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‘She’s pretty.’
Michelle sensed ambivalence in the comment. Would Aishe prefer her brother to date a someone who wasn’t pretty? Or was she uncomfortable with the fact this was the first time she’d seen these photos? After all, it wasn’t her brother showing these to her, these snapshots of his recent personal life. It was some stranger’s only slightly less strange best friend.
‘Yes, she is. She’s nice, too. Way nicer than me.’
Aishe lifted her eyes from the laptop screen and glanced across her kitchen table.
‘So I should be pleased that my brother’s shacking up with her?’
Michelle shrugged.
‘Not for me to say what you should care about.’
Aishe smiled. ‘Spoken like a true lawyer.’
She touched the laptop to scroll quickly through the rest of the photos Michelle had brought over on a memory stick. ‘Nice holiday. France. Italy. They must have some money between them?’
‘Darrell earns an OK living from her romance books, I think,’ Michelle said. ‘And your brother’s a chippie. Every builder I’ve used has charged so much I thought I’d have to sell a child.’
‘How did they meet?’
Definitely discomfort behind the ambivalence, Michelle decided. Aishe wanted to know about her brother’s life, but she was burning with embarrassment about having to ask. Fair enough, Michelle acknowledged. It must be pretty humiliating to find out about your own family from a woman you’ve only just met.
If she’d had a brother or sister, Michelle wondered, would she have made the effort to stay in touch? She supposed it would depend on whether or not they got on. Aishe doesn’t seem to hate Anselo, so there must be another reason why they don’t talk. The same reason she lives on the other side of the world, perhaps?
‘Darrell moved into a house owned by your cousin,’ Michelle told her. ‘Or by your cousin’s wife or some other borderline incestuous arrangement. Anselo was renovating it. Which led to many poor quality jokes about getting nailed. Mainly from me, of course.’
‘Don’t suppose you know which cousin?’ said Aishe.
‘The huge, scary one,’ Michelle promptly replied. ‘The one who looks like he could squish you like a bug.’
‘Patrick,’ Aishe nodded. ‘His wife is called Clare. I haven’t met her. Just seen photos ... ’
Her voice trailed off as she stared at the screen.
‘They’ve had a baby, I think,’ Michelle frowned.
Aishe’s head snapped around. ‘Who? Anse?’
Michelle felt a small, unexpected stab of guilt. Which she ignored.
‘No, no,’ she told Aishe. ‘Scary man and the wife you’ve never met. They had a baby boy, as I recall. A few months before Rosie. He must be over a year old now.’
Aishe sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘Well, well. Patrick’s a father. I had no idea.’
‘Missed that particular family smoke signal?’ said Michelle.
‘The smoke signals only arrive when they want to guilt-trip me into coming home,’ Aishe replied. ‘When I’ve missed a big family occasion, for example.’
‘Isn’t a baby a big family occasion?’
‘Normally, yes,’ Aishe admitted. ‘But Patrick married outside the clan, and I suspect his wife prefers to keep her Roma in-laws at arm’s length.’
‘From what Darrell’s told me, Patrick’s wife is gorgeous but somewhat fierce,’ Michelle said. ‘She didn’t mention Patrick’s family being an issue for Clare, though. Perhaps they just forgot to let you know? First baby tends to drive most things out of your head.’
‘Perhaps.’ Aishe gave a quick, dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t know her.’ Her lips tightened. ‘She can’t be any worse than the women my oldest brothers are married to. Idiots with delusions of respectability. The kind that breed badly behaved, entitled children that the parents insist are God’s gift.’
Michelle blew out a breath. ‘You know, I’d prefer to hang out with that kind of woman than the ones I’m surrounded by now. Present company excepted.’
Aishe raised an eyebrow. ‘What kind are they?’
Michelle described the women at her mother’s group and, after a brief skin-crawling hesitation, Chad’s colleagues’ wives.
‘SBMs,’ Aishe informed her. ‘Skinny Blonde Moms. Marin is rife with them.’
‘I don’t think any of the corpse brides live in Marin,’ said Michelle. ‘I got the feeling Marin was a bit downmarket for them.’
‘I know the type,’ said Aishe. ‘We’ve got some seriously rich people in Marin, but that’s new money, and some people hate the thought of looking like parvenus. They want to live in Seacliff, Pacific Heights, Nob Hill — where the old established families hang out, if you know what I mean. The closest thing Americans have to real nobs.’
