Our House(18)

‘I know all about that.’ Tina’s patience is exaggerated, a sign of impatience in her. ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise, Fi.’

‘What surprise? Will you please tell me what’s going on!’

‘The redecoration. Isn’t it obvious? Poor Bram, he’ll be upset you’ve arrived before it’s finished. Maybe you should go to the flat, ask the decorators not to let on you’ve been there? Or you’re welcome to come over here. Shall I tell the boys you’re home early?’

‘No, no, don’t do that.’ She has to stem this flow of questions, more questions she can’t answer, and try to think. ‘You just carry on with whatever you’ve planned. Thank you. I’ll phone you later. Give my love to the boys.’

She hangs up. ‘She says you’re here to decorate,’ she tells Lucy. ‘There’s no other explanation for all our stuff having been cleared out. Where have you put everything? Why won’t you tell me?’

Abandoning her kettle, Lucy comes to sit next to her. Her movements and breathing are soft, as if she’s making herself as unobjectionable as possible. ‘I’m not decorating, Fi, I think you can see that. I’m moving in. As I understand it, you and your family moved out yesterday. It sounds as if you were out of town, were you?’

‘Yes, I’m not supposed to be back yet, but I needed my laptop.’ The sound she utters is supposed to be laughter but it comes out wrong, broken. ‘Pointless to ask where that is.’

Lucy just smiles, gentle, encouraging. ‘Look, your kids are safe, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? Let’s just catch our breath and think where else your husband might be. What about trying his office?’

‘Yes.’ Fi looks at Lucy, this stranger in her kitchen now guiding her thoughts and actions, and she thinks, What’s the connection, Bram? Why have you lied to Tina? To me? Where have you gone?

Her hands tremble as she takes up the phone once more.

What have you done?


Geneva, 2.30 p.m.

He cannot stay in the room a moment longer; if he does, he will hurl himself at the sealed window – over and over until he slumps to the floor. He’ll go out, find a bar, have a beer. Tomorrow, he’ll move on. He won’t risk staying more than a single night here. He’ll go to the train station and he’ll look at the departures board and take his pick. Cross into France, like he thought he might, to Grenoble or Lyon.

Good, he thinks, a plan. Or at least something better than this, this suffocating limbo.

Pocketing his wallet, he senses the lightness, the absence of counterbalance, the missing items he has carried habitually for as long as he can remember:

House keys.





11


‘Fi’s Story’ > 00:42:57

I haven’t said much about the boys, I know. I suppose I’ve been hoping I could keep them out of this. The thing is, I haven’t even broken the news to them yet about the house. My latest lie is that it’s been flooded after all the rain we’ve had, but I can’t expect to fob them off for much longer, especially once this is released and people start talking. Primary schools have grapevines too, pruned with dedication by the parents at the gate, which I’ve avoided since Bram disappeared. (Mum has been doing the school run.) I’ve avoided Alder Rise altogether.

Their names are Leo and Harry and they are eighteen months apart. Leo has just turned nine and Harry will be eight in July. They both have Bram’s dark unruly hair and pale gentle mouth and we all think they’ll have his height too. Being so close in age, Harry follows in Leo’s footsteps even while the prints are fresh. Harry’s Year Three teacher was Leo’s the year before; at swimming lessons, Leo moved from Dolphins to Stingrays the term Harry entered Dolphins. On paper, they look to be taking identical paths.

But they are utterly different in character.

Harry is bold. He makes eye contact with adults and his voice is a foghorn with a single setting. It’s a point of principle to him that he doesn’t seek consolation or comfort. He’ll injure himself, slip down wet steps or crash-land from the magnolia, and he’ll look for the exit through his tears, grimly resisting the outstretched arms, the offers of comfort.

Leo is the crier, the cuddler, the obliger. Inevitable, then, that I sometimes think my bond with him is stronger. He had quite bad allergies as an infant as well, which led to a couple of A & E visits before the right medication was prescribed. We still keep it to hand, in case of a flare-up.

I discussed the new living arrangements with him as we unloaded the dishwasher together. Harry claimed table laying as his chore, but the dishwasher was Leo’s department.

‘What do you think of our new plan?’ I asked him.

‘It’s okay.’

‘You understand how it’s going to work?’

‘Mmm, I think.’

‘Things aren’t going to be that different. We’ll all still live here, it’s just that Dad and I will take it in turns.’

How important was it to see your parents together? If we hadn’t announced it semi-formally as we had, how long before the boys noticed of their own accord that we were never in the same place at the same time? It was possible it might have been some time.

‘Do you have any questions for me?’ I saw him think, looking down at the last of the clean utensils in his hands. He was not the questioner, Harry was the questioner. Leo was the accepter. ‘Anything?’ I prompted. ‘Anything that doesn’t make sense?’