In the morning, the swelling on David’s face had gone down a little. He did not look so bad, though perhaps, Eleanor thought, it was just that she was less shocked by it. When Claire had gone to school, she looked in on him. He was awake, but drowsy. ‘Did you sleep?’ she asked.
‘On and off. Bloody sore and stiff, though.’
‘I’ll get you some more paracetemol. Cup of tea?’
He nodded.
While he was still in bed, she telephoned the surgery and asked if Fergus could call her back when he was free. He rang a few minutes later.
‘Eleanor? It’s Fergus, is something wrong?’ He was thinking of Marion, of their father, Eleanor realised. Briefly, she explained about David.
‘He hasn’t told me what happened – well, it’s really hard for him to speak, the way he is. It looks as if he’s been badly beaten up. Punched in the face and ribs – kicked too, maybe. What should I do?’
‘Nothing much you can do. Any bones broken?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll look in around lunch-time, check him over. In the meantime, make sure any open cuts are clean, give him paracetemol for the pain, get him to rest.’
‘Right.’
‘Are you all right? The pair of you have had enough shocks, without this.’ Eleanor was touched. ‘I’m OK. I was going to ring Marion – maybe I’ll leave it for a while.’
‘She wasn’t great this morning – I made her stay in bed. Why don’t I tell her when I go home at dinner-time, after I’ve seen David?’
‘All right. See you later.’
When she put her head round the spare-room door again, David was asleep. Shortly after eleven, she heard him get up and go into the bathroom. He came downstairs after this, dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt he had worn the previous night. They looked crumpled and grubby, and the sweatshirt had a dark stain down the front.
‘Will I run you a bath? It might help the stiffness.’
‘Yeah. OK.’ He lowered himself on to a kitchen chair.
‘Do you want something to eat?’
He seemed to sag in the chair. ‘What? Oh, I don’t mind.’
‘I rang Fergus. He’s coming over on his way home at lunch-time.’
David shrugged, not answering this.
‘Look I’ll go and start the bath, then I’ll cook you some scrambled eggs.’ She paused by the door. ‘Oh, Davy.’
He managed to lift a corner of his mouth, the less damaged corner, in an attempt at a smile. ‘I’m fine. Don’t you worry.’
‘Have you any other clothes? Did you bring a bag?’
‘In the hall, I think.’
‘I’ll soak these, then. Is that blood?’
He looked down. ‘I suppose so.’
She swirled hot water in the bath, adding salts, wondering what had happened. He thinks he has to tell me something, but oh, the things I have to tell him. All at once, she was longing to talk, and draw him close again, this bruised stranger. What do I care, she thought, if your mother was not who we thought, your father no one we ever saw. You’re still David – you grew up with us. She turned the taps off and stood up, giddy, relieved.
He had a long bath and emerged looking better: still unshaven, but his hair wet and shining, and in clean clothes. Eleanor had unpacked his bag, ironed the shirt she found there, and the spare jeans. There was not much else; he had left in a hurry.
At half-past twelve, Fergus came in, and David submitted to be examined.
‘He’s all right – cracked ribs, I suspect,’ Fergus said as he left. ‘You could take him into Accident and Emergency – let them decide if he should go in, or if X-rays are needed.’
‘He won’t go.’
‘Oh well, time’s the great healer, as they say, so we’ll just have to trust to that. But if he gets feverish, or complains of headaches, dizziness, let me know. Otherwise, advice as before.’
‘So … you’re going to tell Marion?’
‘Yes. Will I say you’ll be in touch?’
‘If I can leave David, I’ll go over this afternoon.’
By the front door, Fergus paused. ‘Has he said anything yet about how it happened?’
‘No.’
‘Ah well, no doubt we’ll hear in due course.’
As he drove off, Gavin appeared in his doorway. ‘Hi, how’s things?’
‘Come in,’ Eleanor called. ‘It’s too cold to stand out here.’ In her narrow hallway his hand curved round her neck, and they kissed. Eleanor moved away, flustered at the thought of David in the living room. ‘David’s in there,’ she whispered.
‘How you doing?’ Gavin went in at once and sat down. Eleanor hovered by the door.
‘We’ve got this pot of soup Edie gave me,’ she said. ‘Do you both want some?’
So they all had soup, and David dunked his bread in it, unable to eat it dry. It was easy, with Gavin there, much easier than it had ever been with Ian, in all the years they had been married. He and David had set each other’s hackles up, like dogs, circled each other, managed only an uneasy truce. Gavin talked, drew Eleanor in, was openly curious about David, but did not probe. David seemed to relax and was brighter.
