The Thing About Clare Page 15

  Fuck. How was she going to get home now? Dicken was still at the party. She was either going to have to sit here outside the house until he came to find her or go back in. She remembered another time when she’d stormed out as a teenager after some row or other only to have to storm back moments later because she didn’t have anything on her feet. This was just fucking typical of her. She couldn’t even storm out properly. Now she was stuck here with no money and no wine and no one to talk to. It was all crap.

  She sat on the wall and swung her legs backwards and forwards until she heard the front door open, voices saying thank you, good bye, sorry. There they were again. Apologising for her. Still, precious Anna’s precious party had crashed and burned pretty quickly after she’d left. They might all hate her but she still called the shots in the Bliss family. This thought made her smile.

  ‘Are you going to sit there all day or are you coming home with me?’ Dicken was standing at her side. He put a steadying arm on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

  ‘Party all finished?’ she asked. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Don’t suppose you picked up any booze on your way out? That lot won’t be needing it until Christmas.’

  ‘You’re a disgrace,’ said Dicken, turning and walking away from her. He had a hole in his cords, near the pocket where his wallet must have worn away the fabric. She could see the pink cotton of his boxers.

  ‘And I can see your pants,’ she shouted after him, but he didn’t turn back. In the old days that would have made him smile. Her refusal to follow social norms was one of the things that he said he loved about her. Now she seemed to irritate him just like she irritated everyone else.

  She was going to have to get home somehow, though. She slid herself down from the wall and trailed after him like a chastised child.

  ‘Wait,’ she called to his back. ‘I’m coming.’

  But he didn’t turn round.

  ANNA – 2000

  I

  ‘How long will she be in hospital exactly?’ Anna asked.

  There was a pause at the other end as her mother considered her answer.

  ‘Three or four days,’ her mother replied. ‘A week at the most.’

  ‘A week! What will I do with a teenage boy for a week?’

  ‘Oh, come now, Anna,’ her mother said. ‘Is it so very much to ask? He’s your nephew and he needs somewhere to stay whilst Clare is away. Miriam would help but she’s got her hands full with the girls. He could stay here with us but that won’t be much fun for the lad. Your father is far too cantankerous for house guests these days.’

  Anna knew that she was the obvious choice but still her mind struggled to come up with other solutions.

  ‘What about Seb and Tessa?’ she asked. ‘I know their flat is only tiny but the two of them are so totally joined at the hip that they must barely take up any space. There’d be plenty of room for River.’ She was only half joking.

  ‘Oh, now, don’t be silly,’ her mother replied. ‘You couldn’t swing a cat in that flat. The two of them live on top of each other as it is. Not that they seem to mind. It’s a joy to me to see Sebastian so happy. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two young people so much in love.’

  Anna bristled. She knew her mother’s comments about her loved-up brother were not designed to be a criticism of her but she couldn’t help but take them like that. There was Sebastian, love’s young dream, and her, older by eleven years and still resolutely single. It wasn’t that Anna resented her brother’s happiness per se but did they all have to rub her nose in it so hard? Every time she saw Seb and Tess it became more and more obvious that they were totally devoted to one another. If every other person on the planet disappeared in a puff of smoke, the two of them probably wouldn’t even notice. And if Anna was being completely honest, wasn’t she just a teensy bit resentful of Tessa? Since she’d been on the scene a gap had opened up between herself and Sebastian which Anna had found difficult, especially as she wasn’t entirely sure what Seb found so entrancing about the girl. Anna would have to get used to it, though. Sebastian and Tessa were clearly soulmates, whatever that was.

  ‘Okay,’ she said to her mother. ‘River can come here, if he must.’

  She’d been boxed into a corner. It was nothing short of a divine power, this talent her mother had for making things happen the way she wanted them to. Dorothy had decided that Anna would have River whilst Clare went into hospital for a routine operation and lo, it came to pass. Anna had absolutely no say in the matter.

  ‘But I don’t know what to do with teenage boys,’ she complained. ‘I don’t know what to talk to him about or anything.’

  This was true. With no children of her own, Anna had always found the world of the child a mysterious and slightly scary place. Whenever she spoke to her nieces it was in a patronising tone that even she was horrified by. She could see them merely tolerating her stilted attempts at conversation just long enough until they could sidle off and get back to other, less tedious pursuits. But at least her nieces were girls. She had been a girl herself once. A boy was a whole different kettle of fish.

  Anna could hear her mother sigh down the phone.

  ‘For the love of God, Anna, just feed him, make sure he goes to school and comes back at night. How hard can that be?’

  And so here they were, day one. River had been delivered to her house after school and Anna had taken a couple of hours off work to make sure that she was home when he arrived. She didn’t know why she’d bothered, though. She had set River up in her spare room and he hadn’t shown his face again since. A heavy silence fell over the house. She had expected raucous music or at the very least a TV turned up loud, but there was nothing. Whatever he was doing up there, he was doing it very quietly.

  Should she go and check on him? Was that what the responsible person in loco parentis would do? She didn’t want him to think that she was spying on him and yet that was exactly what she would be doing. And didn’t she have a right to? He was a guest in her house, after all. She needed to make sure that he wasn’t coming to harm.

