‘Isn’t Greer here? I wanted to ask her some baby advice.’ Alba sits on the kitchen counter, kicking her legs lightly against the cabinets below. ‘And where’s Till?’
‘Tilly’s having a sleepover at Megan’s, and Greer …’
‘What?’ Alba frowns. ‘Am I sensing disquiet in the afterlife?’
Edward snorts. ‘Oh, she’s fine. She’s having the time of her – well, death.’
Alba giggles and even Edward allows himself a small smile.
‘It’s me who’s the total wreck.’ He sighs. ‘I don’t know how to deal with it.’
‘With what?’
‘With the fact that she’s not the same as she was … before.’
‘Well, you can’t expect her to be,’ Alba says, crossing her legs. ‘She’s not.’
Edward sighs again, deep and long. ‘Yeah, I know. But I just thought … When she came back, I was so, so bloody happy. I thought it’d all be the same again, just like it was before. I thought I’d been given my life back’ – he gives a sad little smile – ‘my wife back. I thought our family would be fixed again, that we’d been given another chance. But she’s changed, she doesn’t feel the same way about things any more, about me …’
Alba jumps down from the kitchen counter and steps over to her brother, putting her hand softly against his back. ‘You can’t hold on to her, Ed. Life has changed, it’s shifted and transformed and you’re trying to relive what’s gone, you’re trying to grasp something that’s already disappeared.’
Edward looks down at Alba. ‘When did you get so wise, little sister?’
She smiles. ‘I’m preparing for motherhood.’
‘Well, by the sound of it, you’re going to be good at it,’ Edward says. ‘Certainly better than I am at fatherhood.’
‘Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Alba says. ‘You’ve been through a lot, much more than most. You’re doing your best and you’re doing all right. Tilly seems pretty well settled to me.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Edward says. ‘Though she’s a lot happier now that Greer’s back. And she’s still a terrific mother, even if she doesn’t really want to be a wife any more.’
Alba rubs Edward’s back.
‘Well, maybe that’s why she came back, not for you but for Till. Or, maybe to help you let her go, or teach you something about love,’ Alba suggests. ‘Or perhaps she just came back for herself, maybe it has nothing to do with you at all.’
Edward frowns and then, suddenly, his face crumples into laughter.
‘I’m slightly horrified to admit that hadn’t occurred to me at all,’ he says, ‘that she could be back for a reason that had nothing to do with me. That she might have her own reasons, her own journey, her own … Why is love so often monumentally self-centred?’
‘Yeah, I think good love is a balance,’ Alba says. ‘Between two people who take care of themselves and each other, but who don’t expect another person to fulfil them, or blame them when they’re feeling unfulfilled.’
‘How do you know all this stuff?’ Edward asks. ‘I don’t and I’ve got at least a decade of experience on you.’
Alba smiles. ‘Zoë’s taught me a lot. Her parents actually have a happy marriage; can you believe it? So it’s been a bit of a steep learning curve for me, but then you know what a swot I am.’
Edward grins. ‘I’m deeply impressed.’
‘You know, we visited her parents for dinner a few weeks back, to tell them about the baby, and her dad said something pretty incredible.’
‘What?’
‘He said that he’d noticed something, over the thirty years of being married to Zoë’s mum – that how “in love” with her he felt on any given day had absolutely nothing to do with his wife and everything to do with him. If he was feeling great then she could do no wrong, his love overflowed. And if he was feeling out of sorts then he felt disconnected and picked on petty things. Either way, his wife hadn’t done anything differently. It wasn’t her fault – the good or the bad.’
Edward thinks of Greer, probably this minute with his next-door neighbour. ‘But, surely, the people we love can do things that make us miserable, right? I mean, saying it’s all up to us, doesn’t that let the other person entirely off the hook, so they can behave however they damn well please and we just have to swallow it?’
Alba drops her hand from her brother’s back and steps back towards the counter again. ‘No, not at all. That’s not what he meant. He was making the point that, most people in life are dissatisfied and, instead of looking inward, they look outward and blame their feelings on their nearest and dearest. Of course, this works in their favour, for a while, when they first fall in love – then they blame all those glorious feelings on the other person and infatuation sets in. But, once the endorphins have subsided, once the fresh shine has worn off and life settles back to normal again and their default sense of dissatisfaction returns, then eventually they’ll make the very person they once made responsible for the good feelings, responsible for the bad ones. Do you see?’
