Weird Sister (23 page)

Jenny does not respond. She stares at the diplomas. She can think of nothing apart from Agnes and Graeme.

Elizabeth

It was pure luck that I happened to be standing beside the phone when the school rang. I’d dropped round to see Robert. The storm had brought down a tree across the footpath in my garden and I wanted to ask if he could come over with the chainsaw to help get rid of it. And I wanted to find out how the house had fared last night – the wind had been so strong that I lay awake imagining that their roof would come off. As soon as I arrived I remembered that Robert was away and there didn’t seem to be anyone else at home, except Martin on his own in the sitting room. As always the back door was unlocked.

I answered the phone and agreed to go to the school to fetch Jenny. She was lucky it was me who answered – God knows how Graeme might have reacted and I can’t imagine that either Karen or Agnes would have been much use in this kind of situation.

I drove to the school. I would take Jenny out for lunch in Peterborough – she could tell me her side of events. ‘She was very quiet during the journey. I let her choose where we ate – a pizza restaurant. After we ordered I asked how she was feeling.

‘Agnes is a witch,’ she said calmly.

I laughed. ‘She’s not that bad.’ I said but Jenny wasn’t smiling. I decided it might be wise to confide in her myself, to let her know that I was on her side. ‘I don’t much like her either.’

She frowned. Had I made a mistake? ‘She’s a witch,’ she said, ‘and she can fly.’ Jenny looked away, across the restaurant. The tips of her fingers were raw – she’d been biting her nails.

‘What do you mean?’ She didn’t reply. I decided to change the subject. Neither of us liked Agnes, now we both knew. ‘How are you getting on with Robert these days? How is he?’

‘He’s a wimp. And a fool.’

I was astonished by her anger. I didn’t like hearing her speak of Robert that way. But it wouldn’t be of any use to show how I felt.

‘Why do you think that?’

‘I don’t know.’

Where could I go with this? If she’d been a client – but she wasn’t. ‘Are you getting on with Graeme?’

‘All he thinks about is sex.’

My heart flipped in my chest. ‘What?’

‘All he thinks about is sex and fucking. He can’t do anything else. He’s disgusting.’

I tried to stay cool. What was Jenny saying? What was going on in that house? Was Jenny disclosing some kind of abuse to me? I was no longer a therapist and, well, I had misunderstood people before this. But I couldn’t let her – it – slip by without comment. I had to find a way through to her.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Would it help if I found you someone else to talk to about it?’

She looked at me as though it had just dawned on her who I was, to whom she was speaking. ‘No,’ she said vehemently. ‘No way.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s disgusting.’

At that moment I could see all kinds of clues I might have missed. Clue after clue, over the years. Jenny and Graeme were close – too close perhaps – and their household had such a strange hothouse environment. Sixteen-year-old girls can be terribly provocative and I wasn’t sure Graeme had the strength of character required in the situation.

But, as I kept reminding myself I had got things wrong before. I didn’t have good judgement – I’d proved that in London. And Jenny was not making any outright allegations; teenagers – children – often don’t. I decided I had better bite my tongue and wait.

‘He’s disgusting,’ she repeated. ‘But she’s the bad one. Agnes is a witch.’

Now I felt completely confused. Perhaps Jenny was jealous of Robert and Agnes, jealous and confused to find such an exclusive and powerful love affair happening right in front of her. Watching your surrogate parent fall in love, not something any teenager wants to witness. I was pretty certain that Jenny hadn’t been involved with boys – Graeme wouldn’t allow it. That was it right there – Graeme wouldn’t allow it. I felt horror rise up inside me once again.

The waitress brought our pizzas and Jenny ate the first few mouthfuls as though she was starving and then pushed the rest away. I tried to think of other things we could talk about, more neutral topics, but all I could think of was the weather, last night’s storm, the current freeze. Jenny didn’t want to talk about that. I decided to blunder on.

‘What happened in the classroom today? What was that about?’

Jenny looked at me. ‘Do you know anything about witches?’

‘Witches?’

‘Yes. Do you believe they exist?’

‘Well, I . . .’

‘Lolly knows about witches. Not white witches, not spangly fangly New Age witches – that’s what Lolly’s mum is into – but real witches. Evil witches. Who cast spells and change people and kill babies and . . .’

‘No,’ I said, taking a deep breath, ‘no, I don’t think I do believe in witches.’

