How to Kill Your Family(57)

‘Caro, have some cake. I know it’s not your usual fare but you’ve got to keep your strength up, don’t you? Don’t want to lose that famous right hook of yours.’

The group huddling in the doorway titter. Caro looks at me, her mouth frozen in fury and stalks off. Jimmy, who was too far away to hear what I was saying, walks towards me with purpose and pulls me into the toilet.

‘What are you doing?’ he hisses, leaning on the sink and pushing me down onto the seat. ‘Are you trying to pick a fight with her at our engagement party? I thought we’d agreed that you were going to at least try and be happy for us.’

‘How can I do that when you’ve agreed to marry a narcissist who seems to actively dislike you?’ I said, standing up. ‘I want to respect you, not pander to you. Why do you expect me to be kind but you don’t ask the same from Caro?’ I push past him, and past the queue of people waiting for the bathroom to become available.

The night has ramped up now, it feels frantic and sharp. It’s not a happy show of love, we aren’t here to celebrate a union, we’re here to indulge Caro. But in what? I want to leave, but I can’t abandon Jimmy here with a drunk fiancée and a group of people who probably don’t even know his full name. I sit in a corner of the sitting room and pretend to be on the edge of whatever group is nearest. I pretend to check emails, I break my strict limit and smoke more cigarettes. The party thins out, people stumbling into the bedroom to get their coats, pulling away from Caro as she entreats them to stay. She keeps pace only with herself, her small body unable to stay still. Jimmy hasn’t even attempted to try to engage her again, but he won’t look at me. Eventually, at 3 a.m., it’s just the three of us and one other woman left in the flat. The woman is talking earnestly to Jimmy, and over the music (which Caro has cranked up) I catch some words: ‘Worried …’, ‘Eaten?’, ‘Again …’ I imagine they’ve both seen this version of Caro before and are waiting to intervene and get her into bed. But Caro is in her own world, changing songs every minute or so, pouring another drink, numbing herself. I sit and watch, wondering whether to call a cab and leave them to sort her out, but abruptly, she stops dancing and looks at me.

‘Have you got any tobacco? I need a fag, it’s so hot in here.’ Jimmy gets up and starts to suggest we all call it a night but she cuts him off and I pull out my cigarettes and tell her I’ll come with her. Jimmy finally looks at me.

‘It’s fine. Stay here. I’ll sort this,’ I say as I usher her down the corridor and onto the balcony.

Caro stumbles outside and leans against the balustrade. I produce cigarettes and light her one. I stand over her, aware of how tiny she seems.

‘You are behaving like a lunatic,’ I say, as I drag on my fag. She doesn’t look at me. ‘You have made this night a nightmare. I can only assume you’re desperately unhappy to behave like this. Why are you marrying Jim? Break it off and find someone who has a nice family estate and will let you starve yourself to your heart’s content as long as you look nice on his arm. It’ll be easy. You’ll be happier, Jim won’t be gradually destroyed. I won’t have to pretend to tolerate you. Go on, Caro, you know I’m right.’

She pulls herself up onto the lip of the balcony so that she’s sitting astride it and throws her head back. She’s laughing. It’s the most natural she’s been all night. Caro coughs, sits up straight and tucks her hair behind her ear.

‘You are so stupid,’ she drawls. ‘You are SO STUPID. I don’t want to marry some bonehead with a trust fund. Of course it’s what I should do, but I’d die of boredom. I want to marry Jimmy – he’s kind and he adores me – not like some fusty banker who’d treat me with disdain and fuck his secretary at any opportunity. I want Jimmy.’

I can’t help but roll my eyes. ‘Such a cliché, Caro. Wouldn’t therapy have been cheaper? At least it might help with some of your other issues. They’re not going away, no matter how hard Jim tries to help. Why make him a wreck too?’

There is no point to this, I think. She hates me, we are trying to wound each other with words and neither of us will really land a fatal blow. Caro’s pupils are enormous, black and boring into me.

‘Oh stop it. You don’t get to have an opinion here, you fucking single white female. Wearing green to upstage me at my own engagement party. Christ, I shouldn’t even have to indulge your jealousy and delusions. Everyone’s a wreck, Grace, you should understand that. But we’re adults. We’ll work out a good understanding. I’ll earn the money and he’ll be an upstanding chap and our life will be nice. Simple. Normal. I want normal. He won’t be like Lionel, never there, never warm, always desperate for the next thing.’ She draws on her cigarette. ‘It’ll all be just grand. But for that to happen, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you probably need to not be A. THING.’ She emphasises those last two words, looking at me, not laughing now.

‘Jimmy loves you, you’re like a weird sister wife, aren’t you? Always around, but not quite his. Part of the family, but you’re not – not really. Sophie is obsessed with a good deed. You were just one of them. Why didn’t you take the hint when you hit 18 and slink off? A grown adult with a boring job isn’t quite the prize that a child with a dead mother is. You’re no use.’