‘I do know what you mean,’ said Michelle, without thinking. ‘That’s exactly the kind of family I married into.’
Aishe’s sudden look of interest galvanised her with alarm. The last thing Michelle wanted to do right now was talk about her marriage. Or her in-laws. Or anything remotely connected to either. The memory of the rest of the work dinner, the next day, and the week and a half since, was still raw and humiliating and appalling. Michelle found her breathing becoming shallow with panic at the mere flash of it. The memory was like a hideous, tentacled monster trapped in a box, and if she didn’t slam the lid down tight, it would leap out and suffocate her.
She could see Aishe’s question forming and was searching frantically for a distraction when the front door of Aishe’s tiny house crashed open. A childish chatter and babble flooded Michelle with relief.
Gulliver came up to the kitchen doorway, holding Harry by the hand. Tentative until he saw his mother, Harry beamed and ran around the table towards her. Michelle helped him scramble up into her lap.
‘Mommy-mommy-guess-what-I-went-on-the-swing!’ Harry was beside himself with glee.
Michelle bounced him on her knee. ‘You did?’ She glanced up to include Gulliver in the next question. ‘How’d that happen?’
Gulliver shrugged. ‘I taught him to push himself. That way he can just go as high as he likes.’
Michelle found herself unexpectedly taken aback. ‘Wow,’ she said, with genuine admiration. ‘What a smart kid you are.’
Gulliver immediately dropped his eyes and Michelle saw a faint blush creep over the back of his neck.
‘Sorry,’ said Michelle. ‘I shouldn’t call you a kid.’
‘Call him dude!’ Harry suggested loudly and started to squirm with the giggles.
‘Hmm,’ said his mother, setting him down on the floor again. ‘No more sugar for you!’
Another figure came into view through the doorway, a tall, very thin and very blonde young man, in whose arms, to Michelle’s surprise and alarm, was Rosie.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘Benedict Hardy.’ The young man smiled. ‘Not a serial killer. Gulliver’s tutor.’
The voice was also a surprise. English public school, guessed Michelle. What on earth was he doing there? Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. What were any of them doing there?
‘I saw this disreputable lot at the playground and joined them,’ the young man continued. He jiggled Rosie, who emitted a happy gurgle. ‘She’s not terribly keen on her pushchair, is she?’
Michelle came round to relieve him of his burden. But as she put out her arms, Rosie’s brow darkened and she let out a shriek of protest.
‘Wow,’ said Aishe. ‘That’s some set of lungs.’
Michelle gave her daughter a hard stare. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Go home with a man you’ve only just met. See if I care.’
She took a step backwards and immediately Rosie lunged forward with an impatient squeal. Benedict only just managed to keep hold of her.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Michelle, as she lifted her daughter from his arms. ‘She’s a pill. A contrary menace.’
The young man smiled, and Michelle realised that on top of being thin and blonde, he was also really rather good-looking. She glanced down at Aishe and saw that she was eyeing the young man balefully. She is not fond of him, Michelle noted with interest. Why not? He seems all right to me. Polite, cute, good with children.
Gulliver, who had been rummaging in the refrigerator, silently handed Benedict a soda. Michelle saw Benedict give him a meaningful stare and nod in her direction.
Gulliver said, ‘Um, do you want one, too? I mean—’ He blushed. ‘Can I offer you a soda?’
‘Smoothly done,’ Benedict murmured.
Michelle smiled. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Can—?’ Harry began, eagerly.
‘Nope.’
‘Aw-but-Mommy-but—’
‘No!’ Michelle firmly cut off her son in mid-wheedle. ‘It’s almost lunchtime. You can have a juice when we get home.’
Harry began to utter a whinging yodel, which he accompanied with flailing arms. Rosie, who never liked to miss out, also began to yell.
‘And there we have it,’ said Michelle. ‘Melt down o’clock. Time to go.’
‘I’ll help you with your stuff.’ Aishe jumped up and grabbed Michelle’s baby bag. Without an ‘excuse me’ or any kind of acknowledgment, she pushed past Benedict in the doorway.
Benedict stepped aside to let Michelle through. ‘Goodbye.’ He reached out a finger and chucked Rosie’s cheek. She rewarded him with a beaming smile and a glimpse of her first teeth.
‘Don’t put your finger anywhere near those,’ Michelle warned. ‘She bites like a horse.’
‘Duly noted,’ he said, and gave her an amused glance.
Wow, thought Michelle. He really is good-looking. Beautiful smoky green eyes. Fabulous full mouth . . .
