Deception (3 page)

So I sloped off towards the lounge, made for the sofa, curled my legs beneath me and sank down on my favourite spot on the comfortable couch chosen with such care from The Ideal Home Exhibition the first year
Jonti and Miranda had got married.

It seemed to me that the Tia Maria liqueur stain on the corduroy fabric of the couch – an accident which had occurred one particularly merry Christmas due to a spillage of my own rather high spirits – had now over time blended in fairly well with the brown material, although the cushioned seat had forever remained somewhat hard and crusty.

But I wasn’t going to let it bother me; I had other, far more serious things to contemplate. Things I
must
consider in a controlled and non-panicky way.

Who was I kidding? I dreaded having to think too deeply about the problems awaiting me. It always upset me when I thought too deeply about anything. For years I’d trained myself not to get too emotionally involved with anything that might trigger off unhappy memories and cause me unnecessary pain. I was no masochist.

So, hugging a cushion to my chest, I aimed the remote at the 42 inch plasma fixed onto the wall opposite, intending to focus all my attention on the programme that was currently airing. But it was more irritating than relaxing watching these tough-looking cops of the NYPD banging on about getting some donuts with their coffee. Why is it always donuts? What’s so special about those cholesterol-filled sugary bombs? Why not fondant fancies? Or iced buns? Or even a nice Garibaldi? A biscuit would be so much easier to dunk, I reasoned.

Listlessly I surfed through the channels, going through the motions of being entertained. It was a bit like the banter between my brother and I. I’d kept it going as I didn’t want to upset
Jonti any more than I already had, though I suspected he was truly a lot more placid and laid-back than I could ever pretend to be. But I hid it well. At least, I thought I did. If I didn’t, it wasn’t for want of trying.

Jonti
followed me through into the lounge five minutes later. He plonked an enormous cup of steaming, frothy latte on the glass-topped coffee table beside me and then disappeared again after giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head and telling me he’d be with me as soon as he had finished some work he was in the middle of.

Telling him I was fine, I waved
Jonti away and huddled into the corner of the sofa and sipped my drink. I was feeling exhausted and melancholy. But the coffee was strong and sweet and hot, just the way I liked it. And it was good to be indoors and feel safe again. For all my cockiness and attempts to look brave in front of my brother, I knew I was a lot more scared about the future than I pretended to be.

God, could I in reality feel more wounded, humiliated and ashamed by the whole ghastly experience? But a good cry always helps, I find. So I let myself weep, just a little, but my muffled sobs into the cushion brought
Jonti racing back to my side.

“Oh, honey, stop. Please.”

Sitting down beside me, he took my cold hands in his.

I’ve always felt a little embarrassed that my hands were always so clammy, a bit like wet fish, or so I’d been told by certain people who thought it was funny to cringe when I shook their hand. My brother’s hands, on the other hand, were dry and warm and quite soft for a man’s hands. This, I had long decided, was because he didn’t do any manual labour at all around the flat. If something needed doing, it was Miranda who did it. Miranda who chiselled, and painted, and decorated. With an uncanny knack of knowing how to, she could fix taps and light bulbs and plugs and suchlike with the ease of a Polish handyman.

“I guess I’m just a bit nervous about what’s going to happen in the future,” I sniffed, groping for a tissue with which to blow my nose.

“Let’s just concentrate on the present for now, shall we, Bay?”

I didn’t say anything. But I was pensive. Their first baby was expected within four months, and already the ever efficient and practical Miranda had found a potential buyer for their current one-bedroom but fairly large flat in Hadley Wood and seen a possible new home for their soon to be extended family. The intended new apartment was in St John’s Wood, a very exclusive and expensive part of the city, just a fashionable stone’s throw from Lord’s Cricket Ground.

They obviously liked addresses with the word Wood in them.

For once I wished I’d been just a little more careful with my savings. Acted a little more responsibly, not relied on Freddie so much. I’d been frivolous and extravagant all my life. A difficult habit to break without help.

“If you’re sure I won’t be in the way,” I said rather formally.

“Of course you won’t be in the way. You’re my sister.”

“It would just be for tonight, a couple of nights, maybe. A week or two at the very most. Until I can sort myself out.”

“No problem.”

I held out my arms. “Thank you. I mean that. And now can I have a hug, please?”

He obliged, and we sat there for a quiet moment before I spoke again, my voice somewhat muffled against his chest.

“I’m starving,” I said. “I’ve not eaten since lunch.”