Edward gives his sister a sharp look. ‘Have you been writing me letters?’
Alba frowns. ‘No, why?’
Edward sighs. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Why do men think sex is the answer to everything?’
‘What?’ Ross stops walking.
They are ambling along King’s Parade, eating falafel wraps on Ava’s lunch break, having bumped into each other at the falafel van. The coincidence was fortunate since, following the slightly humiliating experience of their last encounter, Ava hadn’t planned on seeing him again anytime soon, certainly not outside the dance class. Indeed, she’d even considered looking for another dance class altogether. When she’d seen him in the queue, she’d tried to duck away, but he’d spotted her too quickly and good manners had dictated that she join him, instead of run away, as she’d much rather have done.
‘Well, it’s true,’ Ava says. ‘You can’t deny it. You think I should have a fling. You think sex is the answer to everything.’
Ross laughs. ‘Naw, I don’t think sex is the answer to everything, I just think – right now – it’s the answer to your thing. Or, the start, anyway.’
Ava scowls. ‘The start? What’s that supposed to mean? How messed up do you think I am?’
‘Naw, not messed up,’ Ross says, considering. ‘Just in need of a little opening up, a little joie de vivre, that’s all.’
‘I get that through dancing.’
‘Hey, don’t get me wrong, dancing is braw. But it’s just a part of life, it’s not a substitute for it.’
‘Yeah, well, so is sex – just part of life, I mean.’
‘Aye, true.’ Ross smiles, ripping into his falafel. ‘But is it a part of your life?’
Ava scowls again. ‘Are you this rude to all the people you “assist”?’
‘I’m not rude,’ Ross says, with his mouth full. ‘I’m just straightforward. I’ll tell you things other people won’t, that’s my job.’
‘Well, I’m not employing you.’
‘Aye, of course not,’ Ross says. ‘But then most people don’t reach out for any sort of assistance until their life has deteriorated into complete disaster. I like to step in before that happens. It’s less messy that way.’
Ava rolls her eyes. ‘So you’re some sort of self-appointed, but very misguided, angel?’
‘I wouldn’t say misguided,’ Ross huffs. ‘Aye, I’m very accurate, actually. I have a ninety-nine per cent satisfaction rate among my clients.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Ava snaps back, finding she’s rather enjoying being slightly feisty. ‘So one per cent of them are entirely dissatisfied?’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Ross says. ‘But you can’t please everyone. Anyway, they don’t all follow my advice. I canna be blamed for that now, can I?’
Ava can’t help but laugh. He’s so utterly different from her – brash, cocky, oozing with self-confidence – that being with him brings out traits in Ava she never thought she had. It’s as if he has showered sunlight on dark soil and coaxed long-dormant seedlings into sprouting leaves. And, although she’s spent her life being a wallflower, scathing of all the swaggering students, Ava has to admit that there’s something glorious in it. She’d tasted a snatch of it with Finn – speaking without first filtering her words, being able to blurt without fear – and now Ava realises that she’s always hated such self-assured people because really she hated herself for not allowing herself to be like them.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Ava says with a smile. ‘I think I’ve spent my whole life trying to please everyone.’ And, with those words, she realises something else – why Ross doesn’t get romantically involved with his protégées. If she was sleeping with him she’d want to please him so hugely, she’d never be able to truly be herself.
‘Aye, and did you succeed?’
Ava laughs. ‘No, not really. It’s pretty difficult, since everyone’s so different. Mum wanted me to be prim and proper, get married and have a dozen babies. Dad wanted me to go to Trinity College, like he did, graduate with honours in law, like he did, then eschew all attachments, like he wishes he had, and dedicate myself to becoming a high court judge, or some such thing.’
Ross stops devouring his falafel and looks at her. ‘So, what did ye do?’
‘I tried to please them both – I became a librarian in the University Law Library and got married very young, failed to make any babies, then got divorced – and, of course, pleased neither. Then I gave up every connection to law entirely and “downgraded” to the public library. So now I’m a great disappointment to them both.’
Ross rests his hand lightly on Ava’s arm and she stops walking.
‘You may think that,’ he says. ‘They may even think that. But it ain’t true. Deep down, even so deep they’re unaware of it, that isn’t the way they feel.’
‘Thank you,’ Ava says softly. ‘That’s very kind of you to say.’
