Alexandra, Gone (24 page)

On the evening of the exhibition, she met Lori in a pub down the road from the gallery and they had a drink to calm their nerves.

“This is actually quite exciting,” Lori said. “There’s a whole new edge to the event.”

Elle just hoped that Jane would be okay with her turning up. They waited until they knew the gallery would be busy. Jane was rushing around and the artist was talking to patrons and friends, every now and then stopping to have his photo taken. Lori spotted someone she knew and ran off to talk to him, leaving Elle standing alone. She walked over to a painting and stood in front of it for a long time. It was so beautiful it made her want to cry. She stared at the color on canvas, the deep browns, the burnt orange, the translucent white against the brightest blue, and what she saw was scorched earth, and she could feel the heat, and under the brightest blue sky in her mind’s eye she saw a beginning of all things.

The woman beside her was just as taken by the painting. For her it didn’t evoke the dawn of creation, but it did match her couch.

Elle moved on to the next and then the next, and every painting spoke to her and told her its story. They were celestial, brave, and beautiful. She could hear each voice individually calling to her from the canvas.
This is real art
. The one that had made her want to cry called out,
This is talent. This has heart and soul. You’ll never paint like this. You’ll never evoke the emotions these paintings evoke. You are a pretender and soon you’ll be found out. Without Jane you are just a jumped-up cartoonist.

“Shut up,” she said.

The woman beside her looked her up and down.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, and she walked away.

Jane appeared behind her. “Go home, Elle,” she said.

“Please, can we talk?”

“I’m working, and even if I wasn’t I have nothing to say to you and there is nothing that you can say.”

Elle left, and Lori didn’t notice because she was too busy bowing before Ken Browne.

Elle went home. She walked into her studio and dragged all her finished paintings into the garden. “You’re shit,” she said. “You’re shit, shit, shit! It’s all shit!”

She piled them high and doused them in whiskey, then lit a match and threw it, and the lot went up in flames. She stood watching.

The flames and smoke alerted Kurt and Rose at the same time. Kurt saw his aunt standing far too close to the fire and ran out into the garden and pulled Elle away from the flames.

“Your work! What are you doing to your beautiful work?”

“It’s ugly,” she said. “It’s all so fucking ugly.”

Rose grabbed her garden hose and trailed it to where she could point it and douse the flames. Elle watched her put the fire out while being held back by Kurt. When Rose finished and there was only smoldering wood left, she turned to her grandson.

“Put Elle to bed and then come and tell me what the hell is going on around here.”

Kurt nodded and took Elle into her cottage. Rose made her way to her basement apartment and waited for Kurt to make sense of Elle’s latest episode.

The day after Ken Browne’s exhibition, Rose Moore walked up the steps from her basement to the main house and used her key to get inside. Jane was vacuuming the landing upstairs and stopped when she saw Rose. It wasn’t feeding time, and there was no special reason for Rose to be out of her chair and up in the main house, so Jane was concerned.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

Rather than shout up the stairs, Rose ignored her daughter and walked to the kitchen. Jane parked the vacuum, came downstairs, and followed her in.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated.

Rose sat down on one of Jane’s kitchen chairs with a groan. “Well, seeing as you asked,
you
are.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Yes,” Rose said, “you are.”

“About what, Rose?” Jane said in a tone that suggested she wasn’t in the mood for her mother’s madness.

“You know what your sister’s like. She acts before she thinks—she’s impetuous, highly charged, a slave to her emotions—and that’s what makes her so special.”

“Sleeping with the father of your sister’s child is not special. It’s cruel.”

“Because of what, Jane? Because you love Dominic? Do you honestly for one moment think that your love for Dominic was real?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Bullshit,” Rose said. “Dominic was just the best time you ever had, that’s all.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jane shouted.

“Oh here we go again! I’m the bad mother who stole your future. I’m the one who made you have a baby and then I made you raise him. You’re just a victim of my bad decisions.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to—you’ve said it all before. And maybe if I had my time again I would have considered getting that abortion and maybe I wouldn’t. And, yes, I am a bad mother. There, I said it. Are you happy now?”

Jane didn’t know what to say. She was shell-shocked, so she said nothing.

“I should have been more supportive. I regret that. I did punish you, Jane. I punished you because I was so angry at all that potential lost. I should have helped you more. Especially that time when—”

“Don’t say it,” Jane said, and then she sat silently because Rose’s apology had taken the wind out of her sails.

“Do you remember when you stopped calling me ‘Mum’?” Rose said.

“The day we received Principal Reynolds’s letter and you told me I couldn’t go back to school.”

“No,” Rose said, “that was the day you decided to call me ‘Rose,’ but long after that you’d let ‘Mum’ slip once or even twice a day. It used to amuse me because every time you said the
M
word you’d almost kick yourself.” She stopped talking, but Jane knew she wasn’t finished. Rose moved in her chair and tapped the table twice. “The day you stopped calling me ‘Mum’ was the day you walked into the police station with Kurt in your arms and asked if they would take either him or you because if they didn’t you’d kill him.”

“Stop it,” Jane said. “You promised we’d never talk about it.”

“They took him, and you went hysterical so they took you to the hospital and the doctors sedated you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Jane shouted.

“Social Services was called, and when they asked me if we had any history of depression in the family, I said no.”

“So what? I was just so tired, his colic was so bad for so long, and he wouldn’t stop crying!”

“I lied,” Rose said. “My daughter was sedated and my grandson was in the care of social workers and all I could think about was making sure no one found out.”

“Found out what?”

“About your dad.”

“What about my dad?”

“Oh Janey, he was so clever—just as you are! Did you know that he was one of the country’s top mathematicians? He had such a great mind. Sometimes he was so happy, the life and soul of every party and everyone loved him, and sometimes he was so sad that he found moving his head hard.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He didn’t have a heart attack, Janey,” Rose said. “He hanged himself.”

