Demo (25 page)

Clare stared at her feet, didn't answer.

Of course, it would have to be Julian who came back first. She let him in and tried to signal to him that Clare was there, as he launched straight into a tirade against his
fucking stupid supervisor
. But subtlety wasn't his strong point.

Julian, Clare's here, she said finally, overloud, and jerked a thumb back towards the living room. He looked startled for a moment, a little flustered. But only a moment.

Oh, right, good, he said, pitching his voice to the same volume as her own. Come to see her big brother, has she?

Her mum is worried about Danny, she said, shrugging her shoulders and making a
don't ask me
face to Julian as they reached the door of the living room.

Hi, Clare, he said. He flung himself down in the brown armchair. She'd put her coat back on and had it wrapped close across her middle with folded arms.

Hi, she said. She gave him the merest glance.

Fuck me, this place has been transformed! His voice was forced and jolly, though Clare probably wouldn't notice; he was avoiding looking at her altogether.

Yes. It was Danny, she said. He's worked wonders. I told you, didn't I, Clare, that he was sorting Jed and Julian out?

Oh, I wouldn't say that.

The place was a tip, Julian! A pigsty! Totally uninhabitable.
She was jolly too. She felt very English suddenly. This was a game of Punch and Judy for Clare's benefit.

And Clare was watching them now, less self-conscious, frankly interested. You mean Danny's been doin housework? He never does any at hame. Even her voice was pitched to cheery. As if she'd already sussed out the game and was now making her play. My ma calls him Dirty Dan. She smiled, looked from Julian to her.

Julian smiled back. She waited for the smart remark, the subtle putdown, but it didn't come. Not at first. Well, he's a regular Mrs Mop here, isn't he, Tish? he said finally and glanced at her.

If it weren't for Danny, I'd have been out of here, I can tell you. The words were hanging in the air before she realized, but she continued in the same heightened tone. He simply got down to it and transformed the place.

Well, jolly hockey sticks! Julian said, and sat forward in the sagging chair.

Clare was glancing from Julian to her with those great eyes.

Your brother, the magician, he said. The Worker of Wonders. He was looking straight at Clare now as her eyes darted about for some means of escape from the headlight dazzle of his gaze. It struck her that their eyes were similar: big and blue, though Clare's were darker, closer to grey. And she hadn't yet learnt to use them the way Julian did, as weapons in the various skirmishes of life. She ought really to have had Danny's green eyes, though, to go with her red hair.

Well, you've got to admit it, Julian, you and Jed
had
rather let it get out of hand. This was not a role she relished but she felt somehow squeezed into it, scolding the boys for their mess, an ally suddenly of Clare's mother.

She heard the footsteps on the stairs for some time before
registering them, then a key turned in the lock and Danny was in the hall, whistling again.

The man himself, Julian said, and got up from the chair. There was something oddly middle-aged about the move, as if in the presence of Clare, they'd automatically become the older generation.

Danny came straight in, holding some keys, yellow and silver, in the palm of his hand. Got a couple of sets of keys cut, he said and stopped. Clare? Is everything OK? You alright?

Aye, I'm fine. She stood now too, her arms hanging at her sides, though she looked as though she'd like to fling them round her brother. My ma's dead worried but. I brung you some claes like you says. And a CD player. She pointed to the bag and machine on the floor.

Well, here we all are again, Julian said, clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. Isn't this spiffing?

And here… Clare reached into the pocket of her coat. Here's your birthday present. It was obviously a CD, though it was wrapped in pale green paper with a squashed rosette of emerald ribbon on the front.

Aye, thanks, Clare. Danny took the gift from her. He seemed ill at ease. Almost bashful. He turned it over a few times in his hand, studied it.

No gonny open it?

Aye, I will. In a minute. Just gies a chance. He looked from the present to the keys in his other hand. Oh, before I forget, here's a set for you, Laetitia. Jed left us his and I got another couple cut. One for you and one for me.

Well, don't you just think of everything? Julian said. The forced jollity had a sharper edge now. She read the signs and they spelt Danger.

