Home Truths (43 page)

‘Axis?’ Pip suggested.

‘A X I S,’ Fen spelt, somewhat unnecessarily, out loud. ‘It fits.’

But it didn't. Because 4 down had to be ‘pompous’ on account of 13 across being ‘Israel’.

‘Shit,’ said Fen, ‘something O something something.
Makes world go round
.’

‘Pole?’ Pip said, her mouth busy with a Murray Mint which, along with the round tin of boiled square sweets dusty with sugary powder, was confectionery she'd never normally choose yet always bought for travel.

‘Pole,’ Fen mused, ‘yes, I see. Like North and South. Well, it fits. I'll put it in lightly.’ Her biro scribbled out A I X and she wrote P L E in small, light, neat letters.

‘Poles don't make the world go round,’ Cat piped up. ‘It's
gravity, isn't it? What's a four-letter word for gravity?’ They thought hard but had no answer.

‘Doesn't the earth rotating have something to do with the
moon
?’ asked Fen ingenuously, never much of a scientist or astronomer. ‘That's four letters, second letter O.’

‘Hang on,’ Pip challenged, ‘is there a question mark after the clue?’ Fen confirmed that there was. ‘Ah,’ said Pip, ‘then it'll be a Funny. You know – not a straight answer.’

They pondered what could make the world go round in only four letters, second letter O, that was amusing.

‘Got it!’ said Cat. ‘Money makes the world go round! D O S H.’

‘Don't be stupid,’ Pip laughed, while Fen's biro was poised, ready to scribble out and reinsert.

‘Let's do 17 down instead,’ said Fen, ‘and come back to it.’

A few clues later, they were still none the wiser. Something O something something. They gave up, and did a quiz in
Cosmo
instead: ‘Apron Strings or Fur-Lined Hand Cuffs – domestic dominatrix, or just dull?’ Maybe it was a quirk of altitude to reveal more at 40,000 feet than at ground level, but much to everyone's surprise, it transpired Cat was the most adventurous of the lot, even by
Cosmo
standards.

Pip shared out her powdered sweets. ‘Love!’ she suddenly proclaimed. ‘L O V E.
LOVE
makes the world go round. Second letter O.’

‘Genius,’ Cat declared, ‘love makes the world go round.’

‘Love makes the world go round,’ Fen nodded, writing in the letters to complete the puzzle. ‘It would be nice if it did,’ she said thoughtfully. She looked from sister to sister and shrugged sadly.

It was probably that quirk of altitude again, of being neither here nor there in time or space; the opportunity of this strange non-Newtonian moment. ‘Do you know what I
think?’ Cat said, leaning in from her window seat to regard Fen. ‘I think that you're a bit too in love with the fantasy of being in love.’ Fen looked taken aback. ‘Remember that Shakespeare sonnet you read at my wedding? About love not changing?’

‘
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments
,’ Fen quoted softly.

‘Well, you see old Will may be a genius in some respects – all that iambic pentameter and a zillion plays – but actually, I think he was wrong with the
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds
bit.’ Cat paused as if she was guilty of the most appalling blasphemy. ‘People
do
change and love has to change with them; it's logical that the process of love goes through changes too, and we have to adapt.’ She stopped to give a little shrug. ‘I think you're probably frustrated that you don't feel that heady rush for Matt any more, that the butterflies don't rampage around your stomach every time you look at him or he touches you. That instead of floating around the still point of the turning world you now trip over toys strewn over the floor and argue at midnight over whose turn it is to stack the dishwasher.’

Fen's downcast eyes revealed this was obviously the case.

‘But I think you've misread the situation as having fallen out of love with Matt,’ Cat defined. ‘You just need to put on your glasses and read it a little more carefully. I read somewhere that being in love is just a cocktail of chemicals which course through the body for the first twelve months – natural amphetamines. Which is why the sensation is so addictive.’

Quietly, Pip wondered when her little sister had become so wise, but then she had to consider that Cat was thirty-two years old and married to Ben. And she'd lived abroad, not knowing a soul, for four years, striding out in an alien territory, finding friends and making a happy life for herself. She smiled at her fondly.

‘Matt gets on my nerves,’ Fen was admitting sadly, drawing Pip's attention back. ‘He irritates me. In that stupid, clichéd, lid-off-the-toothpaste kind of way. I think I've always known that Matt is the one, but for a while, one wasn't enough.’

‘You're bored,’ Pip defined.