Mentally, she gave herself a slapping. Not down that track, not even in her head. She was in enough trouble already.
She glanced behind for Harry, and found Gulliver had taken hold of his hand to lead him to the front door. Harry was staring up at his companion with the worshipful awe he usually reserved for Daddy. Michelle smiled and ushered up a small prayer of thanks that Gulliver was the kind of teen who did not think small children were carriers of that fatal disease Uncool.
She found Aishe had already hitched the baby bag to the stroller.
‘Thanks,’ Michelle said, deftly strapping down a squirming Rosie. ‘You must be glad you don’t have all this palaver any more. I feel like a cross between a pack mule and a ferret wrangler.’
An odd expression flitted across Aishe’s face. But then she gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah, it’s amazing the amount of crap you have to tote around when they’re little.’ She glanced back towards her son. ‘Now the only equipment he requires is a phone. And he can carry that himself. Most of the time.’
Aishe and Gulliver stood in the doorway to wave them off. Michelle glanced behind for Benedict, but he must have stayed in the kitchen. So, he was Gulliver’s home school tutor? An interesting choice, and one, given that baleful look, Aishe seemed to be regretting,. Michelle was intrigued to find out the reason. But that could wait.
‘Thanks for having us,’ she said instead. She nodded at Gulliver. ‘And thanks for taking them to the playground. What do you say to Gulliver, Harry?’
Harry beamed. ‘Dude!’ he shouted.
Michelle rolled her eyes. ‘Close enough.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ Aishe said to her. ‘Maybe, we could—’ She hesitated, as if such invitations did not come naturally to her. ‘Maybe we could go out for a drink later in the week?’
Michelle suppressed a shudder. She had vowed never to drink again. But the thought of an evening out, with someone she could actually talk to had significant appeal. She needn’t drink alcohol, she reasoned. She could stick to lime and soda, or Virgin Marys, or some other revolting teetotal concoction.
‘That’d be great,’ she said. ‘Can Gulliver babysit?’
‘Yay! Yes! Yay!’ Harry jumped up and down and clapped his hands.
Gulliver lifted his shoulders. ‘Sure. OK.’
‘YAY!’
‘Yes, yes, yay.’ Michelle reached for her son’s hand. ‘Come along, fan-boy. It’s time for lunch.’
Aishe watched them walk off. Gulliver stayed with her for a minute before sloping off back inside. Gone to join his main man, thought Aishe bitterly. She waited until Michelle had rounded the corner up the road then, in a dark mood she was neither able nor willing to explain, she shut the door and headed back to the kitchen.
It did not help her mood one bit to find only Benedict there, nor to hear him say, with a wistful half-smile, ‘Your new friend is a perfect thirties movie star. Louise Brooks hair, and the rest of her pure Clara Bow.’
Aishe wrenched open a cupboard to get a plate and slammed it shut again. ‘Like them big, do you?’
‘Oh, come on!’ Benedict protested. ‘She’s hardly big! And besides, I didn’t think you gave a damn about someone’s weight.’
Aishe slowly lowered the baguette she’d retrieved from the bread basket. ‘What do you mean?’
Benedict’s expression was that of an Allied soldier who had just worked out, ten feet too late, the translation of Achtung Minen.
‘Nothing. I meant nothing.’
Aishe twigged. ‘Oh. Right.’ She dumped the baguette on the plate and began to rip it open. ‘You mean Frank.’
Benedict eyed her warily, but she did not appear to be offended.
‘I’m sorry you lost him,’ he said. ‘He clearly meant a great deal to you.’
Aishe shoved lettuce and a slice of cheese into the baguette and lifted it to her mouth. She eyed him over the top of it. ‘I’m not going to talk to you about him.’
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Benedict retorted.
It was the first time he’d shown impatience with her. Aishe immediately felt better. She wasn’t the only one inclined to be snippy.
‘It hurts to talk about Frank, even all these years later,’ she said, picking at the baguette. ‘Stupid cliché but he’s the only person who ever loved me for me.’
‘Not stupid,’ said Benedict, quietly. ‘We should all be that fortunate.’
Aishe picked another crusty chunk off the baguette. Until Frank had come along, keeping people at bay had been the story of her life. After Frank, she’d reverted back to it. It was safer, easier. Or at least, it had been. But lately, the shape of her life had altered. There were people in it where before there had been none, and she had let them in apparently willingly. Michelle was the first person since Frank whom Aishe had considered could become a friend. And with Michelle had come threads of connections to family that Aishe thought she had cut for good.