‘Would you stay a while?’ Eleanor asked, as Gavin helped her wash up. ‘I want to go to Marion’s, but I don’t like leaving him.’
‘Sure. No problem.’
‘Later, maybe we could talk.’
‘Come over this evening.’
Marion was looking out for Eleanor. She had got up just before Fergus and the girls came in at lunch-time. Ross was on study leave now, and lying on the sofa watching television with her when Eleanor arrived.
‘I thought your Highers started in a week?’
Ross grinned, and got to his feet. ‘Been revising Maths all morning.’
‘Put the kettle on,’ Marion asked him. ‘Are you going up to your room again?’
‘Yeah.’ He drifted off.
‘Never mind tea,’ Eleanor said.
‘Och, I don’t want it either. Tastes like dish-water just now.
All our lives seem to be punctuated by cups of tea. It marks the crises, I suppose.’
‘It’s not as if it helps,’ Eleanor smiled. ‘Probably what we really need is a stiff drink. That’s what men do, not make tea.’
‘Well, David anyway.’ Marion sounded tart.
‘You’re awful white – are you OK?’
‘Well, I would be if I didn’t have to take all these tablets.’ Marion went to turn off the television. ‘That’s better. Goodness, look at me, in front of the TV in the middle of the day.’ She settled herself again in the chair. ‘Anyway, what’s all this about David?’
Eleanor told the story again, filling in some of the gaps Fergus had left.
‘Did you tell him about Alice?’
‘It didn’t seem the right time, and anyway, he can hardly speak.’
‘Oh well. No hurry, I suppose.’
They fell silent, Eleanor thinking of David, Marion of how the card had come through that morning with the date and time of her scan. Your blood count is low, Mary Mackay had told her the day before, when she had been down at the surgery, talking it over, getting another prescription, the results of blood tests.
‘You’re not really bothered about David, are you?’ Eleanor broke in on her thoughts.
‘What? Oh, well, of course I’m sorry he’s hurt. But I dare say he brought it on himself.’ She saw Eleanor’s face. ‘Sorry, I’m preoccupied. By boring things – my blood count, the scan – all that.’
‘When is the scan? Have they given you a date yet?’
Marion told her. ‘Not long, I suppose,’ she added. ‘Though it feels long.’
‘But then, if everything’s all right,’ Eleanor said, trying to reassure, ‘that will be the end of it.’
‘Well, they’ll go on doing scans, even if the treatment stops now.’
‘Go on doing them?’
‘Just to check up. Every three months, I think, then every six. Then once a year. I don’t know how long for.’
‘But it won’t come back,’ Eleanor said, dismayed. Was there no end to it then? She imagined, only too vividly, the anxiety before and after each scan, the renewed tension and fear. Another wait.
‘They have to check,’ Marion shrugged.
‘Yes, yes I see that.’
‘Anyway,’ Marion was brisk, changing the subject, ‘I should make an effort. Think about other people for a change.’
‘Not if you – oh, damn David and all this stuff – the past.’
‘Och, I’m sorry, Eleanor. I didn’t mean to be like this. Cancer … it changes you, I think. I know I won’t always feel ill, feel like this, but I find it difficult just now to concentrate on anything else.’
She had come to realise, over the last few weeks, that cancer was what informed her world. Illness, the threat of it, the fear that in the end, she might die. But it was not what preoccupied anyone else, apart, perhaps, from Fergus. Even her children – their lives continued unchanged. She could see they were concerned; Eilidh, she thought, was the one most affected. She and Fergus had taken pains to keep everything the same, make as little of this whole business as they could, so that even Eilidh, sensitive as she was, did not have this at the centre of her life. That was right, the way it should be, but Marion, knowing this, knowing how alone she was, felt both isolated and impatient. If what you are facing is your own mortality, what does anything else matter? Perhaps this cold, unhappy separation from everyone else was partly the effect of the drugs, of being perpetually tired and aching. Any kind of connection with other people had become difficult, and she was less and less inclined to make an effort.
Driving home later, Eleanor was depressed by how distant Marion had been. There was no one she could turn to: Marion remote, David unable to speak, locked in some misery he would not share, and Gavin planning to leave for Aberdeen, whether or not she went with him. I want to go on believing David is my brother, she thought, resenting the dangerous past that loomed between them now.
When she got home, David was cheerful; he and Gavin were talking about music, having discovered they liked the same things. Claire was home, but upstairs playing a different kind of music.
‘Uncle David and Gavin are getting on all right,’ she informed her mother, when Eleanor looked in. Claire was lying on her stomach on the bed, doing French homework.
