He Said/She Said(61)

I was about to apologise when he blurted, ‘If we were identical, do you think I’d be like Mac? Like Dad was?’

The apparent non-sequitur showed me that our thoughts were travelling in parallel and I forced myself to ride his tracks. The moment to talk about this me-or-her nonsense with Beth was gone, never to return. ‘God, Kit, I don’t know. I don’t know enough about it.’

‘I almost wish I was, sometimes. No, I don’t mean that. I wish I could get inside him and understand how his brain works. If he goes the same way as Dad . . .’

‘Hey.’ I took Kit’s hand. His palm was warm, dry and smooth. ‘Mac’s years younger than your dad was, and he’s got us. We’ll catch this in time.’ We stood in silence for a while, Kit staring into the middle distance, me looking down over the balcony. Red buses owned the street.

‘About Beth,’ I said tentatively, when I thought enough time had passed. He didn’t say anything but I felt his irritation in the squeeze of his hand on mine. ‘No, hear me out. I wanted to say, we’ll just indulge her for the day, ok? Come on. You’ve got your lost cause. I’ve got mine.’

I’d meant it as a joke, but I’d offended him.

‘How can you even compare the two? Mac’s my twin.’

I knew then that there was no way Kit would understand the bond I felt with Beth. You can’t compete with blood.



‘Hi honey, I’m home!’ Beth called, laughing her way up the stairs. Kit confined his irritation to an eye-roll. She was lightly caked in the grime of the city and laden with 7–11 carrier bags full of onions, tins and wine. A stick of fresh lemongrass poked from the top.

‘I’m cooking for you,’ she said. ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my Thai green curry.’

‘I love Thai,’ I said, loud enough to cover Kit’s snapped, ‘There’s really no need.’

If Beth heard him, she chose to ignore it. ‘We’ve got something to celebrate. My solicitor called. Those pictures are down off the site.’

‘That’s great news,’ I said.

‘There’s a chance we can sue, but I don’t know if I want that. I’d rather put it behind me, you know? I’ve had enough of lawyers and courts.’ She laid out her ingredients – jasmine rice, coconut milk, a knuckle of root ginger, three fat chicken breasts – on our worktop, then rummaged in her vast handbag. ‘I got you something,’ she said, suddenly shy. ‘To say thank you for letting me stay, and –,’ she looked meaningfully at me, – ‘generally going the extra mile. You first.’ She produced a little gift-wrapped box the size of a house brick and watched expectantly as I opened it. I could tell before the paper was off that it was a Blood Roses candle. In 1999 scented candles were not quite the ubiquitous gift items that they are today, and you couldn’t get the Blood Roses range anywhere but an obscure little shop in Marylebone. Beth must have memorised the label and then done her homework. She had bought me a gift set: three fat candles, their wicks untrimmed. The sweet, heady scent filled the room before they were even lit. They must have cost her a hundred pounds.

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, it’s my fault, really. I fell asleep with it on, that first night, burned it right down to the wick.’ She nodded apologetically at the empty glass on the mantel. ‘I love flames, and it’s such a soothing smell.’

Kit narrowed his eyes: it was his job to keep in me in Blood Roses candles. I returned his sulky look; Beth wasn’t to know she had trodden on his toes.

‘And Kit, this is for you. It’s only second-hand, but it’s in perfect condition.’ It was the telephoto lens she’d been talking about. ‘They’re amazing in low light.’ She’d shocked his manners out of him. ‘You’ve got one already.’ Her voice seemed to hover over the words.

‘No, no I haven’t.’ His voice was flat. ‘Thank you.’

‘I think Kit just feels awkward because . . .’ I looked at him, but he was impossible to read. ‘I think Kit just feels awkward because you don’t need to keep thanking us.’

‘Yes,’ said Kit. ‘All we did in court was say what we saw.’ His tone was detached, which meant he was boiling with embarrassment.

‘No,’ said Beth. ‘You saved me. In more ways than one. You saved me.’ An awkward silence trailed in the wake of her words, broken only when Beth shook herself like a dog flinging off water. ‘Well!’ she said brightly. ‘Supper won’t cook itself.’

While she chopped and stirred, I put some music on and lined up the trio of candles on the mantel. After a couple of glasses of wine, Kit took out the lens and screwed it on to his camera, unable to hide his delight at his new toy.



We lay face-to-face in our bedroom that never truly got dark, hoping our whispers wouldn’t travel through the gap in the door.

‘How much was that lens?’ I said. ‘Like, a hundred quid?’

‘More like a grand. They go for up to three, brand new.’

‘What?’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s like she’s trying to buy our support.’

I tried to look in his eyes but they were only glitter in the half-light. ‘How can she buy us? We’ve already testified.’