The Things We Keep(36)

“Of course. I like it.” He frowns. “Why did you stop?”

I smile and continue to hum. There’s something warm about Bert, gruff as he is.

“Are you all right, my love?”

I look around. This time it’s Laurie talking, and not to me.

Clara has drifted into the room, carrying a Maeve Binchy novel. “Fit as a fiddle,” she says, kissing him on the mouth. Her eyes close, and for a heartbeat, she looks completely blissed out. “Don’t you go worryin’ yourself.”

“You should tell the doctor when she gets here,” Laurie says.

“You think she’s interested in my headache?”

“Dr. Walker is interested in everything,” Laurie says. “At our age, anything is a symptom.”

Clara pffts, but with a smile. “At our age, a headache is still a headache.”

I give the coffee table a spritz. Spraying, I realize, is surprisingly pleasant—the shush sound it makes, the way the products mist out evenly over the surface, ready to make something clean. It’s impossible to be bad at spraying. Wiping, on the other hand, is loathsome. It makes no sound. It takes a lot of effort, and if you’re not any good at it, it shows you up as the amateur you are.

“Tell the doctor,” Laurie orders.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I am,” he replies. “I’m your husband.”

I continue to hum, soothed by the pleasant squabble of a couple who’ve been married sixty years.

“Ah, I nearly forgot,” Laurie says. “Enid called.”

The silence that follows is long enough for me to look up.

“When?” Clara asks.

Laurie shrugs. “Before.”

“Before when?”

“I’m an old man.” He waves his hands about as if that emphasizes his point. “Keeping track of time is too depressing.”

He winks at me, and I hum louder—proof that I’m not eavesdropping.

“What did my sister have to say for herself?” Clara asks.

“Just that she’s coming to visit.”

“From Charlotte?” Clara’s voice rises like a Chinese sky lantern. “Why?”

The coffee table is nice and shiny, and I really should move on to the kitchen. But I get out my bottle and give it another spray. I’ve missed my daily gossip sessions with Jazz. Hearing about who has had Botox, who is leaving her husband for the personal trainer. While this conversation isn’t anywhere near so scandalous, I feel myself getting sucked into it. I’d have expected someone like Clara to talk to her sister every day, to send cards and gifts and exchange photos of respective grandchildren. But by the way she’s acting, you’d have thought Laurie had said Satan himself was coming to visit.

“Enid comes every year,” Laurie says slowly. “Why not this year?”

Clara shrugs. “It’s a long way for her to travel, is all.”

“As you point out every time. Now, are you going to get all worked up as usual, planning activities for every solitary second of her trip, or are you going to let her have a nice visit this time?”

Clara narrows her eyes. “Since when are you so worried about my sister getting a nice visit?”

“Staying out of it,” Laurie says.

“You do that.”

Clara thumps down her book and heaves herself out of her chair.

“Where are you going?” Laurie asks.

“Where do you think? I’m going to call Enid. Get this visit planned and over with.”

Clara disappears and the room falls silent again, apart from my humming. Laurie starts whistling, so comfortable as to his place in Clara’s life, he doesn’t need to waste his time worrying. I’d always thought that one day, Richard and I would be old and comfortable in our ways, after a lifetime of marriage. We would have been. But Richard ruined it.

I finish dusting some books on the coffee table, then tuck my cloth into my apron. That’s when I notice Anna.

“Anna?” I say cautiously, edging toward her. “Are you … all right?”

Her face is slick with tears. She’s staring right at me, but unseeing, so I squat down in front of her and take her hands. “Anna?”

Finally she sees me. Her eyes go round, panicked. “They’re having us followed.”

“Who is having you followed?”

She tips her head toward the doorway. “Them.”

I look at the doorway, which is empty. I shake my head. “No one is having you followed, Anna.”

“They are,” she says. Her hands are fists, pounding against her knees. Her face becomes twisted with frustration. “And soon, I’m going to forget him.”

She isn’t making any sense. I glance around, looking for Carole or Trish or Eric, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Anna, I promise you no one is—”

“They are!” In a sudden movement, she throws her hands up, and I lose my balance and tumble backwards onto the rug. I’m just getting up again as Carole and Eric come jogging in.

“See?” Anna says, pointing at them. Her face is almost victorious. “I told you! They’re following us. Where’s Jack?” she asks Eric snippily. “Where’s your partner in crime?”