‘Aye,’ Ross says, ‘but that ain’t why I’m saying it. Being kind is not my modus operandi. I’m saying it cos it’s true.’
‘How would you know? You’ve never met them.’
‘Oh,’ Ross says, dragging out the syllable. ‘I’ve got not a wee amount of experience in the area of people’s parents, and mountains in the difference between thinking and feeling – most people live their whole lives thinking they feel this and that about this and that. Really, they ain’t got a clue. And, if only they’d stop thinking long enough, they’d find that out.’
Ava nods; even though she doesn’t entirely understand what he means she trusts somehow that what Ross says is true. She leans towards him and gives him a playful shove. ‘I think you’re kinder than you think.’
Ross smiles, but says nothing.
Ava takes a bite of her falafel and chews, rather relieved by the silence. It doesn’t last.
‘Right then, tell me,’ Ross says. ‘In all this trying to please everyone else, how much did you end up pleasing yerself?’
Ava swallows and smiles. ‘I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question, right?’
‘Aye, it would be.’ Ross laughs. ‘Which brings me back to the fling …’
‘What do you want?’
‘Anything. Something serene.’
Finn nods. This is all they’ve done for days now. He has played and she has listened. Sometimes they talk. They still haven’t touched. Each is perfectly content.
Finn begins with Bach and Schubert. He floats from The Well-Tempered Clavier to ‘The Trout Quintet’ to ‘Ave Maria.’
‘This one always made me cry,’ Greer says, ‘when I was alive.’
Finn begins again. ‘Would it still, if you could?’
Greer shrugs. ‘Now I just feel … sublime.’
Finn smiles.
‘Again, please,’ Greer says. And, when he does, she starts to sing. ‘Ave Maria … Gratia plena … Maria, gratia plena … Maria, gratia plena …’
And then Finn is crying, tears sliding down his cheeks as he plays. He laughs.
‘I can’t remember the last time that happened,’ he says softly, still crying, still playing. The notes encircle them, the music drifting on silk ribbons through the air, settling on their shoulders, tugging at their hearts, pulling them towards each other, though neither moves.
Finally, Finn falls silent, his fingers resting on the strings, his hand holding the violin to his chest. He sinks to the floor, legs outstretched, then leans back against the sofa, his head flopping onto the cushions.
‘I’ve never—I’ve never played this way before, the way I play when you’re listening.’
Greer smiles. ‘Then I shall always be listening.’ She comes to settle close to him. ‘Do you play in public, to audiences?’
Finn gives a wry smile. ‘Sort of. But all my audiences are under twelve years old. Plus, on occasion, a few teachers.’
‘Oh? But, why?’ Greer asks. ‘I’d have thought you would’ve been playing in concert halls since you were a kid. I imagined you in London on a stage, at the Royal Albert Hall.’
Finn laughs. ‘I guess not.’
‘Why not?’
Finn shrugs.
‘Oh, please. There must be more to it than that. Your music is … divine. I can’t be the only person who feels that way, surely? Your teachers, your mother, they must have encouraged you to perform.’
‘My mother,’ Finn considers, ‘was very … generous and very proud of me. She listened to me play but she was so, well, set apart, so removed within herself, after my father left, that I don’t think she ever really did anything with her whole heart again. Even when she listened it was a bit like playing into a void, into a bottomless darkness that my notes fell into, bouncing, knocking into each other … I never felt her deeply moved or touched. I suppose there was always a part of her that my brother and I could never reach. I wanted her to love the music as I did, to meet my passion, but she couldn’t. So, playing for her wasn’t a very happy experience for me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Greer says softly. ‘But your teachers? Didn’t they meet you?’
‘No,’ Finn says. ‘Well, it wasn’t their fault. I don’t think I gave anything – I didn’t offer anyone my whole heart after that. I’d just give them the minimum and I’d save the rest for myself, in private.’
He sets his violin gently down on the carpet.
‘But it gives you joy now, doesn’t it, to play for me?’
‘Yes.’ Finn grins. ‘Pretty much more than anything.’
Greer smiles. ‘Ditto.’
Finn eyes her. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar. I sense you hatching a plan.’
Greer laughs. ‘Okay, all right. I was thinking … what a great shame it is, that you don’t play in public, when you could bring such great joy to so many people.’
Finn shrugs. ‘I don’t think so. There are many musicians better than me out there, people go to concerts, they listen to CDs. There’s really nothing more I have to offer that’s any better than all of that.’
