Sometimes Krystyna worried that she was spending too much time with Jack. He had begun to look anxious when she spoke. She wondered once more if he was scared of her. She did not think she had ever frightened a man before.
He had taught her a new word. Discombobulated. It had come out by mistake and she had stopped him as soon as she had heard it.
‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit discombobulated.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In a flap, uncertain, thrown off balance.’
‘And why would that be?’
‘I don’t know. It happens every time you visit.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t mind. In fact I quite like it. I just need a bit of time to get used to it, that’s all.’
Krystyna asked him to repeat the word so that she could learn how to pronounce it.
‘Discombobulated.’
He had already taught her some of his favourite Scottish words: ‘fankle’, a mess or entanglement; ‘stramash’, an uproar or disturbance; ‘croozumit’, a person living alone. She liked the sound of his voice; the softness of his accent.
She made Jack go through the variants.
‘I am discombobulated. You are discombobulating. This is a discombobulatory conversation.’
She had learned to tease Jack when he became too serious. It was good for him, she decided. Even though he was used to lecturing in front of hundreds of students, there were times when he appeared to be incapable of normal conversation.
‘Don’t you ever see your friends?’ she asked.
‘I like being at home. And I like you being with me. I don’t need anyone else.’
‘But we don’t say very much.’
‘We can still enjoy each other’s company,’ Jack said. ‘I think they’re called “sofa moments”.’
‘And what are they?’
‘It’s when we just sit and read the papers, or listen to music. The idea is that we’re so at ease with each other that we don’t need to say anything.’
Krystyna stopped to think it through.
‘“Sofa moments”. Because they are plural does that mean you have to have more than one?’
Jack smiled.
‘No, I think you can have one sofa moment at a time.’
‘I think I prefer conversation.’
‘I suppose it’s what the Americans call “hanging out”. The Scots word is “niffle-naffle”. You just trifle away some time together.’
‘I thought trifle was a kind of pudding.’
‘It is. But most English words have more than one meaning.’
‘It’s so confusing.’
‘It’s not meant to be. It just shows how versatile language can be. “Trifle” can be a pudding, or a small insignificant object. We could look it up, if you like. I think the pudding probably came first…’
Krystyna laughed. She was still amused by Jack’s enthusiasm for language. He could get so excited about so little.
He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a dictionary.
‘Here we are. Golly, it’s not what I thought…’
Krystyna had never heard anyone say the word ‘golly’ before.
‘A false or idle story told to deceive or amuse; a matter of little value; a literary work that is light or trivial in style; a small sum of money; a dish composed of cream boiled with various ingredients. Now, a dessert of sponge cake (especially flavoured with sherry or spirit) – I see, the sponge comes in later. Perhaps it started life as a kind of syllabub. The pudding seems to be seventeenth century; the nonsensical story is from the Middle English traif. Fascinating, don’t you think? There’s even a bit of Henry James. I stayed. I dawdled. I trifled.’
‘Do you do this with every word when you are translating?’ Krystyna asked.
‘Yes. Well, a lot of the time. It’s my job.’
‘So that is why it takes so long?’
‘I enjoy it, Krystyna.’
‘I can see. You could be lost for hours.’
‘By the way,’ Jack continued, ‘talking of puddings, it’s my mother’s birthday next weekend. I was hoping you might like to come. There’s a dinner party.’
‘I am sure I am not invited.’
‘You are. They told me to ask you. My parents would love to see you again.’
‘I will be shy.’
‘You’re not shy. And everyone loves you. Besides, you wouldn’t have to talk to me all the time.’
‘I like talking to you,’ said Krystyna.
‘Do you?’
‘Of course. Why do you think I am here? You are the one who looks worried during our conversations: not me.’
‘I am sure you understand why,’ said Jack.
‘No, I don’t understand why.’
‘I just worry.’
‘And what are you worried about?’
He might as well say it, he thought.
‘I’m worried about liking you too much.’
Krystyna laughed. It was the first time he had seen her do so.
‘How can you like someone too much?’
‘You know what I mean.’
