The Family Upstairs(36)

She looks at him steadily, searching his gaze for a shadow of disappointment. But he looks pragmatic. ‘You can’t win at everything,’ he says. ‘And boy is he good-looking. Any sign of an interest in girls yet?’

‘He’s only twelve,’ Lucy says, somewhat brusquely.

‘That’s old enough,’ he says. ‘God, you don’t think he might be gay, do you?’

She wants to throw her wine in Michael’s face and leave. Instead she says, ‘Who knows? No signs of it. But as I say, he’s not really interested in that sort of thing yet. Anyway,’ she changes the subject, ‘I should probably get back to the panzanella. Give it time to steep before we eat.’

She gets to her feet. He gets to his and says, ‘And I should get the barbecue going.’ She heads towards the kitchen but before she can walk away, he catches her hands in his and turns her to face him. She can see his eyes are swimming, that he’s already losing focus and it’s only half past one. He puts his hands on to her hips and pulls them towards him. Then he pushes her hair away from her ear, leans tight in towards her and whispers, ‘I should never have let you go.’

His lips graze hers, briefly, and then he pats her on her bottom and watches her as she walks into the kitchen.





26




CHELSEA, 1990


Shortly after my mother told me that David was making us give all our money to charity and that he was going to be living with us forever, I saw him kissing Birdie.

It was sickening to me at the time, on so many levels.

Firstly, as you know, I found Birdie physically repellent. The thought of her hard little lips against David’s big generous mouth, his hands on her bony hips, her gross tongue chasing his around inside the dank cave made from their mouths. Ouf.

Secondly, I was something of a traditionalist and found the sight of adultery shocking to my core.

And thirdly: well, the third awful thing didn’t strike me immediately. It couldn’t have really, because the implications of what I’d unwittingly seen were not entirely obvious. But I certainly felt something like dread pass through me at the sight of David and Birdie coming together, an innate sense that they might bring things out of each other that were better left buried away.

It happened on a Saturday morning. Sally was away taking photos on a film set somewhere. Justin had gone to set up a stall at a market to sell his herbal remedies. My mother and father were sitting in the garden in their dressing gowns reading the papers and drinking tea out of mugs. I’d slept until eight thirty, late for me. I’ve always been an early riser; I rarely slept later than nine even during my teenage years. I’d barely rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I emerged from my room when I saw them, clinging to each other in the doorway of David’s room. She wore a muslin nightdress. He wore a black cotton robe with a belted waist. Her leg was jammed between his knees. Their groins were forced together. He had a hand to her pale, moley throat. She had a hand on his left buttock.

I immediately retreated into my bedroom, my heart pumping hard, my stomach well and truly turned. I put both my hands to my throat, trying to quell the nausea and the horror. I said the word fuck silently under my breath. Then I said it again, properly. I opened my door a crack a moment later and they had gone. I didn’t know what to do. I needed to tell someone; I needed to tell Phin.

Phin flicked his blond curtains away from his face. He was, ludicrously, growing even more handsome as he passed through puberty. He was only fourteen and already six foot tall. He had never, as far as I was aware, had so much as a pimple. And if he had one, I would have noticed it, as studying Phin’s face was virtually my hobby.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I hissed urgently into his face. ‘It’s really, really important.’

We walked to the end of the garden where a curved bench caught the morning sun. With the trees in blossom and full leaf we could not be seen from the house. We turned to face each other.

‘I just saw something,’ I said. ‘Something really, really bad.’

Phin narrowed his eyes at me. I could tell he thought I was going to say that I’d seen the cat eating out of the butter dish or something equally babyish and banal. I could tell he had no faith in my ability to impart genuinely shocking news.

‘I saw your dad. And Birdie …’

The expression of indulgent impatience shifted, and he looked at me in alarm.

‘They were coming out of Birdie and Justin’s room. And they were kissing.’

He jolted slightly at these words. I’d made my impact. Finally, after two years, Phin was really looking at me.

I saw a muscle in Phin’s jaw twitch. ‘Are you fucking lying to me?’ he asked, almost growling.

I shook my head. ‘I swear,’ I said. ‘I saw it. Just now. About twenty minutes ago. I swear.’

I saw Phin’s eyes fill very quickly with tears and then I saw him trying very hard to force them to go away. Some people tell me I lack empathy. This might be true. It hadn’t occurred to me for a moment that Phin might be upset. Shocked. Yes. Scandalised. Disgusted. But not upset.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just …’

He shook his head. His beautiful blond hair fell across his face and then parted again to reveal an expression of grim, heart-breaking bravery. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you told me.’