‘Sit up at your desk,’ Eleanor told her. ‘That’s what we got it for. No wonder your writing is so messy.’
‘Um,’ Claire said, but did not move.
In the evening Eleanor left Claire and David in front of the television, and went over to Gavin’s cottage.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said. ‘Sex first, talking after.’
She was glad enough to agree. Sex was easy, you didn’t have to think. Then in bed, she was tense.
‘You’re not with me here, are you?’ Gavin asked after he had made all the moves that usually worked so well, but this time were not getting much response.
‘Sorry.’
‘What is it – this brother of yours? Has he told you yet who beat him up?’
‘No, there hasn’t really been a chance.’
Gavin sat up and pulled the pillows straight behind him. ‘Snuggle up.’ She lay in the crook of his arm, held close, breathing in the smell of him that was now familiar as her own, and yet still intoxicating.
‘It’s not giving away any secrets,’ he said, ‘if I tell you that there’s a woman behind it.’
‘Oh, I guessed that. Did he talk to you?’
‘Not a lot. Married woman, I gathered.’
‘I sort of guessed that too. But goodness knows who actually attacked him – not the woman, surely?’
Gavin laughed. ‘Some woman, eh? No, that’s a bit of the story he hasn’t revealed yet. But don’t worry about him. He’ll recover, go home, leave this lady alone in future – if he’s any sense.’
Eleanor sighed, and went on leaning on Gavin. Did David have a home to go back to now? Twenty-three Duthie Crescent, she realised, but it was absurd to think of David in the house that in every corner was Alice’s, Mamie’s, with their flowered wallpaper and china ornaments, and good, solid furniture.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It’s just – there’s more to David than this. More to know.’
‘What?’
‘Och, I’ll tell you sometime. Never mind just now.’ Did Gavin count, for her, in the way Fergus did for Marion? ‘The thing is,’ she began, sitting up in bed, ‘David’s not really my – our – brother. There’s been this big family secret—’
‘He’s the by-blow, is he?’ Gavin looked amused.
‘Well, you know I told you about …’ As Eleanor began to explain, she realised how little Gavin knew. He had not met any of the people she was talking about – only David, who did not even look like himself just now, and Marion very briefly. You had to start somewhere, she decided. He had to know all this, if they were to be together.
All Gavin said when she had finished was, ‘Oh, all families have their dark secrets – nobody bothers nowadays. I had an uncle who turned out to be my cousin. That generation was fixated on legitimacy, on sex being legal – all that. Who cares, now?’
‘I care,’ Eleanor said. ‘Our sort of family still cares. It’s not the legal thing, though that does make a difference – property, inheritance. I never even thought of it before. But the point is – it’s a huge thing in our family. Family’s so important.’
‘Far too important, in my view,’ he said coolly. Eleanor thought of what Marion meant to her, and David, yes David too, always, always. Not my brother, still my brother.
She sank back beside Gavin. Idly, he began stroking her breasts, tugging the nipples to make them stand out. She moved away, out of his reach.
‘Gavin, if I got cancer, and had to have one of my breasts removed, would you still want me? Would you still like making love to me?’
‘What on earth brought that on?’
‘Well?’
‘Is Marion worse, is that it?’
Eleanor flung off the covers and stood up, trembling, by the side of the bed. I don’t know him, she thought, I hardly know him. ‘Where are my clothes? I think I should go home.’
Gavin watched her scrabble for her underwear, start to dress. Then he got up too. ‘Eleanor.’
She was crying. How she despised herself, crying for nothing, when Marion was so brave. ‘No, leave me. I’m going home. What’s the point, Gavin? We’re miles apart, we don’t think in the same way at all. You’re going to Aberdeen anyway, and you know I can’t do that – you know. What’s the sense in it? Why are we bothering?’
‘For Christ’s sake, that might not even happen. And you know I want you to come with me. It’s up to you.’
‘I don’t know that,’ she said, still crying, unable to hook up her bra, the catches not meeting, her fingers in the way. She gave up and flung it on the floor, grabbing her T-shirt instead.
‘Look, calm down, this is ridiculous. I don’t know why you’re in such a state, but it’s nothing to do with me.’
‘No, you’re right, nothing. Nothing.’ All she could do was stand there, half-naked, crying, crying. He came and put his arms round her, his body warm against her cold skin, sheltering her, stroking her hair.
They got back into bed. Somehow, she was in bed again, and he was all over her, there was no way of stopping this time, and she did not care, she wanted it, oblivion, the powerful rhythms of desire, fulfilment.
‘Now then,’ he said later, much later, as they lay beached, exhausted. ‘Now then, that’s better.’
For a time, it was.