‘Our life is boring,’ Fen agreed. ‘I think I'm boring. I'm a woman of no substance. And you're right about the dishwasher, Cat.’ It felt safe to talk, as if what was to be said would stay there, in no man's land, in no time, sealed in a bubble of altitude. Fen looked from one palm to the other. Talking out loud verified the situation; but it made her feel both a little disloyal to Matt, yet greedy for support. ‘I've gone off sex with him,’ she admitted, ‘it's so predictable. I have to shut my eyes and fantasize. But that stupid thing with Al – it wasn't about sex, it was about me being bored and feeling hard done by because of it.’

‘I think we have too high expectations of sex,’ Pip suggested. ‘Our society is over-sexualized. Something essentially private has become so public – all those sex scandals to read about, from politicians to pop stars, emblazoned everywhere, from the red-tops to the broadsheets, from
Heat
magazine to
Marie-Claire
. What was seedy and underworld has become everyday. Sex shops on the high street. Pole dancing and Pilates sharing gym space. Porn now a middle-class pastime.
Desperate Housewives. Footballers' Wives
.’ She gave a shrug. ‘It's easy to think everyone's having more sex, better sex, than you.’

‘Well I still fancy Ben,’ Cat confided, making it personal, ‘but I constantly fantasize. God, if I open my eyes when we're having sex, I'm quite surprised to see
him
, my
husband
, not Johnny Depp. Or a Viking. Quite disappointed, actually.’

‘A
Viking
?’ Fen shrieked.

‘Sometimes I leap forward a few centuries and allow Henry the Eighth to overpower me in the maze at Hampton Court,’
Cat admitted and she was absolutely serious, ‘codpieces, serving wenches – the lot.’

‘Bloody hell, Cat!’ Pip marvelled.

‘Don't tell Ben.’

‘So you're advising me not to close my eyes and think of England,’ Fen mused, ‘but of Nordic pillagers and fat dead monarchs?’

‘Whatever takes your fancy,’ Cat nodded with a wink. ‘Actually, what I'm saying is you have the power to improve your sex life.’

‘Is that a quote from
Cosmo
?’ Pip asked. Cat stuck out her tongue. Pip raised her eyebrows and turned again to Fen. ‘And on a purely practical level, your life simply
can't
be the same as it once was, not now there's a baby added to the equation.’ Fen looked at her sharply. ‘Because you're a perfectionist, Fen, it follows that you're not very tolerant,’ Pip defined diplomatically. ‘I mean, in some respects it's great to have such high standards, but in others it's your biggest hindrance.’

Cat nodded. ‘You're a brilliant mother and Cosima is a credit to you, but if Pip, or I, or Matt don't dress her or feed her or play with her or put her down quite like you do, it doesn't mean we're doing it
wrong
– just differently. And your way probably is better – but that doesn't mean we're doing it
badly
—’

‘And Cosima doesn't seem to mind,’ Pip added, ‘as long as she's dry, fed and cuddled.’

Fen, sitting between them, momentarily felt persecuted. But she couldn't flounce off because there wasn't the leg room. And she couldn't block her ears with the foamy plugs because she'd already dropped them on the floor. She'd just have to sit still and work out how to lessen her discomfort. A little shift, here and there. ‘Deep down, I know,’ she said at length. ‘Deep down I think it's a matter of identity and
how mine has changed – beyond my belief and beyond my control. An identity crisis, if you like. Suddenly, I'm a stay-at-home mum.’ She stopped abruptly and stared at the clasp on the drop-down tray. ‘I don't think it suits me,’ she said quietly. Her sudden honesty, her clarity of her situation, surprised Cat and Pip. ‘I was never a thrustingly ambitious career woman,’ Fen said, a little wistfully, ‘but I did love work, and my role, and my world in which I excelled. God, I used to be asked to lecture at the Tate Frigging Gallery! I've had papers published! I have a double distinction at Masters level from the Courtauld Institute!’ She stopped abruptly. ‘How can I say all this – with such longing?’ she whispered aghast. ‘It's a terrible insult to my little baby.’

‘No it
isn't
,’ Pip said cautiously, ‘it's about
you
– not Cosima. Not Matt. You only think Matt is boring because actually you find your life now a little dull in comparison to how it was. And because you perceive that to be a loaded thing to admit, so you pass the buck and shift the blame.’ Pip could see from the wince on Fen's face that the nail had been hit square on the head. ‘But a fling is not the answer,’ she continued sternly. ‘It'll only make you feel worse. You need a deeper embrace – and to feel it, you need to embrace what you do have.’