She put her right hand to her mouth.
‘You are so funny.’
‘I don’t mean to be.’
‘That’s what makes it funnier.’
Jack’s mother thought back to the birthdays of her childhood. She remembered being taken into Edinburgh for her first party dress. It was black velvet with a white lace collar and she wore it with white socks and black ballet pumps. She could still recall the children from the village walking up the lane or arriving on farmers’ carts carrying the presents for her party. Then there was the excitement of organised games: pin the tail on the donkey, blind man’s buff, sardines, and singing games:
There was a farmer and a dog
His name was Bobbie Bingo
B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O,
His name was Bobbie BINGO.
After pass the parcel her father would come into the room with the cake and candles. The year before he died there had been eleven.
Now she was going to be eighty.
Angus, Tessa and their children were staying the night. Elizabeth had asked them to make a weekend of it. She saw so little of her grandchildren and she knew their presence would cheer up her husband. They could pretend that he was not as ill as he was.
The family arrived with flowers, champagne and presents. Jack and Krystyna brought an antique music box.
‘Lovely to see you, Krystyna. You look stunning.’
She was wearing a tailored white blouse and a mother-of-pearl scallop-shell necklace.
‘I hope it is not too much.’
‘Of course not. Did you choose the music box?’
‘No, I did,’ said Jack. Maggie had always picked the presents in the past.
‘Such a pity Annie and Kirsty couldn’t be here,’ said Elizabeth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack. ‘They’re both away.’
‘I understand. I don’t mind. And it’s lovely to see Krystyna.’
‘Our children are here,’ said Angus. It irritated him that his mother missed the relations who were absent rather than appreciate those who had made the effort to come.
Gavin had taken the train up from London but surprised his grandmother by sporting a hairstyle that involved a shaved stripe across the right side of his head.
‘What on earth have you done to your hair?’
‘You’re not expecting me to believe that, are you?’ Elizabeth also noticed that he was wearing a Proud to be Pakistani T-shirt. ‘And you’re not from Pakistan, as far as I know…’
‘My mother was born there,’ said Tessa, defending her son’s choice of outfit. It had been hard enough to persuade him to come without policing his dress code.
‘Which makes me a quarter Pakistani,’ said Gavin. ‘So I’ll be safe, come the revolution.’
‘What revolution?’
‘When Britain becomes a Muslim state. Just think, Granny, a teetotal Britain…’
Elizabeth couldn’t imagine the Taliban thriving in East Fortune. At least her nieces were well presented. No tattoos or piercings yet, as far as she could see.
She opened her presents: three bottles of bath oil, a cushioned dining tray, a friendship book, and a bottle of gin. The family began to look embarrassed.
‘Sometimes I feel about a thousand years old. I’m giving Methuselah a run for his money, I can tell you.’
Gavin gave his grandmother The Worst Case Scenario Handbook. Now she would know how to escape from quicksand, perform a tracheotomy and fend off a shark.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t think what to get you.’
‘At least it’s better than hand cream and bath essence,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘That’s all I seem to get these days.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, who had given her exactly that, ‘but it is high quality.’
‘I’m not complaining.’
Ian gave a low chuckle.
‘Oh I rather think you are.’
There was a ring at the doorbell and a barking of dogs as Douglas and Emma arrived. They were late. It was obvious that they had argued in the car and that Douglas had been drinking.
‘Happy birthday, Mother.’ He had brought some flowers that had clearly come from a petrol station. Emma had wrapped up a cookery book.
Douglas gave Angus a hug and inspected him for his dress sense.
‘You look like a schoolteacher who’s been sacked for a bit of indiscretion.’
‘We can’t all afford Armani.’
‘Sorry, I suppose that’s a bit tactless.’
‘I haven’t been sacked.’
‘Oh, sorry, I thought…’
‘Not in front of Mother.’
They were eleven at the table: Ian and Elizabeth; Angus, Tessa and the three children; Jack and Krystyna; Douglas and Emma.
Douglas insisted that he sat in the middle between what he called his ‘favourite nieces’.