‘Bullshit!’
Finn looks at Greer, shocked.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s total crap,’ Greer says. ‘It’s not up to you to decide what other people want to hear, if you’re not offering them the option. If you go out there and play and nobody’s interested then, okay, I’ll give you that. But you’ve got to at least give them the chance.’
Finn gazes at Greer, speechless.
‘Don’t rob them of you,’ she continues, ‘before they’ve even had the chance to choose.’
Finn takes a deep breath. ‘That must be the most impassioned speech I’ve ever heard,’ he says, still a little breathless. ‘Especially involving myself as the subject. I’m enormously touched.’
‘Don’t be,’ Greer says. ‘I didn’t say it because I love you, I said it because it’s true. I said it because it needs to be said. I said it because you need to be heard. I said it—’
‘Do you love me?’
Greer frowns. ‘Of course. Didn’t I tell you that when I came back? In fact, didn’t I tell you that yesterday too, and the day before that?’
Finn grins. ‘Yes, but I’m not averse to hearing it every day, even more often than that, in fact, if circumstances permit.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll see what I can do about that,’ she says. ‘I love you. There you go, that should keep you going for another hour or so.’ She smiles.
‘Cheeky. If you had some ribs I could tickle,’ Finn says, ‘this is when I’d be tickling them.’
Greer laughs. ‘But you can’t, you can’t touch me,’ she teases, ‘you can’t—’ And then, all of a sudden, she stops. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘What?’
‘Children,’ Greer whispers. ‘Children.’
Finn leans forward. ‘What? Where?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty-six.’
‘And, do you want children?’
Finn shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really given it much thought.’
Greer sighs. ‘Oh, God. When I was your age, I thought of nothing else. Well, not quite, but nearly. And …’
‘What?’
Greer sighs. ‘Well, not only can I not give you any sexual satisfaction, but I can’t give you any children either.’ She sighs again, deeper. ‘Not that I could do the latter even when I was alive, so that’s no matter.’
Finn frowns. ‘But isn’t the little girl next door your daughter?’
‘Yes, she is. But I didn’t give birth to her, that’s all. I was lucky enough to inherit her from Edward’s first wife.’
‘She died, when Tilly was about a year old.’
‘Shit,’ Finn says. ‘And then you … Poor bugger.’
Greer sighs again. ‘I know. Edward hasn’t had the easiest time of it, wife-wise.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Finn says. ‘And now I’m stealing his second – he must hate me. And I can’t say I blame him.’
‘You’re probably not his favourite person in the world right now,’ Greer admits. ‘But he knows this is all me, that it hasn’t … that you wouldn’t … Anyway, in time, I hope the two of you might even become friends.’
Now Finn sighs. ‘Sweetheart, I think you’re overestimating the human condition right now. I think you’ve forgotten what it was like to be one of us.’
Greer gives a wry smile. ‘I’m trying, but now I—I’m worried.’
‘About what?’ Finn shuffles over to her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t want you to regret it. When you’re much older and it’s too late.’
‘Regret what?’
‘Not having a real wife, children, a normal life.’
‘Oh, hell,’ Finn says. ‘Forget about that. I’m a self-obsessed musician. I can happily play for ten, fifteen hours a day. I’d make a lousy husband and a worse father.’ He reaches out to her. ‘Really, you’re the absolute perfect, perfect … non-wife for me.’
Greer smiles. ‘You may think that now, but when you’re sixty and alone and—’
Finn frowns. ‘I won’t be alone, I hope. You’ll still be here, won’t you?’
‘I hope so too,’ Greer says. ‘But I don’t know. How can we know for certain? Really, I have no idea how long I’ll be here for.’
‘Shush,’ Finn holds a finger over her lips. ‘Let’s not worry about this stuff now. What’s the point?’
‘The point is to prepare,’ Greer says. ‘So you can prevent pain in the future and—’
‘Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll be playing this thing’ – he nods at the violin at his feet – ‘until I drop down dead. I’d drive any normal woman crazy; my kids would be in therapy complaining about their father who never gave them any attention. Believe me, our strange situation is the best of all worlds.’
Greer gazes at him. ‘Are you certain?’
Finn nods. ‘More certain than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.’
Greer looks at him, trying to discern a flicker of dissolution or doubt. But Greer can’t see any trace of fear or hesitation in Finn’s eyes; she can only see her own reflected back at her.