“Well, the chilli con carne’s completely ruined, along with the saucepan, and it was a wedding present from her favourite cousin. The pan, that is, not the chilli con carne.”

“Tell her I’ll replace it. Tell her I’ll buy her two new saucepans to replace it.” I bit my lip, feeling guilty. I’d been there less than an hour and already I had caused chaos in her pretty kitchen. Not that she’d say anything to my face. Bluntness wasn’t her way.

Jonti said, “I could rustle up an omelette.”

I considered it for a moment. “Or we could get a takeaway,” I suggested. I grinned. “Miranda needn’t know. We could eat in here with trays on our laps, like we used to at home when we were kids and mum was out.” I glanced at the screen on the wall. “We could watch a movie, maybe. My treat,” I added, beginning to slather away at the vision of melted cheese over a crusty base and loads of toppings. Nothing like getting dumped by your ex to improve your appetite.

“I don’t know. I could make some wholemeal spaghetti and a tomato and mushroom sauce to go with it if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Why trouble yourself, when all you need do is make a quick phone call?”

Jonti, however, remained dubious. He knew as well as I did that Miranda didn’t really approve of take-away meals. She was all for good, nourishing home cooking.

“Pizza Americana, with all the trimmings,” I went on rashly, knowing how tempted he would be and feeling the urge to just very slightly prick the beginnings of a pompous side I occasionally saw to my little brother. “Or we could order Chinese if you prefer. You used to love sushi and sweet and sour. Your choice, of course. I’ll order it. Only…” and here I paused, and I could feel my cheeks burning. “…Only you’ll have to lend me the money, I’m afraid. I’ll pay you back of course, darling, every penny…”

“…Bailey,” my brother interrupted, on a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t have to keep on saying you’ll pay me back for every little thing. It’s not important, a few quid here and there. I can afford a take away, and I know you’re rubbish with money, you always have been.”

I guess I must’ve looked a bit chastened, because he gave me a quick, impulsive hug.

“You’re the most generous and warm-hearted person I know and you practically give away everything you earn on things for other people. So if I can’t help you out now and then when you need help, what sort of brother would I be, eh? I love you, don’t you know that, you idiot?”

I could feel myself blushing, and the back of my throat seemed to be jamming up. Which was just as well, since I had no words to say just then.

“So, since you can’t wait, a cheese omelette and side salad okay with you?

Subdued, all I could do was nod.

Chapter 3

“Cuddles. Talk to me.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me or aren’t listening behind that newspaper. I asked you how much longer she’s going to be here.”

The voice was demanding. More than that, it was accusatory.

“Ssh. Keep your voice down. She’ll hear you.”

This was meant to be pacifying, but obviously it didn’t help because the female voice only got louder.

“Good,” came the swift retort. “Maybe then she’ll get up. Maybe then I’ll be able to get into my lounge to air it a little and clean around the room. Don’t you understand? How can I go in there if she’s still sleeping?”

“Miranda, darling…”

“Don’t Miranda darling me. It’s gone eleven and it’s Sunday morning. I need to do a hundred and one things around the flat, and I’m not able to, because your sister’s in the way.” The voice rose shrilly. “I need to get into our lounge!”

“If you tiptoed in quietly…”

“…This is my home, Jonti. And I’ll thank you not to be telling me to tiptoe around it. Most people in her situation would be up and dressed and out of the way if they’re staying in someone else’s home as a guest. They’d show some respect.”

“She’s not ‘most people’, she’s my sister, and she’s not a guest, she’s family. I hate it when you talk like that, Miranda. As if you disliked her.”

“I don’t dislike Bailey. I’ve got guests coming over tonight for dinner. One of them being your boss and her husband who’s a culinary genius. Cuddles, I’m telling you frankly, I’m getting fed up of pussyfooting around your big sister! It’s about time she got on with the rest of her life.”

I’d been about to amble into the kitchen to help myself to some leisurely coffee and toast for a nice, late breakfast, but on hearing the voices I pressed myself back against the wall outside, a crimson flood flushing my cheeks and neck as I listened to my brother and his wife
discussing my wrongdoings. It was mortifying hearing them talk about me, and it ran true that eavesdroppers seldom heard only good things said about themselves.

I heard my brother mutter something sharply, because a second later, she said: “You’re not angry with me, are you? You know I hate it when you get annoyed…”

Now it was Miranda who sounded plaintive.

“No, sweetness.” My brother’s tone sounded heavy and resigned. “I understand you’re feeling a little... anxious about things just now. It’s only natural, I suppose.”