‘We’re the only nieces here,’ said Imogen.
‘You don’t like Jack’s children?’ Krystyna asked.
‘I was joking, Krystyna.’
‘Still. It is rude.’
Douglas was surprised to be taken to task.
‘Well, I’m very sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Jack. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Elizabeth tried to give Douglas something to do.
‘Will you open the red wine?’
‘I think Angus has already done it. He’s just a bit slow on the delivery.’
‘I suppose not everyone can keep up with the speed of your drinking,’ said Emma.
‘There’s no need to draw attention to it.’
‘I’m not. You’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself.’
‘Now, now,’ said Ian. ‘That’s quite enough. It’s Elizabeth’s birthday. We are here to enjoy ourselves. And I’m going to start with this rather marvellous chicken.’
He began to carve. Jack tried to anticipate what it would be like when his father was no longer with them; how the family dynamic would change.
‘Did you get the chicken from the farm?’ he asked his mother.
‘I think it was about the most expensive organic bird I’ve ever seen.’
‘None for me,’ said Sarah.
Ian stayed his knife.
‘I’m a vegetarian.’
‘Since when?’ Angus asked his daughter. ‘You don’t even like vegetables!’
‘I do.’
‘I’m not sure you’ve ever eaten a vegetable in your life. It’s been nothing but pizza and chips.’
‘That was when I was fifteen.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Tessa. ‘Let her have the roast potatoes.’
‘You could have warned us.’
‘I thought you knew.’
‘I did tell him,’ said Tessa, ‘but your father has had a lot on his mind.’
‘Hitler was a vegetarian,’ said Douglas.
Angus turned to his brother.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘I’ve always thought it explains a lot. That and the watercolour painting.’
He wondered how far he could push it. Didn’t Saddam Hussein become a vegetarian in prison? And wasn’t Pol Pot a vegan? Perhaps there was enough for a documentary: The Vegetarianism of the Great Dictators? He began to think that if he drank enough he might even enjoy himself. He could bait his brothers and even, perhaps, get back at Krystyna.
Sarah gave him a nudge as he cut into the meat.
‘Murderer.’
‘It’s just a chicken.’
‘Do you know how they are kept?’
‘Perfectly well. So you don’t need to tell me now. And are you wearing leather shoes?’
‘Don’t start …’ said Jack.
Angus had chosen a light Burgundy, which, he said out loud, was crisp on the palate and long on the finish.
‘You don’t really mean that, do you?’ asked Jack.
‘It’s refreshingly unpredictable,’ said Douglas, ‘the hint of bubblegum enhanced by the sharpness of barbed wire.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Angus. ‘I don’t know why we always have to argue.’
‘We’re not arguing,’ said Jack.
‘Yes, we are,’ said Douglas.
He remembered a Christmas long ago, when his parents had still seemed young. The girls had given their grandparents bath salts.
Steep the bag in the bath, Ian had read from the packet.
‘That’ll be you, my darling. Now what do I do with the salts?’
His wife had left the table and refused to eat her pudding. Now the tension was just as palpable.
Douglas sneezed.
‘Na zdrowie!’ said Krystyna.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s what we say when someone sneezes.’
Douglas sneezed again.
‘It also means “Have a drink soon” – like “Cheers”.’
‘Have a drink soon,’ said Emma. ‘That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You’re not having any wine, Krystyna?’
‘No, I don’t drink.’
‘Oh well,’ said Emma, ‘perhaps you could pass on a few tips. How you’ve done it, that sort of thing…’
‘I do not think your husband will listen to me.’
‘He doesn’t listen to anyone.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Douglas. ‘I only sneezed, for Christ’s sake.’
‘And how is your film coming along, Douglas?’ his father asked. ‘Got a good researcher?’
‘I’m doing most of it on my own.’
‘Don’t you normally have an attractive girl in tow?’
Emma poured herself some mineral water.
‘They’re getting a bit young for him these days, aren’t they, darling?’
‘I don’t know about that …’ Douglas looked at Krystyna. ‘Age doesn’t always matter, does it?’