‘Why not?’ Jenny looked up at me and I noticed how her black mascara was blotchy on her lashes, pooling in the corner of her right eye, next to her tearduct. Before Agnes arrived Jenny hadn’t worn make-up. ‘Do you have proof that they don’t exist?’

‘No, I –’

‘Lolly says they do exist. They exist if we want them to. Like anything we choose to believe in. Father Christmas. The bogey man. God.’ At this last word she looked at me defiantly but I wasn’t about to argue with her about religion. I didn’t believe in witches; at that time I didn’t believe in anything beyond what was scientifically proven.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘so they do exist. What then?’

‘Agnes is here for a specific reason.’ Jenny lowered her voice and leaned across the table toward me. If she hadn’t been so alarming she would have been funny. ‘I don’t know what that reason is yet, but I’ll find out.’ She sat back in her seat. ‘I can’t tell you much more than that.’

‘You can’t?’

‘No. I can’t.’

I didn’t know what to make of what she was saying. Why would Jenny suddenly turn on her beloved sister-in-law? Why would she despise her brother Graeme? Call Robert a wimp and a fool? What was going on in that house? I had noticed peculiar tensions between Agnes and Graeme on more than one occasion. Graeme and sex. Agnes. Could Graeme and Agnes be having an affair? I chastised myself, it was wishful thinking. I wondered what Jenny knew, what she had seen. I tried to steer the conversation back in that direction, but Jenny wouldn’t have it. She had closed the door on the topic. She wanted to talk about witchcraft. That or nothing. She finished her lunch in surly silence.

When I got Jenny home, Karen was in the sitting room with the boys; they greeted Jenny enthusiastically, immediately involving her in their play. Karen went into the kitchen to get started on their tea and I followed. I gave her the letter of warning that the Headmistress had asked me to pass on and told her what had happened. She was bewildered and distraught.

‘She never uses that kind of language.’

‘I know. The school was as dismayed as you are.’ We kept our voices low.

‘What’s wrong with her? What are we going to do?’ Karen was tearful. As I had anticipated, her reaction wasn’t very helpful. I should have waited and told Robert first – but he was away. Or Graeme. It would be good to tell him myself, see what I could learn from his reaction.

‘Where’s Graeme?’ I asked.

‘Out at the cottages. We’ve had a last minute booking. He’s out there getting it ready. They’re arriving tonight.’

I headed along the track instead of taking the short cut across the field. The lights were on in the first cottage. I knocked.

Agnes answered. I struggled not to show my surprise. ‘Hello Elizabeth,’ she said, smiling. She seemed completely unfazed to see me and did not behave as though anything untoward was taking place. ‘Come in, come in –’ she took me by the arm ‘– although it’s not much warmer in here than out there. We’re in the bedroom, making the bed.’

Graeme gave me a quick look before returning to the sheets. The work was awkward for him, with his leg. ‘Elizabeth,’ he said, concentrating on the corner tuck, ‘what brings you out here?’

I told them what had happened. I tried to remember exactly what the Headteacher had told me. ‘She used foul language. She asked her teacher – Mr McKay – who he was fucking.’

Agnes laughed loudly. ‘This is a small place, isn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, where I come from – a little bad language – you would praise the student for showing initiative. They should thank their lucky stars that their worst problem is a little swearing.’

Graeme was scowling. ‘Shut up.’ He spoke sharply. I looked at Agnes, but her face remained open, smiling. ‘It’s not funny. They’ve issued a written warning. I’m going to –’ he interrupted himself. ‘You finish here.’ He pointed at me.

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’ He took his coat from the chair, as did Agnes. ‘The bathroom needs doing,’ he said. And they were off.

I did what they told me. I cleaned the bathroom. I did it for Robert, not for Graeme, nor Agnes.

Graeme lashes out

Graeme goes straight into the sitting-room, straight into Jenny. He grabs her by the arm and hauls her up off the floor where she is playing with Andrew and Francis. His grip on her is fierce; he is hurting her. The little boys scatter. Jenny keeps her body curved, away from Graeme. His other hand is raised.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ His voice is vicious, full of contempt. Jenny looks at him and then sees Agnes standing behind him, in the doorway. It is as though Jenny’s entire body gains sudden strength. She straightens her back, draws herself to her full height and faces Graeme. She makes a sound in the back of her throat and spits in his face.