“No.”

“He hanged himself with your jump rope.”

“No. You’re lying.”

“People didn’t talk about it in those days; it just wasn’t something you talked about,” Rose said, pale and tired. “I blamed you and Elle.” She laughed a bitter laugh. “For the longest time I told myself if you hadn’t left the bloody jump rope out he would never have left us and you were the oldest so you should have known better. Of course that was madness because it wasn’t your fault—you were just a little girl.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you because I can’t keep making the same mistakes over and over again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You got your dad’s brain. Elle got his temperament.”

“What are you saying, Rose?” Jane said angrily.

“I’m saying that when I look at my youngest daughter, I see her father,” Rose said, and tears ran down her face. “I’m saying that you have to forgive her, care for her, protect her from the world and herself the way I should have protected your dad.”

Jane stood up and put her hands on her head. “There is nothing wrong with Elle.”

Rose stood up and wiped her face with her sleeve. She straightened and took a moment to collect her thoughts. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I’ll leave it with you.”

She walked out, leaving her older daughter both astonished and utterly devastated.

Two weeks had passed since they had returned from their holiday, and Leslie decided to tell Jim how she felt. She would have sought advice from either Jane or Elle, but as they were both locked in combat she decided that honesty was the best policy and if Jim was going to shoot her down it was best he do it before she fell too hard. She put on a cute little vest top and matching briefs that Elle had helped her pick out and then slipped on a pretty black cowlneck jersey dress and some heels. She applied makeup and fixed her pixie haircut. She put on some music and poured wine, and at seven thirty on the dot her doorbell rang.

Jim brought flowers and she accepted them gratefully. He complimented her on the smell coming from the oven, and she didn’t tell him that it was premade lamb tagine that she was simply heating up.

She handed him a glass of wine, and he sat at the table while she served the food.

“You look nice tonight,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “I bought the dress yesterday.”

“It suits you.”

She put his plate of food in front of him and a plate in front of herself, and she sat.

“Eat up,” she said.

“No need to ask twice. I’m starving.”

They ate in silence.

“Is there something wrong?” he said.

“No, why do you ask?”

“Well, usually you are carrying on about something or someone.”

“That’s not true,” she said, “and anyway, you’ve been here five minutes and you haven’t mentioned one single article you’ve read today.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I was reading the details of the government bank-guarantee scheme earlier. I tell you, Leslie, people just don’t realize how close this country came to bankruptcy a few weeks ago. The good times are officially over.”

“Don’t say that! I’ve only just started to leave the apartment,” she said, and he laughed.

“Well, right about now I think your apartment is the best place to be,” he said, and she smiled.

She’d forgotten to buy dessert, so they enjoyed coffee on the sofa. She was wondering when and how she’d break the news of her love for him when he put his coffee down and reached into his jacket pocket.

“I have something I thought you might like to see.”

“Oh,” she said and put her coffee on the floor. “What is it?” She didn’t notice her cat shove her face into the coffee, lick her lips, and turn on her heel, raising her tail high in the air. She was focusing on Jim digging in his pocket.

“Here it is,” he said.

“What is it?”

He smoothed it out and handed it to her. “It’s a letter from Imelda.”

“Imelda. My dead sister Imelda?”

“One and the same.”

“To me?” she said, pointing at herself.

“No, to me, but it’s about you. Go on—read it.”

She opened the letter, and part of her wanted to read it and part of her didn’t and she was totally thrown.
Why did he bring this tonight?
She began to silently read it.

Dear Jim,

It’s time to talk about Leslie. We both know she’s stubborn and cut off, and we both know why. When I’m gone you’ll be all she has left in this world and I know it’s a big ask, but please look out for her …

She looked up at Jim. “What is this?”

“Just read it,” he said.

We’ve talked about you remarrying, and you know I want you to find someone to love and to love you. I want you to have a great new life that doesn’t include overcrowded hospitals, dismissive doctors, overworked nurses, and cancer. I want you to find someone strong and healthy, someone you can go on an adventure with, someone you can make love to, someone who doesn’t cause you anguish and pain. Every time I see your face it hurts because for the first time I see that in loving you I’ve been selfish and I understand why Leslie is the way she is …

“I’m not that person anymore,” Leslie said. “I’m trying to change. Why are you bringing me back in time like this?”

“Just read on,” he said.

Leslie is a better person than me. I know you’re probably guffawing at that as you read, but it’s true. She’s watched her entire family die of cancer, and when we were both diagnosed with the dodgy gene after Nora’s death she made the decision not to cause pain to others the way Nora caused pain to John and Sarah and I’m causing pain to you …

“She’s praising me, but I was so stupid, so wasteful,” Leslie said. “She was right. I was wrong.”

Before cancer she was smart and funny, kind and caring, and she still is to me. Without her care I wouldn’t have coped. I know sometimes she calls you names, but trust me, she knows you’re not a monkey, so when she calls you an ass picker, ignore it and be kind …

Leslie laughed. “I’d forgotten I used to call you an ass picker.”

“And I’ve tried to,” he said, and he smiled.

I thought she was being defeatist. I thought that we’d suffered enough as a family and that we’d both survive. So I made plans and fell in love and for a while we had a great life but then that dodgy gene kicked in. Now I see you look almost as ill as I feel, and I realize that my sister Leslie knew exactly what she was doing when she broke up with Simon and all but closed off. I watched her disappear from her own life. I thought she was insane back then, but it makes sense now. She put the pain of others before her own. She watched John and Sarah suffer after Nora, and she’ll watch you suffering after me, and although she pretends not to like you, she does, and it will hurt her and it will also confirm for her that she is right to remain alone, waiting for a diagnosis that may never come …