The Sisterhood (17 page)

Instead, I controlled myself, and spoke icily. 'I can barely pay our mortgage on my own as it is,' I said stiffly. 'With half the equity and the same mortgage, I won't be able to buy anywhere decent. I'll still need two bedrooms.'

He shrugged. 'You'll find something. Further out of town, maybe, but you'll do it.'

'Cheers,' I said, and walked off. Every step was an effort. Every ounce of civility cost me dearly. The worst thing was the fact that I knew he was right. The flat must be worth a lot. Half of it was, indeed, his. Of course he wanted it. It was his money.

I was exhausted beyond anything I had ever known. And I was a coiled spring. I was desperate to scream at somebody.

I was at the top of the steps to the Tube when my phone rang again. It was an unfamiliar central London number. Again, I answered warily. This time, I thought, it had to be something good.

'Hi!' she trilled. 'It's me! Are you still up for looking at the flat? Because I'm in Victoria and I thought you might be around here too.'

I took a deep breath.

'Look, Helen,' I said, slowly. 'Today has not been a good day for me. If it's OK by you, I think I just need to go home and do nothing for a while. Let off steam.'

'Oh, but Liz.' She was petulant. 'You did say. It won't take long. How am I supposed to know what to do, without you there?'

'Helen.' I was trying to lay down the law, but I was too bloody tired to do anything. 'You're an intelligent woman. You can tell if it's what you want or not. Can't you? You can guess whether you'd like to live there.'

'No I can't. Remember, I come from a chateau. I don't know what you have to put up with, living in a flat in a city.'

'Go back to your stupid chateau, then. Or change the appointment. We can go at the weekend if you really think you need me there.'

She hesitated. Seconds ticked by.

'OK,' she said, sounding subdued. 'That's fine. Of course we'll do that. Are you at Victoria? You
sound
like you're in a station.'

Every fibre of my being was crying out for rest.

'Actually,' I began. My mind leapt ahead. I would tell her I was on a bus, nearly home. 'I'm on a bus,' I began.

'Oh, wow! I can see you! You're by the steps to the Tube! That's great! Don't move.'

I looked around, wondering how two people had staked me out on one station, within half an hour of each other. Then the adrenaline kicked in. I turned and ran down the steps, pushing through crowds and thankful that, at five in the afternoon, it was going to be easy to lose myself in the commuting masses. Helen was a limpet, and I didn't care that, if I ran away, I would never see her again. She was the least of my worries.

My Oyster card was in my bag. I ran towards the barriers, searching for it. I felt, and cast aside, masses of school work, Rennies Rapeze tablets, tissues, gloves, a pregnancy book. No Oyster card. Instantly aware of the frustration of the people behind me, and the likelihood of outright violence, I stepped aside, opened my bag, and started searching it in earnest. I looked at the ticket machines. There weren't many people around them. Perhaps I should just buy one. I decided, instead, to run through the barriers after someone else. I stepped forward, and felt myself pulled back, by the coat.

'Here you are!' she cried. When I looked round, exhausted, ready to cry, and slightly guilty, she was smiling her inane grin. She looked thinner than the last time I saw her, and a bit grimy. I had never seen Helen without that odd smile on her face. I imagined her staring at herself in the mirror before she left her shitty hotel, muttering, 'Come on, Helen! Sparkle!' The woman sparkled without pause. It was disconcerting.

'You thought I was down here!' she said slowly, grinning stupidly. I sighed, and didn't contradict her, even though we both knew it was untrue. 'Don't worry about the flat,' she added, as if none of this had happened. 'You're pregnant. Let me take you out for some food, or something. Have a drink. One glass of wine? Or I'll come to your place.' She was looking and sounding reasonable, but I was shattered. 'I'll cook a meal for you at your home. Or we can go to the National Gallery, or on the London Eye. Come on. Let's get in a cab and go on the London Eye!'

I could barely speak. A glass of wine sounded tempting. It would be the first official one of my pregnancy. If 'Papa' was paying, I could handle that.

'Can we just go somewhere for a drink, then?' I asked, relenting. 'I could, actually, use a drop of alcohol.'

Half an hour later, we were in the café at what used to be the National Film Theatre, though it seemed to have been rebranded and made much shinier since I'd last visited. I was not quite sure how we had ended up there, beyond Helen's inexplicable desire to get close to the London Eye. The bar was busy, but we found a table, and we looked out at the river.

'Maybe we could see a film,' she said, brightly. The strange glint in her eye had not gone away. 'A French one even?'

I was annoyed with myself for being easily led by a teenager. 'No,' I said, grumpily. 'I don't want to.'

'That's fine.' She looked around. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she was drinking fast. She had bought a bottle of wine, and while I was nursing my one small glass, she was topping hers up every couple of minutes. 'Who are all these people?' she asked, quickly. 'Are they film buffs and things? Do you think? I mean, they look like they could be. Look at that man — he's got little round glasses like John Lennon.'