Graeme pauses for a moment, completely stunned. His sister’s phlegm drips off his cheek onto his jacket. He doesn’t know that Jenny has seen him with Agnes, all he can think is that she’s a bitch.

He hits her. He slaps her face, a big open-handed slap, allowing his arm full swing, full strength. Jenny crumples to the floor, her bravery wiped away. Graeme pauses over her and, for a moment, it looks as though he is going to kick her, but he turns away. He leaves through the front door of the house, heading for the Marquis of Granby.

Agnes gathers the girl in her arms. Jenny clings to her, despite hating her; she wants to kick and punch but she can’t. She begins to cry, she wants to be held. Martin is in his chair by the fire, his rug over his knees, his face turned toward them, blank and calm as always. Agnes helps the sobbing girl over to her father. She seats her on the floor next to him, puts her arms around his knees, and places one of Martin’s hands on Jenny’s head, the other on her shoulder. She calls Andrew and Francis and they crawl out from behind the settee and climb into Jenny’s lap, wrap their arms around her neck, cooing, offering her kisses, they never like to see a grown-up upset. Agnes goes into the kitchen where Karen is working, the radio on rather too loudly – she hasn’t heard a thing. ‘Graeme’s gone out to the pub,’ Agnes announces. Karen sighs. The two women chop vegetables.

Elizabeth is burning

Elizabeth is burning with the knowledge she carries, her suspicions flare out from a well-fanned flame. She can’t wait to talk to Robert; he is due back this morning. At the Trevelyans she keeps her eye on the street and when she sees Robert’s car pass before lunch she gets up from her desk and rushes out. She reaches Robert as he is parking.

‘Jenny has got into a bit of trouble,’ she says, catching her breath.

‘What?’

‘I took the call.’ She suggests that they walk to the Black Hat for a drink – she wants to talk, to find a way to air her worries – but Robert refuses. He hasn’t seen Agnes for forty-eight hours and he doesn’t welcome another delay.

So Elizabeth tells him what the school told her. She adds that she took Jenny for lunch in Peterborough so they could talk about what happened. ‘I didn’t get far with her. She seems very angry. Angry at Graeme, angry at Agnes, angry at everyone.’

‘Agnes?’ says Robert. He takes a step away from Elizabeth, waves his hand across his shoulder as though brushing dandruff away. ‘There must be some explanation. That’s not like Jenny.’ He sees his wife standing in the window of the sitting room, watching. She looks as though she has been there for some time. He lifts his hand in greeting but Agnes doesn’t react; it’s as though she stares beyond and through him. Distracted, he turns back to Elizabeth who has been trying to find a way to voice her suspicions. Of course she can’t do it, there is no way she can say to Robert what she thinks. She feels bowed by the weight of what she is not saying.

‘Robert, I – I don’t know what you think, but Graeme . . . Agnes and Graeme . . .’

‘Oh Christ, does Graeme know about this? I can just imagine how he must have reacted.’ He grabs his bag from the backseat and heads toward the house.

‘Robert,’ says Elizabeth, ‘I think we had better . . .’

Robert turns abruptly, annoyed. He starts to speak, thinks better of it. He clears his throat. ‘Thank you for your help Elizabeth. It was good of you to pick up Jenny from school and take her out for lunch. I’m back now. I’ll deal with it. It’s my family.’ As he walks toward the house the door swings open. Elizabeth, who hasn’t quite given up yet, glimpses Agnes’s face, sees Robert’s pace quicken. She stays for long enough to see them embrace.

Robert buries his face in his wife’s neck and breathes in deeply. ‘Oh God,’ he says, ‘it’s been torture. I hate being away.’ ‘Agnes takes his hand and places it on her breast. Robert’s love for her fills the house, it doesn’t leave room for anyone else, not even Jenny. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Agnes says and she turns and moves quickly. Robert chases after her, happy.

In their bedroom there are two new galvanized steel buckets on the floor, catching the drips. Robert swears when he sees them. Agnes shrugs. ‘Derek Hill,’ says Robert, ‘our saviour Derek Hill is starting work on Monday.’

As they take off their clothes they can both see their breath on the chill air of the afternoon. ‘Come here,’ says Robert, pulling Agnes to him, ‘let me show you how much I love you.’ Agnes smiles and they are away.