‘Good girl. I’ll see you in half an hour then, at Habibi’s. Don’t rush, drive carefully, sisterling. Take it easy.’
‘I will. I will.’
It was strange, telling Robert. At the AA meetings Meredith often felt a chorus-like, theatrical quality in the telling of her story. With Robert, it suddenly seemed more… real. And although people at AA cared, he cared in a different way: about her, about Laurence. She realised she’d expected him to be hurt by it, disappointed in her for sure –
My little sister! How could she!
– but he didn’t seem to be. Not at all. What surprised her most was that instead of trying to gloss over
or evade the grim details, Robert was genuinely curious. He asked amazingly penetrating questions: about exactly what the craving for a drink felt like, precisely how she handled the urgent desire to give way to it, how AA helped and what other help she might need.
While they were talking her mobile rang. It was Carmen, anxious and apologetic, explaining that one of her kids had been hurt skateboarding, broken an arm it seemed, and she’d had to switch off her mobile while she was with him at the hospital.
‘But, Meredith, are you okay?’ she asked urgently. ‘Where are you? What’s happening?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Really I am. I’m with my brother Robert. I’ve told him about the booze, AA, about you, everything!’
‘Good for you! I’m so sorry, I have to go again now. But if you need me later, call me, won’t you? Please, Meredith! Promise me.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
She ended the call. Robert was looking at her solemnly. ‘Merry,’ he said, ‘I am so glad you called me. I really mean that. That you trusted me and believed I could help.’
They smiled at each other gratefully, both understanding that the closeness they’d always shared had become even deeper. And something else occurred to Meredith then. ‘When I rang you before,’ she said, leaning forward on her elbows amid the empty coffee cups, the crumbed syrupy plates, ‘you said I should do some deep breathing, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘You said, “that’s what I do”. What did you mean by that?’
Robert looked away. His left hand touched his chest, a gesture he’d made every now and again the whole time they’d been talking. His mouth opened as though to speak but then he closed it again.
‘Robert,
you
don’t have a secret drinking problem too, do you?’
‘Oh, no. No, no, no. Nothing like that.’
‘Like what, then? Is it a health problem? Have you got a heart condition you haven’t told Vesna about?’
‘A heart condition?’ Robert looked shocked. ‘Why on earth do you say that?’
‘Because you keep patting your chest, like there’s something there you’re worried about.’
‘Do I? Oh.’ He raised a hand to his shirt collar and drew out a thin black cord. A slender little silver object about the size of Meredith’s thumb was attached to the end. She peered at it doubtfully, lying there in the palm of his hand.
‘There,’ Robert said proudly. ‘It’s my USB key drive. A tiny little separate hard disk for my computer. Isn’t it amazing?’
Meredith had a computer at home but was completely reliant on Laurence’s help to use it, and any new technology usually made her feel somewhat panicky. ‘Um, I guess so,’ she said dubiously. ‘Is it?’
‘Oh, it certainly is! I save everything on my computer to this now, all the files I need. It’s changed my work life overnight! To think of everything I had to lug about before, great stacks of paper I used to cart back and forth and have to worry about losing, and now –’ he clicked his fingers in the air – ‘disappeared! Into this,’ and he flourished the silver gizmo on its tether. ‘School to home, home to school – just this!’
‘And now…
This
is what you have to worry about losing, right?’
‘Yes.’ Robert frowned now at the tiny little device and tucked it away again, inside his shirt.
‘And what else?’
‘What else?’ Robert frowned distractedly. He started patting his pockets.
‘Yes. What else do you worry about?’ Meredith leaned across the table and gently tapped her brother’s hand. When he looked at her, she gave him her most winning, teasing smile. ‘Come on, Bobbit, I’ve told you my secret, now you’ve gotta tell me yours.’
Robert hesitated for a long moment, closed his eyes like a man about to take his first bungy jump, and started to talk. He told her about the fear of losing things, the fear about appliances left on, the
constant checking. The way he’d be hit by a wave of anxiety when he thought he’d forgotten something: the pounding heart and shortness of breath. What helped: Vesna’s calm presence, the deep breathing, the fingering. Yes, the fingering, he told her what that was really about. He even showed her some of the patterns, how they varied and progressed like music or an equation. Distracting; soothing.
Meredith listened and tried to ask questions as useful as his had been. When did it start? How often does it happen? What sets it off? What does it feel like? Why do you think the fingering makes it better? What makes it worse? And finally they sat there, brother and sister, both exhausted and exhilarated by their mutual revelations.
