The Family Game(75)
‘You think he’s avoiding us?’ I ask, before I can stop myself. Edward seems surprised at the question.
‘No, of course not. Turn of phrase. But who knows? Who knows what goes on in his mind. He’d certainly never deign to tell us. But we’ll see him tomorrow for sure. We play a game on Christmas Eve. Family tradition. There are clues; you find presents. He wouldn’t miss that. But don’t worry, after what happened at Fiona and Oliver’s, no one’s going to expect you to take part in any of that.’
‘How come you didn’t tell me about it before?’
‘Because there’s no way I’m letting you do it, not after Krampus.’
‘Letting me?’ I enquire archly, though the sentiment is oddly comforting given everything going on right now. ‘Is it similar to the Krampus race?’ I ask, fully aware that I need to take part in that game willingly or this will never work. ‘I did okay in that, right?’
Edward looks amused. ‘Um, yeah, you did amazing, but, I mean, you hated it, right? No offence, honey, but I really don’t think this one is a good idea. I’ll be honest with you, it’s a really weird game. And, sure, there’s no monster chasing you in this one, but there is my family. Besides, no one is expecting you to do this. You’re pregnant. You can definitely sit it out.’
‘No way am I sitting it out,’ I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. A look of confusion passes over his features and I quickly continue. ‘I might have overreacted about the whole Krampus thing. It was fun, in retrospect. I just should have known a bit more about it before it started. But the rules of this game aren’t a secret too, are they?’
His expression lifts. ‘No, it’s just clues. A treasure hunt. You’re racing the other players but no one’s going to be chasing you.’
That’s what you think, I reply in my mind.
* * *
While eating a dinner in our room later that evening, I decide to broach a question that’s been niggling me since I first listened to Robert’s tape. I can’t get the idea out of my head that in some way Edward, and the rest of the family, must have an inkling of what their father is really capable of.
I know it’s a risk bringing this up, but I need to know the answer and there will never be a good time to ask.
‘Edward, why didn’t you tell me the truth about Bobby? That he jumped?’
He looks up at me, startled.
‘He didn’t die from the drug interaction,’ I continue gently. ‘Well, I suppose in a way he did, but why didn’t you tell me he committed suicide?’
I watch him flinch at my choice of words and immediately I regret them. ‘Because I was ashamed. For him. Of him. He wasn’t like that, you see. I don’t want him remembered like that. He was strong, and suicide seems so—’
‘I feel like you should have told me, Ed,’ I say, not harshly, but I can’t deny I am starting to feel a little alone on a limb. ‘I had to hear it from Lila,’ I lie.
He gives a slow nod, a question answered.
‘I’m not good at talking about my emotions,’ he tells me, and I feel his vulnerability for the first time in a long time. ‘Stuart is better at it. Heck, they all are. Being the eldest has been hard. If I don’t mention it then it didn’t happen and if it didn’t happen then it can’t happen to me. I don’t know…’ he trails off, embarrassed, like he has said too much.
There I was thinking the man I found was too perfect, but it turns out he’s just under more pressure to hide his fears than the regular guy. ‘It’s okay. I understand. And you don’t have to worry about that happening to you, Ed, because I am here with you. Every step of the way. Nothing ever has to be that hard again. I promise you.’ As I say it, I know I mean it even though it’s not true. Because I don’t even know if I’m going to make it through the next two days let alone be with him for a lifetime. But my words seem to salve his worries.
‘I’m trying, Harry, I can’t tell you how hard, to be open with you. I’m glad you can be with me. This is the closest I have ever got to—’ he stops himself with a gentle shake of his head. ‘I just love you. I’m glad we’re here, together. I’m glad you came.’
* * *
Beyond the bedroom window, thick flakes of snow are beginning to drift. We watch it swirl and settle, dusting the moonlit gardens as far as the eye can see. A winter wonderland in the making. I try to imagine the view through Edward’s eyes, try to imagine the feeling of owning all of this, owning the grass, the snow, the walls, the windows, the moon bone white in the sky. But the idea, like quicksilver, is too viscous to hold in my mind.
We sit in our moonlit rectangle of light, one hand grasping the other, and finish our meal as virgin snow blankets The Hydes.
40 The Players and the Game
Saturday 24 December
When we wake, the snow has settled and continues to fall. The Hydes has been blanketed in white and the branches of the forest hang laden.
From the bedroom window I take it in and that age-old Christmas feeling flexes itself awake inside me, in spite of everything.
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door and Sylvia, the maid who brought up our dinner the night before, enters with a heavy breakfast tray.