  God, she could kill Clare. It was so like her to do this. Expect everyone to hold her life together for her when she couldn’t cope. No sooner had this thought escaped but Anna reprimanded herself. This wasn’t Clare’s fault. Her condition might have been exacerbated by the drinking but that was far from certain. It was just one of those things, nobody was to blame, and Anna was doing what any reasonable sibling would do by helping out in a crisis. She could still kill her, though.

  She opened a packet of Penguin biscuits and tipped a couple out on to a plate. Then she filled a glass with squash and dropped a couple of ice cubes in for good measure. What about a straw? Too much? Maybe? He was fourteen, not four. She put the whole lot on a tray and made her way upstairs. Standing for a moment outside the closed bedroom door, she strained to hear anything that might give her a clue as to what he was up to. Maybe he was smoking, or taking drugs, or maybe he had shimmied down the drainpipe and the quiet she could hear was the silence of his absence. He was Clare’s son, after all.

  With her heart in her throat, Anna gave a cursory knock and flung open the door as if to catch him in whatever terrible act he was indulging.

  River was sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard. He was reading a book. Of all the possible scenarios that had crossed Anna’s mind, reading hadn’t been one of them. Anna was so relieved that she almost laughed. He looked up briefly as she came in and then his eyes dropped back down to his book without acknowledging her.

  ‘I thought you might like a snack,’ she said.

  No response.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  Nothing.

  She set the tray down on the bedside table.

  ‘What are you reading?’

  He twisted the front of the cover so that she could read the title.

  ‘Hitchhikers Guide?’ She nodded appreciatively. ‘Good choice. Dad, your grandad, used to read that to us – well, me and then your Uncle
Sebastian. He used to do all the voices. We loved it.’

  Anna stopped. River’s eyes didn’t lift from the page and Anna felt immediately guilty. Who would have read to River? Certainly not Clare. And how insensitive to talk about being read to by your father when River didn’t even know who his father was.

  ‘I usually have tea around seven,’ she said, changing the subject abruptly. ‘Is that okay with you? It’s pasta tonight but I can make something else if—’

  ‘Pasta’s fine,’ said River, still without looking at her.

  Anna felt like she was being dismissed from her own bedroom. She’d have forced him talk to her if it hadn’t been for the fact that she had nothing to say. His rudeness was actually saving them both a lot of effort. So that was fine. If he wanted to be rude then two could play at that game.

  ‘I’ll see you downstairs at seven, then,’ she said, and left him to it.

  The cheek of the boy, she thought as she set the table. She had put herself out for him. She’d taken time off work, for God’s sake, and he was too rude to even attempt to have a conversation with her. She’d ring Miriam later, sound off to her about their uncommunicative nephew. Miriam would understand, especially when her daughters were such sociable little creatures. They were always at least prepared to chat with Auntie Anna, no matter how awkward it might be. No, River was something else – a chip off the old block, that was for sure.

  By the time seven arrived, Anna had worked herself up into a frenzy over the unacceptable behaviour of her nephew and was determined to beat him at his own game. Yes, it was childish, but who was here to see? At least it would make her feel better.

  She was about to shout up the stairs when he appeared, silent as a ghost, in her kitchen.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said, gesturing at the table. River took the chair nearest the wall and sat, staring at his place mat. When she put the plate of pasta in front of him she was almost disappointed to hear a quiet but distinct ‘Thank you.’ Well, that made no difference. Just because he had a modicum of manners, it didn’t mean that he could undo the damage.

  Anna put her own plate down and sat opposite him. The room was painfully quiet and she wished she’d thought to put some music on. If she stood up to do it now it would just look awkward, like she didn’t want to talk to him. Well, she didn’t. At least she would be being honest.

  For a moment or two they each concentrated on their food. He didn’t seem to be a fussy eater, so that was something. Maybe when you lived with Clare you had to learn to eat whatever was put before you? Behind them the central heating boiler hummed.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ Anna asked, weakening first despite her determination not to.

  River shrugged. ‘Was okay,’ he said.

  ‘Do you like school?’ Anna persisted.

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘What’s your favourite subject?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I like reading,’ he said without making eye contact.

  ‘Me too,’ said Anna. ‘Have you read all the Douglas Adams books?’

  ‘At least five times each,’ he said. Finally, he looked up, and was that the hint of a smile?

  ‘There was a TV series when I was around your age,’ replied Anna. ‘Of Hitchhiker’s Guide. It was “must-see” viewing.’

  He nodded but his face fell flat again.

  Like pulling teeth, thought Anna.

  II

  It was Valentine’s Day but Anna wasn’t expecting a deluge of cards and roses from men declaring their undying love for her. Just one would be nice, but when the post hit the mat it was immediately apparent that this year was going to be just as disappointing as the last. Not one silly pink envelope peeped out from beneath the catalogues and takeaway menus. When she’d been a girl, her father had bought the three girls a card each and every year. They’d always known it was from him but Anna had still counted it proudly as she totted up her card count. Clare always received the most, of course.