Thanks, Danny, she said, and would have slipped them into
the back pocket of her jeans, but she looked at Julian and thought better of it. Aren't you going to open Clare's present? The two of them looked at her blankly. Well, I'll leave you both to it, she said to them. I'm off to our room. She hadn't meant to emphasize the
our
quite so much. Julian didn't follow when she made for the door.

She was halfway across the hall when she remembered Aunt Laetitia's diary and hurried back. It was on the chair by the window. Forgot this, she said, waving it into the room. It was as if she were in some dreadful stage drama, miscast in a role she didn't know how to play. But the attention of everyone was elsewhere. Julian was sticking down the edge of a
STOP THE WAR
poster, concentrating overmuch, she thought.

Danny had the paper off his present now and held the CD up to look at it. Snow Patrol? he said. Never heard a them.

You will. They're great. I seen them at King Tut's a couple a months ago wae my pal Farkhanda. Clare put a finger on the back of the plastic casing. That's a crackin song. They're an Irish band. I think you'll like them.

Laetitia took a last look at the tableau of characters in their different poses, and slipped out of the room again, unnoticed.

She stayed in the bedroom for the rest of the afternoon. There were various comings and goings. Julian went out without saying goodbye to her. Danny and Clare were in the kitchen at one point, rattling dishes. She tried to get back into her aunt's looping handwriting, but it was hard to concentrate. More art galleries; more descriptions of paintings. There were some children playing out in the drying area, though it was already dark by three o'clock. Two of them, a girl of about eight and a younger boy, got involved in a scuffle over a silver scooter. It glinted in the available light as they pulled its handlebars this way and that. The girl won the contest and
the boy went howling towards one of the other back doors. It banged shut behind him and cut him off mid-shriek. At about half-past four she heard the door of the flat again and Jed's voice joined Danny and Clare's. Still no Julian.

To hell with this!

The three of them were in the living room when she came through. Clare was on her feet, zipping up her coat. She'd loosened her plait; her hair spread now over the white hood, a dark red cloud, as if it had been rendered in pastel crayon, smudged at the edges.

Hi, Laetitia, Jed said. Did you get your espresso this mornin? He had his black suede jacket, hooked on one finger, slung over his shoulder; one corner of his white shirt was hanging down the front of his jeans.

Yes, thanks, she said. Two, actually. It's a good little café, that. Great coffee.

Clare's just away, Danny said. He turned to his sister. Mind an tell Ma I'm fine. Everythin's hunky-dory.

The girl gave her brother a smile that was close to adoring and put her arms round his neck. Danny looked embarrassed and unhooked her. Right, Wee Yin, better get hame before my ma clocks you've been doggin the school the day.

You been doggin it? Jed said. Oh, ih! Naughty girl. Watch you don't go the way of your wastrel brother. Slippery slope.

Danny punched him on the arm. Who you callin wastrel? One a they wee animals that slink about the countryside?

That's a
weasel
, ya daft cunt.

Clare was laughing and Danny was grinning. Jed looked at them and a light dawned. Aye, right, he said. Ha, ha. He punched Danny's arm now. A familiar routine, obviously.

And the three of them moved to the door to let Clare out, Danny and Jed still jabbing at one another.

Bye, Clare, she called out. Nice to see you again. There was
no reply from Clare; just her feet echoing down the stairs, the slam of the outside door.

The two boys came back in, laughing at a joke she must have missed. Jed tossed his jacket on a chair. Any mail for me? he said.

Oh, yes, she said, I believe there is. That is, if your name is Arjun? There are three letters for Arjun Singh.

That's me alright.

So, why Jed?

Jed–Arjun–shrugged.

He's a Jedi Knight, Danny said. He leapt up on the arm of the chair and started waving a virtual light sabre.
May the force be with you.

Jed was watching him, but she noticed he wasn't smiling.

Danny jumped down again. It was great. I had a green light sabre and Jed had a blue one.

It was the other way about, Jed said.

What?

I got a green one and you got a blue one, but you says you should have the green one cause you were Irish. So in the end we swapped.

I don't remember that, Danny said. He looked perplexed; his black brows were down. Anyhow, we played Star Wars that much, Arjun changed his name to Jed.

No, you did.