‘Anyway, it’s not the researchers I’m worried about,’ Emma said. ‘It’s all those other women.’
‘What other women?’ Ian asked.
‘The ones he meets on his travels. He thinks I don’t know about them but I do.’
Douglas let out a theatrical sigh. Why on earth was his wife starting on this? Was she deliberately trying to provoke him in front of his family?
‘It’s all very boring,’ he said quickly. ‘I spend most of my time waiting around. There are long periods when nothing much happens and then when it does it’s all over very quickly. It’s a bit like sumo wrestling: a lot of build-up and then, bang, it’s over.’
‘It’s nothing like sumo at all,’ said Emma.
‘You must meet many famous people,’ said Krystyna.
‘They’re not famous. I make documentaries.’
‘Have you met Michael Palin?’ she asked.
‘No. Everyone asks me that.’
Emma tried to explain.
‘Douglas prefers working with women.’
‘No, I don’t. I work with everyone. It doesn’t make any difference what sex they are.’
Elizabeth tried to calm her son down.
‘It’s all right, darling. There’s no need to be cross. We all love you.’
Krystyna caught her eye. She was not sure she loved Douglas at all.
Imogen tried to cheer up her uncle.
‘Tell us one of your funny stories. What have you been doing?’
He could only think about Julia.
‘Oh, you know, the usual. Poncing about.’
‘Then tell us about your poncing about.’
Douglas could hardly tell them all that. Instead, he started on his list of anecdotes about television presenters behaving badly in restaurants:
Never mind the fucking cutlery. Bring me my Pinot Grigio.
His mother interrupted, ‘Try not to swear so much, darling,’ but Douglas went into full anecdote mode, telling stories of the celebrities he had met, their eccentricities and their demands:
I cannot sleep in this hotel. That’s the problem with Rome. The Vespas go on all night.
I know. Those Gregorian monks never know when to stop.
I mean the scooters…
He told a story about Windsor Castle and seeing Charles and his new wife leaving.
‘Camilla Parker Bowles is, of course, a sentence,’ said Jack. He stood up to clear the plates but then stopped. ‘I keep thinking of her in her whites on the village green.’ He performed an underarm gesture. ‘Camilla Parker bowls…’
Douglas looked at his brother. It was extraordinary to think that they were related.
‘Your work sounds very glamorous,’ Krystyna said to Douglas. ‘You must travel all over the world.’
‘I don’t know. I’m sick of airports.’
‘You should be so lucky,’ said his father.
‘I used to love to travel …’ his mother began.
Soon, Douglas realised, she would be talking about Switzerland after the war and dancing through the night with people who ‘knew how to behave’. Then it would be a short skip to The Sound of Music and everyone’s plans for Christmas.
Douglas drifted off to think of Julia. He wondered what she might be doing and the type of family she had. Did they have intimate dinners at home, sit in front of the television, or go out to restaurants? He found it hard to imagine her as a wife and mother and impossible to think of her meeting his parents.
‘You’re not listening at all,’ said Emma. She appeared to be expecting a response.
‘Sorry?’
‘I was just saying how you find going away a lot more interesting than staying in boring old Glasgow with me.’
‘No, that’s not true …’ Douglas replied but he was too late.
Ian was determined to keep the mood good.
‘We all need to bring things back from the world into the home. Marriages can become very introverted, I find.’
Elizabeth cut in.
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘I’m not talking about our marriage, of course.’
‘I should hope not.’
‘Every marriage is different, isn’t it, Douglas?’ said Emma.
‘It is. And that’s what makes it so interesting.’
How much longer was he going to have to keep up this pretence, and how was he going to avoid giving himself away? He couldn’t stop thinking about Julia at all.
He helped stack the dishwasher in the kitchen while Elizabeth made the coffee. He knew that people were already beginning to notice that he was tense as well as drunk.
His mother suggested that he should see a doctor.
‘You know how I can always tell when something’s the matter.’
‘There’s nothing wrong.’
‘Do you have someone to talk to?’
‘I don’t need to talk to anyone.’