There was a gathering silence in which I felt I couldn’t possibly move without being overheard or making my presence felt, so I stayed put, my back clamped to the wall like a leech.I could almost hear the purr in Miranda’s voice when she spoke again.

“So you’ll have a quiet word with her, Cuddles?”

I winced. I never could get used to hearing Jonti being called ‘Cuddles’.

“I’ll have a word with her.” He sounded so sombre. It made me feel wretched. As if he was being torn in two. And of course it was my fault.

“When?” Miranda persisted. “I’d like this sorted.”

“As soon as I’m able,” replied
Jonti patiently. “When the time’s right. Try to be more understanding for just a little longer, Miranda. I can tell she’s still feeling very fragile.”

“
Bailey’s
feeling fragile! What do you think
I’m
feeling? I’ve
lots
more reason to feel fragile in my extremely delicate condition.
And
I have to think about finally selling this place and moving to St John’s Wood. That’s stress enough for anyone at any time, never mind a woman who’s pregnant. And on top of all that, I have to cook a four course meal tonight!”

“I’m sure three courses would be ample. And I could help you.”

“Jonti, you know how I feel about your helping in the kitchen. Look what happened last time I let you cook a meal. You simply ruined a perfectly lovely saucepan.”

“Sorry, sorry. What I meant to say was I’m sure Bailey’s aware she needs to move on. And I’m sure she’s also working on looking for a suitable place to move into. But give the poor woman credit, she’s tried to stay out of your way as much as possible, hasn’t she? She was out late last night. And the night before.”

“Yes, I know. I heard her come in. Very late. And fall over the table in the hall.”

I could imagine the disapproving sniff from my sister-in-law as she spoke.

“Look, don’t get me wrong,” she went on, “I’m not trying to be unreasonable or unkind. You know I’m fond of Bailey. And anyone will tell you I’m the most patient and reasonable person in the world. And I told you right at the very beginning that I honestly didn’t mind having your sister over to stay as a house guest, but for a
short
while, not on a
permanent
basis.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Well it feels like she’s been here forever.”

She sounded so disgruntled I actually began to feel quite sorry for her.

“Calm down,” Jonti told her soothingly. “It’s not good for you or the baby if you get upset.”

“Then please don’t
get
me upset.”

I heard the clatter of cups and smelt coffee and fried bread, and my stomach rumbled.

Jonti spoke again. “Okay, I’ll talk to her later.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to throw her out into the street, Miranda,” he warned.

“Of course not. I never said you should do that, did I? God, don’t make me out to be the guilty party here. I just want her to understand that she has to make a serious effort at finding herself some new lodgings.”

Jonti’s voice was low. “I’m not sure she can afford to rent anywhere decent, and she won’t borrow money from me. You know how proud she can be.”

“Don’t be silly. She works, doesn’t she? She’s still got a job, hasn’t she? Honestly, the way you talk, you make it sound as if she’s got nowhere else to go,
Jonti.” There was a longish pause. I could picture the two of them in the kitchen. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Miranda’s face when she spoke again, sort of heavily, as if she wanted to emphasise what she was saying.

“And we all know where else she
could
go, don’t we?”

For a moment there was complete silence. I almost stopped breathing. Then
Jonti spoke up.

“That was never an option for her, sweet cheeks. This would always have been her first port of call.”

“And as I said, we’ve done our bit. It’s time she went on to her second port of call, don’t you think? Honestly, Cuddles, it’s been almost four weeks!”

By now I’d overheard enough of their conversation to feel utterly ashamed of myself, and I don’t mean just for listening in. So swiftly and as silently as I was able I slid along the wall and backpedalled into the first open doorway I could reach without giving myself away, which happened to be the door to the bathroom.

Blocking out the sound of their discussion I gently closed the door, locked it, and perched on the loo to ponder.

Maybe I
had
outstayed my welcome.

What did I mean
maybe
? Of
course
I’d overdone it. Like I always did with everything else in my life, I’d assumed I’d be forever welcomed. I was wrong, and I’d been treating the place like a hotel. No wonder poor Miranda was at the end of her patience.

I looked down at myself. I was still in the same old pair of pyjamas I’d slept in for a week and was wearing a pair of fluffy old slippers that’d seen better days, lent to me by Miranda. And I had on nothing else. I hadn’t even bothered to put on her borrowed dressing gown. This outfit was my customary choice of garb when relaxing around their home. Not very nice, I know. Not how a decent person should behave in someone else’s home. Not only was I treating their home like my own personal bedsit, but I was also turning into a selfish and lazy slob. And one too scared to take her life back into her own control. I’d been putting it off for weeks, but now it had to be faced.