‘I know, I know. God, I can't believe I tried to liven it up by fooling around with that idiot, Al,’ Fen said darkly.

‘Don't call Al an idiot,’ Cat now joined in, ‘it's not his fault. He didn't know. It was about
you
. He was just the antithesis of Matt. That was the initial attraction for you – and ultimately, his downfall too. Thank God.’

Fen dropped her head at the weight of the truth. She nodded sadly. ‘It wasn't so much that I felt bad about myself, more that I've lost sight of who I am. I wanted to feel more than just Cosima's mother. No one looks at me any more – when I open the door to you, or Matt – whoever – you don't
even look at me; attention is focused downwards, to where Cosima is. I don't want attention taken from her, my God she's so amazing she's worthy of day-long marvelling – but I feel I've ceased to exist beyond being her mummy. And after that, I'm Matt's long-term partner. So where's Fen gone?’ She stopped, as if about to physically search. ‘Can she still hold her own? I suppose that's what I went looking for with Al. A little excitement that came not from Matt, not from Cosima. Something naughty but essentially harmless that would make me feel good.’

‘Chocolate makes you feel good,’ Pip mused, ‘but that doesn't necessarily mean it's good for you.’

‘Did you know that those loved-up hormones I was talking about are the same as those released during high-risk sports and eating chocolate?’ Cat revealed. ‘That's why it's all so addictive.’

‘Cat,’ Pip digressed, ‘how do you
know
all this stuff?’

‘My husband is a doctor,’ Cat said. She grinned. ‘And I have subscriptions to
Marie-Claire
and
Cosmo
!’

‘You know how you can feel like a fat lump after a chocolate binge?’ Fen said. ‘Well, after Al, I felt like a stupid old slag.’ She looked miserable. ‘You could say I've totally gone off chocolate.’ She still looked miserable. ‘You could say, I've learnt my lesson. I've had my fill.’ She glanced at her sisters for approval. ‘I
have
learnt my lesson, you know.’

‘Why don't you go back to work?’ Cat suggested brightly. ‘It gives you a buzz and you love it. It's your world and you're brilliant at it.’

‘But what sort of mother will that make me?’ Fen protested, defensive and distressed.

‘A working mum?’ Pip said. Fen shook her head vehemently. ‘Cosima is a credit to you,’ Pip said kindly. ‘That baby is a sweet, easygoing, gorgeous and secure little person. She's not going to feel abandoned.’

‘In fact, she'll probably love being socialized,’ Cat said. ‘She won't notice that you've gone.’ But Fen's glare said that, at 40,000 feet, this was the wrong thing to say to a woman who hadn't seen her child for four days and five nights.

‘Maybe I just need to learn to fall in love with Matt again,’ Fen said sadly, ‘but it seems very contrived. And I'm not sure how to go about it.’

‘He's just a little older, a little more squidgy than when you first met,’ said Cat, ‘but that's all. It's not just Shakespeare who got it wrong, Ali McGraw was full of crap too – all that
love means never having to say you're sorry
bullshit,’ Cat said, echoing her mother's sentiments about that film, not that she was remotely aware of this fact. ‘It's a prerequisite of love that we do humble ourselves when we're wrong, when we've been mean; that we say sorry to those we love – because often it's those we love most who are the easiest for us to hurt. Bizarrely.’

The sisters sat and thought. ‘I tell you something,’ Fen said, ‘and I can't believe I feel this – but I actually envy our mother a little.’ Cat and Pip looked unsettled. ‘No! Not that she buggered off and abandoned her children,’ Fen hastened. ‘I envy her the scale of the love she had. It was omnipotent. Call me a daft romantic or a deluded fantasist or whatever, but I wish I could have that.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Cat said quietly. ‘I want to detest her but I have to admit, hers is an awesome and tragic love story. And I can't believe I can say I feel for her – but I do.’

‘She has no happy ever after,’ Pip said pensively. ‘Love is nothing without honesty,’ she continued, ‘and she never told Bob about us. Fucking hell – can you believe that? I'm still reeling from that one. She was hardly who even
he
thought she was. God, we all have little secrets from our partners, elements of our privacy we don't want to reveal. But not telling him about three daughters is slightly more shameful,
more loathsome, than going to base three with some studenty type.’

Fen looked at Pip with gratitude for making light of her transgression, for placing it far down the scale of iniquity in comparison to their mother. ‘You didn't buy anything for Tom, did you?’ she changed the subject.