much family history around you,” she says. She sounds wistful, but as I gaze around at the worn surfaces in our kitchen—the battered wooden doors of the cupboards, the chipped tiles on the floor—I have a sudden mental image of her standing in a pristine high-tech kitchen in her own home this morning, white marble and stainless steel glinting all around her.
“Family history’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I mutter into a pocket of silence, and they all stare at me. No one replies.
The kitchen doors are open, since it’s another hot, cloudless day, and the three of us take our coffees out onto the patio while Edwin begins to cook the risotto.
“Such a fabulous garden,” Kiara says, seeming genuinely enraptured, and for a moment I am able to ignore the scruffy grass and neglected borders and appreciate the beauty of it alongside her. We stroll along the paths and show her the orchard, the vegetable garden, our old play areas, and the gate to the cliffs. We offer to take her down to the beach later.
We carefully avoid the subject of our parents until we’re back indoors with Edwin, seated around the dining table, tucking into our lunch. The hydrangea heads droop toward the tablecloth in the heat.