Seven Days of Us(69)

Phoebe was still hiding, and dinner with Jesse and her parents had been strained. At least Jesse had had the grace to keep quiet. His comments on George, based on no evidence, still infuriated her. It reminded her of his anti-chemo advice, and how Phoebe had asked her to speak to Andrew about it earlier. She felt bad for her. Phoebe had looked terrified when Jesse had implied George was gay. Olivia wanted to get back at him. How dare he kick her little sister when she was down?

? ? ?

“Yes?” said Andrew, when Olivia knocked on the smoking room door, and then: “Olivia! To what do I owe this pleasure?” She wished he didn’t always speak to her in that fake, formal way. He didn’t do it with Phoebe. A pillow and blanket were pushed to one end of the sofa. He must have slept down here last night. Perhaps things between her parents weren’t as amicable as they appeared.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about Jesse. About some ideas he has.” Why did she sound so timid? She needed to be the grown-up she was at work, to imagine her father was a colleague.

“Ah. His gay-dar, you mean?”

She was still hovering by the door, while he craned round from the desk.

“Not that. Though perhaps it’s part of the same thing.”

“Come in then, child.”

She sat on the old linen sofa, avoiding the gray head-shaped patch on the back. Its springs gave under her weight, folding her knees up to her chin. The room, with its teak paneling and heavy rugs, still smelled of cigars and chestnuts—so that even the air felt dark brown.

“He was spouting all this pseudo-science at Mum this morning—about her diagnosis.”

“Was he?”

“Total rubbish, about how you don’t need chemo. That you can ‘beat’ cancer with an ‘alkalizing diet,’ whatever that means. All this alternative holistic stuff.”

“But Emma doesn’t buy into that, surely?” he said.

“She seemed to be. They were googling juice fasts and everything.”

“I expect she was just humoring him, being her usual charming self. And a few kale smoothies can’t do any harm, can they?”

“If they stop her accepting chemo they can. Cancer patients can be very suggestible. They’re desperate.”

Andrew said nothing, but walked over to the sofa. A cloud of dust motes mushroomed up as he sat down.

“I’m sure he means well, you know,” he said. “He’ll only be trying to help.” Close up, he looked drawn and unshaven. He’d dropped the formal tone now.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t stop it being irresponsible. He doesn’t have a clue about medicine. The stuff he’s advising, the World Health Organization has officially discredited it. There are no significant studies on alternative cancer treatments; it’s just a load of charlatan nutritionists with no idea what they’re talking about.” She stopped—it wouldn’t help to rant.

“Olivia, you don’t need to convince me. I’m a rationalist, too. We journos like facts, proof—just like you scientists.”

“But Mum doesn’t think like that. If it’s in a magazine, it’s true.”

She realized too late that she had just undermined his vision of journalism.

“Will you talk to her about it?” she added. “She’ll listen to you.”

“I can try—but, your mother and I . . .” He hesitated and seemed to change tack. “I mean, after all that business with Phoebe earlier, she’s very down on Jesse. I don’t think you need worry about her hanging on his every word.”

“Oh. OK, that’s good, I suppose.”

“Well. Perhaps, in this instance. But it’s a pity things appear to have turned sour so quickly.”

He said this to the fireplace, instead of to her.

“It was always going to be complicated,” she said tentatively. Her father looked very tired. She felt a bit sorry for him.

“You’re a mistress of understatement,” he said, using the artificial voice again, but looking up at her and smiling. His face bore shadows of Jesse’s, when he smiled. She caught a glimpse of the young man he must have been.

“I hope this quarantine hasn’t been too arduous for you,” he said after a moment. “I know you’re not a fan of the Weyfield Christmas. I used to feel the same. Usually engineered to be working by the twenty-seventh. Something else we journalists and medics have in common—always on call.”

“Well, it’s definitely been eventful. And now Phoebe and George. He really shouldn’t just be out there when I’m not clear yet.”

“Don’t fret about that. I’m sure it’ll be fine. As far as I’m concerned, he can give his dreadful family Haag.”

She found herself smiling, despite herself. His certainty was comforting.

“And you?” he said abruptly, looking straight at her. “Not easy coming home, is it?”

“Did you, did you used to find it hard, too?” she asked.

“Of course. Made all the harder by the fact that it ought to be a relief, to have running water, safe roads, decent food, all the rest of it. But it isn’t, necessarily. One gets used to the simple life, I found. And your mother, fussing over me, with the best will in the world. I see how she does that to you now.”

“Mmm. It’s mostly Sean. Coughlan, I mean,” she said, although he’d perfectly summed up the strange discomfort of Western luxury.