Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
The ceilings were high, the sofas were old, the wallpaper was falling off and the shower ran hot and cold for approximately twelve minutes before it sorted itself out. Sundays seemed to be the worst day of all, for a reason neither Sophia and I could ever explain, and every Sunday, when I was running late, I rushed into the shower, completely forgetting about this idiosyncrasy.
I stood there, hungry and hungover, trying to bear the extreme temperature changes for as long as I could, to clean myself and wash my hair. No matter how you set up the taps, or how minutely you turned them from left to right, there was no way of avoiding it. One moment as hot as the sun, and the next as cold as the sea. Eventually I had to give up, for fear of giving myself hypothermia with a side portion of burnt off skin. I washed the shampoo out of my hair under the tap in the sink, dried the parts of my body that I'd managed to get wet, and went back into my room to try and find something suitable to wear for the day.
Every Sunday my family got together to have lunch, and every Sunday without fail, I was late. I was never late for anything else in my life, but for some reason I was never able to get to this regular event on time, and it made my dad label me as both lazy and forgetful. As I looked at my watch on the train over to their house, I knew that this Sunday would be no different. I decided to text ahead and blame a delayed train.
I got there at 2:37pm, and considering I'd only had fifteen minutes back at home to get ready, I thought that was pretty good.
I prepared myself, went to ring the bell to announce my arrival, despite having a perfectly good key, and mum opened the door anyway, as if she'd sensed me standing there.
'
Hello sweetie', she said and hugged me. 'Have you done something with your hair?'
'
You're late', dad said, from the living room, before I had a chance to answer. 'We've been waiting.'
'
Hi mum', I said.
'
Don't listen to him', mum said. 'We weren't planning to eat until 3 anyway.'
I went through to the living room where everyone was gathered around the TV, watching a game of Rugby.
My brother James was here already, with his wife Vicky, and their twin boys, Charlie and Sam. They were both at that awkward age where physical contact was avoided at all costs, so I ruffled their hair just to say hello, and they shook themselves away from me as quickly as possible.
'
You're late', dad said again, without taking his eyes off the screen.
'
What's up sis?' James said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 'Another late night?'
'
The train was delayed', I said.
James was my older, much more successful, much more stable brother. He made me look like a life-long drop out, and he loved every bit of it. James and Vicky were college sweethearts, they got married when I was still trying to decide what to do at University, spent several years in successful careers, and had Charlie and Sam when they felt like they were ready to support children.
I know it's a bit bad, but because James had always been so sure about where his life was going to take him, and what he wanted to do with it, it always gave me a certain satisfaction knowing that they had to resort to IVF in order to have their children. Vicky was a lawyer and James followed our father's footsteps into the world of medicine, before writing a series of children's books, and finding success too in that field. The fact that he was a published, well renowned and successful author really pissed me off. I shouldn't have been jealous of him, but he lauded it over me so much that I couldn't help but feel any other way.
I loved my brother, but we weren't anything alike. He was dedicated, industrious, and proactive and I was much more creative, selfless and inclined to take my time about things. Basically what I'm saying is that James was a successful guy, but he was as boring as hell. I might have been a fuck up, but at least I had some interesting stories to tell people around the dinner table. Well alright, that's probably not strictly true either, James was a much better conversationalist than me, but at least I didn't rub my success in other people's faces. At least I had the decency to be humble about it all.
Mum brought me a glass of juice, which I had to get her to swap for a glass of wine, and I pushed my way onto the sofa.
'
How's it going dad?' I said.
'
Fine', he said. 'What news do you bring from the world of waitressing?'
'
God, nothing really', I said. 'We had someone in the other day who looked like Tom Conti. That's about as exciting as it's got this week.'
'
Are you still at that place in Greenwich?' Vicky said. She didn't actually put the emphasis on the word 'still', but I certainly heard it in her voice. It sounded like, 'I can't believe you are
still
at that place in Greenwich.'
'
Yes', I said, 'still there.'
'
That's been a while, hasn't it?' Vicky said. 'You must love it.'
'
Ten years', dad said.
'
It's not ten dad', I was quick to correct him.
'
They'll make you a partner soon', he said.
'
How's the book going?' James said. 'You know I've got another one coming out this month.'
'
Another one?' I said, shocked.
'
Yeah. Actually, this one's a collaboration.' James said.
'
A collaboration with who?' I said.
James indicated the two six year old boys lying on the ground in front of us.
'
You're kidding me?'
'
We brainstormed the story and wrote it together. My publisher thinks it's going to be a big hit. I'm telling you, there is money to be made in children's books. You should have a go.'
'
I write romance James', I said. 'I'm not really in it for the money either.'
'
Right, sorry,' James said. 'I forgot you only did seereeahs litrachur. Too bad you can't get it published.'
'
Go on, go on, go on, go on. Noooooo. You useless-', dad shouted at the screen. The boys cheered alongside him.
'
It is published', I said, defending myself. It was the same every bloody week. James was only doing this to rile me, I knew it.