The upshot was that Aishe had noticed an alteration in her behaviour. She quite enjoyed Michelle’s company and she wouldn’t mind, after all this time, having a conversation with Anselo. With those two, Aishe felt as if she could allow herself to be less prickly, allow herself to connect. But could she – should she – do the same with Benedict? Her suspicious instincts still clicked like a Geiger counter near a stash of plutonium, but perhaps that was unfair? Well, she’d never know if she didn’t interrogate him.
Aishe said, ‘Is this more than a job for you?’
Benedict’s frown was slightly wary.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You seem to like hanging round here. For more than the free tacos and beer.’
‘Is that a problem?’ he said. ‘Because you can dock my wages if—’
‘If I docked your wages, I might as well pay you in shirt buttons. Well? Why do you like hanging round? I mean, it’s not likely to be for my warm and friendly personality, is it?’
She said it with a straight face, and Benedict obviously had no clue whether he was expected to smile or not.
‘I, er, don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said, ‘but I do think we’d get along quite well – as friends of course – if you gave me the chance. We have quite a lot in common.’
Aishe frowned. ‘Like what? We’re both English, but that’s about it.’
Benedict’s expression was embarrassed but resolute. ‘You asked why I’d been hopping all over the world. And the answer is – I ran away. Nine years ago. From my family. Sound familiar?’
‘Well—’
‘Mum’s not running away.’
Startled, the pair in the kitchen turned towards the doorway. Gulliver was there, standing with arms at his sides but a few inches out from his body. He looked as if he was preparing to fight, or draw two six-shooters from their holsters.
‘Isn’t she?’ said Benedict.
Gulliver shook his head. ‘You only need to run away if they’re chasing you. And Mum’s family stopped chasing her years ago, didn’t they?’
Aishe was not at all sure where this was heading, but she knew to tread carefully.
‘They finally decided to respect the fact that I wanted to be left alone,’ she said.
Gulliver stared at his mother. ‘And now we are, aren’t we? We’re all alone. Just you and me.’
‘What’s up, bud?’ said his mother softly. ‘What’s brought all this on?’ She had a sudden insight. ‘Did you email your uncle?’
Gulliver nodded. ‘He just emailed back. He said it was nice to hear from me. He said to say hello to you.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing!’ Gulliver snapped. His hands drove downwards, fingers accusing the floor. ‘That was it! Nice! And hello! After fourteen fucking years!’
‘Gull—’
‘I’m nothing to them!’ he yelled. ‘Because now you’re nothing to them! You never asked if I wanted no family! But you did it anyway because that’s what you wanted! No family! Just you and me!’
‘That’s not fair, Gulliver! If Frank hadn’t died—’
‘He’d have still only been your husband! Frank only mattered to you!’
‘That’s not fair.’ The words fell clumsily.
Gulliver was still breathing hard, but this time he didn’t yell. ‘And how fair have you been to me? I have no dad. I have no family. I’m nothing. I’m nobody. Because that’s what you wanted.’
He shot a glance at Benedict that managed to be both aggressive and apologetic. ‘I’m not studying today. I’m going out.’
And he went, unhooking his sweatshirt from the banister on the way.
Aishe found her knees weren’t as stable as they had been and she sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Hand over her mouth, she stared at the closed front door.
It was a while before Benedict spoke. ‘Have your family really excommunicated you?’
Aishe shook her head. ‘I hadn’t thought so. But, maybe—’
‘Maybe?’
‘Maybe they got fed up with waiting.’
Aishe felt the prick of tears and blinked them away furiously. She would not cry. She wouldn’t.
‘Worth asking?’ said Benedict. ‘For his sake?’
‘What do you care?’ Aishe snapped, her eyes still on the door. ‘You’ll be here today, gone tomorrow. You just said so.’
She heard the scrape of a chair as Benedict pulled out the one next to her.
‘I’m tired of running,’ he said. ‘It’s been almost ten years. If I stop, I’ll be caught. Not immediately, but eventually. I know that. But I’m tired.’
Despite herself, Aishe turned towards him. ‘What will happen if they catch you?’
‘They?’ Benedict shook his head. ‘No they. Only he.’
‘Who? Brother? Uncle? Father—?’
Benedict nodded.
‘Father,’ said Aishe. ‘What will he do if he catches you?’
‘You know what?’ Benedict replied after a moment. ‘After all this time, I’m no longer sure.’