‘Jack’s always been a good listener.’
‘My brother is the last person I’m likely to talk to. What’s he still doing with that girl?’
‘She’s not a girl.’
‘She’s young enough to be his daughter.’
‘No, she isn’t. Would you like some coffee?’
‘No. I think I’ll just have brandy.’
‘I presume Emma is driving.’
‘You shouldn’t be doing this, Mother.’
‘I like doing it…’
Douglas knew he should apologise.
‘I’m sorry about everything. Sometimes I just can’t do it all. I don’t think anyone realises the stress I’m under.’
‘It’s all right. You’re home now.’
It was absurd how much he was giving away. In his drunkenness Douglas asked himself if it was because he wanted to be discovered. Then this whole charade would be over.
He had to stop. He could hardly bring Julia to East Fortune and introduce her to his family. It would be absurd.
This is Julia.
He couldn’t imagine it at all.
‘It’s not good, is it?’ said Tessa as she began to undress.
Angus was already in bed.
‘I know. But at least we got through it. The children were great.’
‘Honestly, though, your brothers.’
‘What about them?’
‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘I don’t know. It was the same old story with Douglas and Emma.’
‘They seem to get worse every time they come. And I don’t see why he always has to get so pissed.’
‘It’s become a bit of a routine.’
‘You should say something.’
Angus cupped his hand under his beard as if he was checking that it was still there.
‘I don’t know. Every time I try he just flies off the handle.’
Tessa climbed into bed.
‘You don’t think he’s having an affair, do you?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He just seems so grumpy all the time.’
‘That doesn’t mean he’s having an affair.’
‘No, but…’
Angus turned away, preparing for sleep.
‘Jack’s the one having the affair…’
Tessa gave her husband’s shoulder a little shake.
‘Actually, darling, that’s just where you’re wrong.’
‘Of course he is. I don’t know why my parents are so accommodating and I can’t believe Jack has the nerve. Even the children are embarrassed.’
‘I think they’re more amused than embarrassed. But there’s no hanky-panky. It’s separate rooms, you know.’
Angus turned back.
‘Are you sure?’
‘That’s what she told me.’
‘How did you get that out of her?’
‘People tell me things,’ said Tessa. ‘You know how frightened Jack is of women.’
‘He’s not frightened. He’s just distant.’
‘And he’s terrified of sex.’
‘No, he’s not. Don’t be ridiculous. And even if he is, how would you know?’
‘Maggie told me.’
‘God,’ said Angus. ‘Why can’t people be more discreet? There is such a thing as too much information. I hope you didn’t start telling her about our sex life.’
‘Of course I didn’t. Anyway, what would I have to complain about?’
‘Yes, I see your point.’ Angus put his arm round his wife. ‘She might think that you were showing off.’
‘Careful. It’s not that good.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Only teasing.’
Tessa began to stroke her husband’s face.
‘Let’s not worry about anyone else.’
‘I can’t really believe it about Jack and Krystyna.’
‘I hope you’re not jealous,’ said Tessa.
‘Of course I’m not. What would I have to be jealous about?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Honestly.’ Angus turned away once more. ‘You don’t think I fancy her, do you?’
‘Just checking,’ said Tessa.
Krystyna was given the same room in which she had stayed on the night of the play. Elizabeth had told her that the three Henderson boys had all been born in the house.
She thought of the child growing inside her. It was fourteen weeks old. She had always been thin but surely it was obvious now? She tried to think who else might have suspected. Tessa? Emma?
She could not keep up the pretence for much longer. It was not fair on this family and it was not honest to Jack.
She felt the yield of the bed and tried not to think of the future. She wished that she could sink further; that she could leave everything behind. She was frightened of everything.
Perhaps that was what it had been like for Sandy.
She dreamed of his dead body: how white he was, how the stubble still grew.
She tried to understand the fear he must have felt on his last day of life; fear of the night streets and of the future without her; fear of pain, or loss, and of being alone; fear of hope, fear of love, fear of trust, the very fear of being alive.
What would it mean to have his child?