‘What it comes down to, I reckon,’ said Meredith, ‘is this: you have to be ready.’
‘Ready?’ Robert gave her a quizzical look.
‘Yes. You have to be alert to the moment when you’re ready to change. And when you are, and the right person magically steps up who’ll help you make that change, don’t hold back. You
have
to go with it, Robert! Be ready. And don’t – hold – back.’
Robert looked at her, his baby sister who had never given him a word of advice in her life. Her face was lit with an eager certainty that made him feel uncomfortable, though he wasn’t sure why. And then he realised.
She looks like one of those born-again Christians
, he thought.
Oh, dear!
‘What are we talking about here, Merry?’ he asked. ‘Are we talking about some kind of…
faith
?’
‘Yep, I guess so,’ she admitted. They were not and never had been a family for faith. ‘But not, you know,
goddie
-type faith.’
‘But doesn’t AA have this thing about ‘a higher power’?’
‘Yeah,’ Meredith said. ‘But for me that’s… I don’t know, it’s
me
!’
‘What’s you?’
‘The higher power thingie. Well, and you, and Laurence, and Carmen even… But mostly I guess I see it as part of me. The best part of me. That’s what’s gonna get me through the tough bits.’
Robert nodded. ‘I’d like to say, “Let’s drink to that!”’ he said. ‘But on second thoughts… ’
‘Noooo!!’ they agreed simultaneously, wagging their heads from side to side. Meredith giggled.
‘But I guess it still
is
faith, all the same,’ she added, momentarily serious again. ‘You should bear that in mind, Bobbity bro.’
CHAPTER 21
In the fields around Marsh Farm, men and machines were busy, their noise drifting with the dust they raised into the brilliant blue of the sky.
‘Zummer in Zomerzet,’ said James, watching from the upstairs window of his mother’s studio. ‘What do you call what they’re doing, Rose? Reaping? Mowing?’
‘Something like that,’ his mother said, glancing up from her sketchbook. ‘I’m not a real countrywoman, I’m afraid. Completely faux.’
‘How come even the dust is pretty here?’ James wondered. ‘It never looks like that in Australia.’ He went back to his chair at the big work table and started doodling again.
This was his third visit to Somerset and he was staying with Rose and Roland for a full month while Silver was in Europe and the States on business. He felt a bit unsettled. He thought there might be a painting coming on; he always got restless before a new painting. James drew and sketched wherever he was, of course, that was as natural as breathing, and something he and Rose often did together,
sitting at the kitchen table or up in her workroom. They found it easy, companionable. Almost as though they’d been doing it all their lives. But these last few days James could hardly settle to the simplest sketch. He felt like his fingers were going to fly away.
A memory surfaced, clear as a jewel: his mother, younger, opposite him at the dining room table, tapping her brush on the side of a glass of murky coloured water, sheets of paper daubed with brilliant colours spread around her. ‘We used to draw like this when I was a kid, didn’t we?’ he said.
‘When I could get a minute,’ she answered, smiling. ‘When I could squeeze a bit of space between you with your drawings and Robert with his blessed schoolwork, beavering away. Those were my favourite times in that house, I think. Actually,’ she said, sitting back for a moment, ‘it was Meredith who really amazed me. Do you remember how from the age of about three she used to draw these great sagas, always with the same characters? And she’d dictate what they were saying and make someone write it? It took ages and I’d get fed up. Alex was much more patient.’
‘Really?’ James was mildly intrigued. ‘I don’t remember Meredith doing that.’
‘Yes. The Penguin and the Horsey, those were her favourite characters. “The Peng-win”, as she would say. Clearly the Peng-win was her and I think the Horsey was Robert, and she’d turn all their doings into these grand adventures. So detailed. It was quite something.’ Rose had entirely left off her own drawing now (designs for a range of bed-linen) and was gazing away into space, remembering. ‘Something I regretted terribly was that I didn’t take just one of those drawings of hers when I left. And yours, James.’ Her eyes moved to the youthful self-portrait James had given her last Christmas, hung now so that it overlooked her as she worked.
‘When I got into art school,’ James said, ‘Robert told me you would have been really pleased.’
‘Did he?’ Rose smiled. ‘Dear Robert! And he was right, of course.