  ‘I could paste the walls with mine,’ she used to say, and it wasn’t far from the truth. The boys always seemed to know how to push at that open door. A couple of times Anna had even got a card from Malcolm next door but those had gone into the bin without being displayed. Cards from your father were one thing, cards from a total loser like Malcolm Connors were quite another.

  And here she was again, twenty years later with neither man nor card to display. She wondered if River had anyone to send a card to. Did teenagers still do that kind of thing? She had no idea but she liked to think that it was one of those quirky little traditions that would never go out of fashion. Surely you could never be too sophisticated to get a thrill out of knowing someone found you attractive? Would he have cards waiting on his mat at Clare’s squat? It seemed unlikely. They hadn’t been living there so long and Anna couldn’t believe that River would advertise his address. School probably didn’t even know where they’d moved to. As a girl Anna had used the phone book to look up her beaux, but any admirers of River’s would have to try much harder than that to track him down.

  It had been an odd morning. The pair of them had overcome a slightly awkward moment on the landing on their simultaneous journeys to the bathroom, she in a dressing gown and he wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He might be only fourteen but he definitely wasn’t a little boy any more and Anna had made a mental note to hang a bathrobe on the back of his bedroom door before tomorrow. He had not appeared for breakfast with her but when she had shouted up the stairs to say that she was leaving for work, he had come downstairs, fully dressed in his school uniform.

  ‘Help yourself to anything you can find in the kitchen,’ she had said as she left. ‘See you tonight.’

  As she drove to work, Anna played out a little fantasy in her head where she had a partner and a child or two. It wasn’t that far-fetched. She was only thirty-three. There was still plenty of time for her to fall in love and settle down. It would be good, though, oh gods, if it happened sooner rather than later. No point playing chicken with her ovaries.

  When she got home, a smell of frying onions was wafting from the kitchen and River was standing at the table chopping veg. He was wearing her stripy apron, a gift from her mother one particularly uninspired Christmas.

  ‘Thought I’d cook,’ he said without meeting her eye. ‘Curry. Is that okay?’

  ‘Great. Can I help?’

  River shook his head and continued to chop.

  ‘You like cooking, then?’ asked Anna, desperate to mine this potentially rich seam of conversation.

  ‘Have to eat,’ he said.

  ‘Is your mum still a . . .’

  ‘Terrible cook?’ He looked at her and grinned. His eyes had that fire that had also sparked in Clare’s when she was a girl. ‘Yeah. I learned to cook when I was pretty young. It was either that or live off Pot Noodles and beans.’

  ‘I don’t like cooking much,’ Anna said. ‘It hardly seems worth it when there’s only me. I survive on jacket potatoes, mainly. Sebastian is hopeless too but he doesn’t care. Miriam can cook.’

  ‘Course she can,’ said River, and then immediately looked as if he wished he hadn’t. Clare was speaking through him as clearly as if she had been in the room with them. It tickled Anna.

  ‘Will you go and see your mum tonight?’ she asked, but at the mention of his mother River closed back down.

  ‘Dunno. Hate hospitals.’

  ‘Well, maybe tomorrow,’ she suggested, and River shrugged.

  The curry was delicious – a perfect blend of spices with just the right amount of heat. Anna was very impressed.

  ‘That was fabulous, thank you,’ she said when the last mouthful was gone. ‘Do you want to be a chef when you leave school?’

  River shook his head. ‘God, no. I’m going to do something that makes shedloads of cash so I never have to live on someone else’s floor.’

  Who could blame him? What kind of a childhood had he had so far, pulled from pillar to post by Clare on her eternal quest for tha
t thing that she lacked. Anna had lost count of the number of schools that River had been enrolled in, only to be moved on when Clare had grown tired of the place or fallen out with the teachers. The only consistent thing in his world so far had been inconsistency, as Clare ricocheted from one disaster to the next. And yet, despite all that, he had the makings of a pretty decent human being and was showing no sign of following his mother down the path that she had taken. In fact, when you looked at it, it was a miracle he was here at all.

  ‘You do know that we’re all here for you, don’t you, River?’ asked Anna, but as she spoke the words, she felt how hollow they sounded in her mouth. Who was she kidding? Recently the three of them had only really paid lip service to their duties as a sibling as far as Clare was concerned. If they’d spent half as much time helping Clare as they had moaning about her then maybe things might be different. That said, they had tried at the beginning, before it became obvious that Clare had no intention of ever accepting help. Since River had been born, though, Clare had distanced herself further and further from them. Yes, they kept track of where she was living, at least most of the time, but it was as if Clare had decided that bringing up River was up to her and nothing to do with the rest of them. And now Anna was beginning to get the same independent vibe from River. Whatever he achieved in life, he was going to do it off his own bat with no help from anyone else.

  River didn’t reply.

  DOROTHY – 2014

  I

  Dorothy’s heart was breaking as she watched Sebastian weep. His sons, barely four and two and with no real understanding of what had just happened, were trying to comfort him. Theo, the eldest, had clambered on to Sebastian’s lap and was now reaching up to pat his back, a gesture no doubt learned in times of his own distress from his mother, Tessa. Little Zac, totally bewildered by this horrible reversing of roles, sat still as a statue next to his father, his head inclined so that their bodies touched at all points.