What? What you sayin, man?

You decided I should change my name.

I decided?

Yeah. Look, forget it. Where's my mail, Laetitia?

On the sideboard in the hall, I think. He went off to fetch the letters. Danny still had a frown on his face. She could see his mind ticking back over the past and drawing a blank.

Jed came back in, ripping the envelope off one letter, another
already open. He unfolded the sheet inside, gave it a cursory glance and tore at the third. Same old, same old, he said. Three
We regrets
.

What are they? she said.

He spread the letters out like a fan and spoke over them. His black-framed glasses gave him the air of a newsreader.
We regret to inform you that, on this occasion, you have been unsuccessful. The standard of candidates was extremely high. Thank you for your interest in our company. And may we take this opportunity to wish you every success in your future career.
She wondered why he used an English accent to deliver the speech.

Is that they jobs you went for a couple a weeks ago? Danny asked. They biochemical research jobs?

The very same.

Aw, man, I'm sorry. That stinks.

To high heaven! Jed said, pitched his voice like a drama queen, and flung the letters into the air. Danny caught one; the others landed on the floor at their feet. He picked them up too.

Aw, man. How many's that now?

Don't rub it in! I've lost count.

Bastards don't deserve you.

Aye, right. See if you say,
What's for you'll no go by you
, I'll fuckin kill you.

Would I?
Moi?
What I will say is this… Danny paused, looked at them both with serious eyes, arched by his great black brows.

What?

… Qué sera, sera.

And she watched them trade play punches and slaps again till they collapsed laughing, limbs tangled, on the red sofa.

None of them heard Julian come in. He'd spoken before
she realized he was in the doorway behind her. She turned to look at him.

Oh, hi, Julian. Where have you been? He'd clearly got caught in the rain; drops of water were dripping off his chin and his parka was soaked. Underneath his eyes had those bruised circles again. She hadn't noticed them earlier in the day.

Out and about, he said. Here and there.

It was hard to make out his mood. What did you say when you came in? I didn't hear.

I merely remarked on what looked like a bit of homoerotic bonding, that's all. And, I might add, the audience did seem a tad voyeuristic. He was smiling at her, but it felt strained.

Jed rose smoothly from the sofa and minced towards him. Och, you're just jealous. He pecked him on the cheek. You've been readin too much a that D. H. Lawrence. Anyway, I'm starvin. Is there any food in the flat?

Danny and Jed went racketing into the kitchen, leaving her with Julian. Better get out of these wet clothes, he said. He avoided her eyes. As nanny would say.

He locked the bathroom door behind him. There was nothing she could do but go into their room and wait.

Next morning, early, she leaned over the bathroom sink, held the shampoo bottle above her. It blurted an icy dollop onto her head and she shivered. The last few hours had been cold comfort one way or another. Julian, his back to her the whole night, resisted all attempts to cuddle up to him; remained rigid and angular at the edge of the bed, the knobs of his spine jutting, a deterrent to intimacy. She'd spent the night chilled, replaying conversations, oscillating between guilt and anger. Finally driven from the bed by cold, she got up to wash and dress, warm
herself
up. Quickly she massaged the shampoo
into a lather, digging her fingers into her scalp, working in small circles. She counted to a hundred, and plunged her head into the water, rinsing off what she could. Again. Shampoo. Lather. Massage. On the surface of the water now, a thousand thousand golden bubbles, lit by the bare bulb overhead. She was counting again as she massaged. To fifty only for the second wash.

That was when she saw the eyes. Every bubble was an open eye staring up at her from the basin. Different sizes, big and small, all with eyes staring.

Oh, she said, and she wobbled backwards. Oh God.

She wondered why she was looking at the bottom of the sink pedestal, at the balls of fluff that had rolled there; why her feet were against the bath. Cold. Jed was talking to her, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. His face looked big; it hung over her and his mouth was moving. He sat her on the edge of the bath and made her put her soapy head on her knees. But some of the shampoo ran into her eyes and stung. She sat up and blinked. He held on to her arm while he reached for her towel. First, he wiped the soap from her face. Then he wrapped the towel round her head and, with one twist, made it into a turban. It stayed in place.