But why didn’t Meredith go to art school, too? I thought she was bound to become an artist of some kind. An illustrator, perhaps… ’
‘An artist? Meredith?’ said James, sounding surprised, almost amused. ‘No offence, but I… I’ve just never seen that.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Rose rather defensively. ‘I know she was only little, but she had something, I thought. Different to what you had, of course, but…What
does
Meredith do now, James? I don’t think you’ve really told me.’
‘Yes, I have, I’m sure. About the barwork. Although, hmm, I did hear something about her chucking that job. Maybe she’s working in a cafe or something now.’
‘Yes, but surely she does something else besides cafe and barwork?’ Rose started tapping her pencil softly on the table. She was looking at him curiously.
‘We-ell…’ James hesitated. ‘I… I guess you’d have to say that Meredith’s drinking has probably got in the way of her, um, achieving her full potential.’
‘So she’s a drinker?’ Rose’s eyebrows went up. ‘A serious drinker?’
‘I don’t… she’s never said anything, not to me anyway. But I think… or Deborah thinks she is, anyway.’
‘I see.’ Rose looked thoughtful. ‘Alex’s father was a drinker, did you know that?’
‘No. He died ages ago, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, when you were just a baby. He was an exceptionally pleasant drunk, but definitely an alcoholic. He’d served in the First World War, you know. Everyone said that’s what did it, the terrible things he’d seen. But I wondered if it didn’t run in the family. I think Alex’s brother Bob might’ve had a problem.’
‘I never knew that. So you think there’s a genetic thing happening?’
‘Not in
you
, James, clearly! I’ve never known anyone more circumspect with their alcohol, short of being a teetotaller. But what about the others? Does Robert drink?’
‘Oh gosh no, not our Robert! Far too proper. Oh, that’s probably unkind of me. It’s not like he’s a wowser.’
‘
Wowser
,’ Rose smiled. ‘Now there’s an expression I haven’t heard in a very long time! What about Deborah?’
‘Yeah, Deb likes her wine, but I certainly wouldn’t say she’s got a problem. She hates Meredith’s drinking, though.’
‘Maybe it scares her?’ his mother suggested.
‘Scares her? I wouldn’t have thought anything scares Deborah!’ Again he hesitated. ‘Maybe it’s more that… Deb’s pretty critical of Meredith all round. Of most people. She’s always been incredibly supportive of me, no question, but sometimes I feel like I’m the exception.’
‘Ah. And is she critical of her husband, too? I’m thinking of the marriage problems you mentioned that she’s having.’
‘I don’t know,’ said James uneasily. ‘Could be. But her job’s very demanding, you know. She sets very high standards for herself. I guess she’s a hard person to please.’
‘This doesn’t surprise me, you know. She was like that as a child.’ Rose was watching him now even more intently. ‘She’s not going to be pleased about
me
, is she?’
‘No. Not at first. I’m sorry, Rose. And I’m sure she’ll come round. But she’s… she’s pretty, um, bitter, I guess.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ Rose sighed. She stopped tapping the pencil. The sudden silence seemed demanding and it made James nervous. Rose asked him in a rush of words, ‘Is this why you’ve not told them about me yet? Is it Deborah?’
‘No! Not exactly,’ James said, feeling cornered. ‘I thought I’d find some of your letters. I’ve been looking… ’
Rose raised her eyebrows questioningly, and James shook his head. ‘I couldn’t find a trace. And I looked through everything.’
‘You asked Alex? What did he say, exactly?’
‘He just looked vague and said I should ask Deborah. Because she was the oldest.’
‘And did you ask her?’
‘No, I couldn’t see the point. I wanted to tell her about you, letters or no letters, but… It’s just impossible, the way she is right now, with her marriage and everything. But after this trip… I really will tell her. Tell
them
. ’
Rose nodded consideringly, seeming to withdrawing into herself a little. Then with a decisive movement she picked up her pencil and started drawing again. ‘You do have tell them, my dear,’ she said. ‘You have to stop protecting me some time.’
Protecting you?
James was taken aback.
Is that what I’ve been doing: trying to protect Rose? From… from what?
He saw again the way, just a few minutes ago, she had swept her gaze up to his little self-portrait, as though to a talisman. Then a sudden image filled his mind: Deborah the last time he’d seen her, curled up like a child in a corner of his big leather couch, weeping with unhappiness.
Everyone needs protecting
, he thought. James had never imagined this was something he could do. He felt a rush of longing for Silver; to lie down with her and hold her, and be held. Imagine if he didn’t have Silver…