'
Self published', James said. 'Isn't that vanity press?'
'
Have you read it?' I said, challengingly.
'
If it's anything like the stuff you used to write when we were kids, I don't think I need to. Anyway, I know the story remember. I know how it ends.'
'
Yeah well it might be different if you read it properly. I can't believe none of you are prepared to do that.' I said, and folded my arms.
'
I've read it', mum shouted from the kitchen.
'
I know mum, thank you.'
'
You're the only one', James said, and laughed. Dad and the twins joined in too.
'
Thanks James', I said.
'
I'm only kidding sis', he said. 'Don't get upset. What are you working on now?'
'
Ridiculous. What a waste of space', dad shouted at the screen.
'
Do you really want to know, or are you asking me to make fun of me?' I said.
'
I want to know', mum said from the kitchen again. 'Is it the one about the bank robber?'
'
No, that's. I kind of gave up on that one. No, this one is a sort of love story set in the future', I said. 'But also the past. It's difficult to explain. It has elements of time travel in it, and it's going to be pretty sad, because they don't really get together in the end. Not in the conventional sense at least.
'
Like The Time Traveller's Wife?' Vicky said.
'
Well sort of, but different too', I said.
'
That will never work. Never work. Idiot', dad shouted at the screen again. The game was coming to an end and he was either on the edge of his seat, pushed right back into it, stood up, or hiding his head in his hands.
'
Different how?' James asked. I knew he was teasing me, I could tell by the expression he had on his face.
'
Just different', I said. 'Better.'
'
That was a pretty good book', Vicky said. 'I think your mum lent me that one. Pam, you lent me The Time Traveller's Wife, didn't you?'
'
The Time Traveller's what?' mum said from the kitchen.
'
The Time Traveller's Wife', Vicky said again. 'Alice's book is going to be based on it.'
'
It won't be based on it', I said.
'
What a waste of time', dad said. The game had finally finished. 'Did you see that James? They need to sack that manager and get those boys back into training. It's the same every bloody week. Now, what the hell are you all talking about?'
Dad passed the remote control over to the twins and the boys fought over who was to be in charge of it. Sam won, and clicked on cartoons that Charlie would have turned to anyway, had he been in control.
'
Nothing', I said.
'
Alice's new book', James said.
'
Where the hell is this lunch?' dad said. 'Pam it's five to three, why the hell aren't we eating yet?'
'
We had to wait for Alice', mum shouted from the kitchen. 'It'll be ready soon. Have another drink.'
'
What's this about a new book? I thought you'd left all of that nonsense behind you?'
'
Dad', I said, shocked.
'
And when are you going to get yourself a real job? You're not twenty one anymore, you should take a leaf out of your brother's book and get on with doing something serious.'
'
I have got a serious job', I said, not sounding all that convincing.
'
Waitressing is not a career, darling', dad said. 'Despite what they might be telling you.'
'
I was talking about writing', I said.
James began to laugh.
'
Lunchtime', mum shouted from the kitchen, not a moment too soon.
If there was one good thing about coming home, it was the amazing food that mum always managed to prepare. Food that dad would take great care in finding faults with. My parents had been married for nearly forty five years, and it always amazed me how they'd stayed together for so long. Dad seemed to spend his retirement complaining, and mum had the patience of a saint to put up with it. This time the pork had been overcooked, the potatoes didn't have enough salt, the courgette wasn't cooked the way he wanted it to be, and the gravy wasn't proper.
I ate a huge plateful and then went back for seconds, while dad continued to complain about things not being they way they should have been.
'
Have you heard from Harry?' dad said, while he mopped up inferior gravy with crusty bread.
'
Harry and I split up over a year ago, dad.'
'
I liked Harry', mum said.
'
So did I', dad said. 'He was good for you.'
'
He cheated on me', I said. 'Twice.'
'
He was a doctor. He would have made a good husband.'
Dad poured himself another large glass of wine. I took the bottle from him and filled my glass.
'
Let's talk about something else', I said.
'
How's the internet dating going?' Vicky said. 'I saw what you'd put on facebook.'
'
It's not', I said. 'I mean, I tried it, but it's not working. Look can we talk about someone else's problems for once. I feel like I'm being singled out here.'
'
No-one's attacking you honey, we just care about you, that's all.' mum said
'
And you're cutting it a little bit fine', dad said.
'
Nice', James said.
'
What does cutting it fine mean?' Sam said.
'
It means she's going to end up with a black cardigan and a lot of cats', dad said.
'
What does it mean? Charlie said to Vicky, pulling eagerly on her sleeve.
'
I'll tell you later', Vicky whispered to him.
I suddenly lost my appetite. This was the same way things went whenever I came over here. I wasn't doing what my parents wanted me to do, and every week they told me about it. Dad was the worst. For him it was like a sore point he could never get past. He'd always hated that I'd chosen English Literature instead of Medicine at university, and couldn't get over the fact that I was still single at thirty-four, a disappointment, and an embarrassment to the family.