Unfolding my legs, I treated myself to a quick check of my reflection in the mirror of the bathroom cabinet. A bloodshot and bleary eyed woman I didn’t know and scarcely recognised squinted back. I stuck my tongue out at her, and groaned when I saw the white coating furring it.

“Bloody hell,” I remonstrated out loud, running a hand through my recently cropped and dyed hair which was jutting out in all directions. “You’re one mucked up dehydrated mess! Don’t you know too much booze and too many late nights makes you hung-over? No wonder poor Miranda is fed up of having you around. Who can blame her for having a go? I’d turn on
you myself, given half a chance.”

I sneered at myself once more for good effect, and felt all the better for having given the stranger in the mirror a good talking to. Then I brushed my teeth, smelt my armpits, and decided to take a quick shower.

Afterwards, with one of their large, fluffy bath sheets wrapped around me, I managed to slip out of the bathroom without being seen and quickly scurried back to the lounge, aka my bedroom, where I hastily grabbed up socks, a clean bra, pants, grey joggers and an elbow length white tee-shirt with the word ‘Spitfire’ across the bosom. Cheap and cheerful. What I could afford. All from Primark. Great store if the funds were low.

While I was dressing, I heard the front door bell chime, then the sound of voices in the hallway, but with the door closed I couldn’t hear clearly who was coming or going and, besides, I was too busy trying to tidy up the mess I’d left in the room to wonder or even care if we were having visitors.

After having deflated the blow up mattress that served as my makeshift bed, I pulled back the curtains to let in some light, and opened a couple of windows to let some air into the stale-smelling room. I parked empty crisp packets and cans of lager into the waste paper basket, folded my sheets and dumped them with the duvet and pillows behind the couch out of sight, then tucked all my dirty clothes into a plastic bag I kept solely for the purpose.

Surveying the room, I decided that it didn’t look too bad, although the floor looked as if it could do with a once over. I decided to offer Miranda to help clean the flat. I’d insist. I needed to make amends, and not give my sister-in-law any more reason to despise me any more than I despised myself just then.

I did have a plan of action brewing in some distant compartment at the back of my head. There were a couple of possibilities I reckoned I could pursue. Someone at work had kindly offered me a room to rent in their house, as apparently their previous tenant had recently left. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t what I wanted, but it would do if my other option didn’t work out. I guess I’d never really imagined I might have to spend the rest of my life alone or having to fend for myself. Such a prospect was too bleak to imagine, even now, but millions of people did it and managed. I just had to get used to the idea that it was getting more and more likely in my case.

Meanwhile, I headed for the kitchen.

*

There were three people seated at the kitchen table as I entered. One was
Jonti, the second was Miranda.

The third person was my mother. Who I hadn’t seen or spoken to for over a year.

I’m sure she registered the shock on my face, but there was no expression on her face at the sight of me beyond a slight tightening of her lips.

Miranda, being the good hostess she was, stood up immediately the moment I appeared, her chair scraping back on the floor tiles. The wattage in her smile lit up the whole kitchen.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. Nice to see you up and about at last.”

I ran a hand through my still damp hair and gave a wan greeting in acknowledgement. “Um...hi, yes, sorry I overslept,” I mumbled, sliding into the chair at the end of the wooden table. It was so obvious from the expressions on their faces that I had been the subject of their discussion. No surprise there then.

“Not a problem. May I get you some breakfast?” my sister in law continued, using the same cheerful tone of voice that some nurses are occasionally wont to use on their more obstreperous patients.

“No, really, Miranda, you don’t have to wait on me, I can manage,” I began, half rising from the chair, but she waved me down again and sort of snickered.

“Don’t be silly, Bailey. You stay right where you are, darling, and chat to Mother Lara. Isn’t it great she’s come to visit us? It’s been absolutely ages since we last saw her. Now, toast and coffee coming up. Am I right? Or do you want eggs too? Maybe some eggy fried bread? Jonti likes his that way, don’t you, Cuddles?”

While she blathered on, whirling around the kitchen, going from counter to stove, doing all the housewifely things expected of her, I could feel
Jonti’s eyes swivelling guiltily between our mother and myself. I imagine my own eyes were somewhat fixed and dilated. But it was no good pretending she didn’t exist, or trying to ignore her, so I cleared my throat, though I’m pretty sure it still sounded gruff, and spoke to her finally.