'Mmm.' I roused myself and tried to address her question. 'Some of them are probably film students.'

'And professors, I reckon. And maybe directors and things.'

'Maybe.'

'Do you think actors come here?'

'Probably. A few.' I yawned.

'So, shall we get some dinner? Or do you fancy the big wheel? Is that the kind of thing Londoners never do? Parisians never go to the Eiffel Tower.'

'No, I don't fancy it at all. I think I'll go home and make myself a sandwich. I can get a bus over there.' I pointed at Waterloo Bridge, and imagined myself flopped out on the bus. I could manage that.

If she let me go now, without complaining, it would be all right.

'Oh, but Lizzy,' she whined. 'I really, really want to treat you. What about the Oxo Tower? Or the Eye? Go on. Let's look at London together from up in the sky.'

I drew in a deep breath. Then I stood up. I could not stop myself. Most of my fury was for Kathy and Steve, but Helen was in front of me.

I watched her expression change.

'How many times can I say no?' I asked. Then it all came out. I was much nastier than I should have been. 'Will you fuck off?' I found myself yelling. I pointed at the door. 'Go on! Fuck off. That's the door, there. I don't want to see you. I don't want to look at stupid flats with you. Find yourself your own hellhole to live in! Or stay where you are, with a view of a wall.' People were staring, and I was only just getting started. 'I don't care where you live, Helen. I don't know you. You're not my friend, I'm not your friend, and guess what? I don't want to be your friend. I've got things going on you know nothing about. Nothing! I can't find Rosa, Steve wants his money, Kathy hates me. Roberto and Julie have stolen my family. Then you turn up, grab me at the ticket barriers when all I'm trying to do is go home on my own, and you start off with the "Oh, let's go on the Eye! I want to treat you!" Why don't you take your daddy's money and buy yourself another friend? I don't need you. I don't want to see you, ever. You can't make friends on the internet. It isn't like that.
Leave me alone!'

I paused for breath, and found I had run out of things to say. I looked at Helen's face, and then away again. Her mouth was open but, luckily for both of us, she was silent. I felt better, in a strange way. Before anything else could happen, I picked up my bag and left the café as quickly as I could.

21 March

When Liz stormed out of the bar, I just sat there. I sat still and I felt nothing. I wondered why I wasn't upset.

People had teased me before. They had talked about me behind my back, called me weird. Teachers had told me off. Mother and Papa had been exasperated with me, all my life. Nobody had ever shouted at me like Liz just did. No one had told me to fuck off. But I felt nothing. I sat calmly and finished the bottle of wine. After a while, the film people stopped looking at me.

When I stood up, I was wobbly. I made my way carefully to the door. I passed a man who said, 'Hello, darling,' but I ignored him. Men said that quite a lot, if I dressed up. I only dressed up if I was seeing Liz. Otherwise, I wore anything that came to hand. I never washed those clothes, and I didn't bother to wash my hair either. There was no point, if I wasn't seeing Liz. I was only here for her.

As I reached the glass door that led into the Film Theatre, it swung back into my face. I put out a hand to stop it, but it was heavy and hurt my wrist. In that moment, everything became unbearable.

I sobbed, without meaning to. It was loud, and sounded like someone coughing, or being sick. A few people were milling around, and the nearest ones looked at me. I walked up to someone. It was a young man, with hair that stood up on end.

'Can you tell me the way to Waterloo?' I said, as steadily as I could. I took no notice of the tears that were pouring down my cheeks. I was unable to stop a loud gulp.

He looked embarrassed, but pointed me in the right direction.

'I hope you feel better soon,' he added.

'Cheers,' I said, because that was what Londoners seemed to say.

I often cried in London. I cried because I hated it. I cried because I couldn't work it out, because I couldn't belong here. But I pulled myself together to see Liz. This was the third time I'd met her, and it was over. I had failed. I was useless. No wonder my own mother couldn't stand me.

I ran to Waterloo, desperate to go back to my flawed, familiar home, to the place where I belonged. The station was there, where he said it would be. There was an escalator that went down to the Eurostar, and I jumped from step to step, desperate to hit the bottom. I was still crying when I reached the front of the ticket queue.

'Can you sell me a ticket all the way to Bordeaux?' I sniffed. 'Can I go tonight?'

I hated her. She was my sister, but she was horrible. I hoped she was ashamed of herself. She would see how mean she was when she realised that I had gone. She was driving me out of London. That was how dreadful a person she was. I would write to her, when I got home, and tell her the truth. Then she would see what she had done.

All my stuff could stay behind. The hotel people would find it, one day, and they could keep it or sell it or burn it or something.

I got as far as passport control before I realised.

'Is there any chance,' I asked the man, 'that you'd let me through without it? I'm English and French, so I don't really need one, do I?'

The man looked at me. 'Back in the day I might have let you through,' he said. 'But we can't do things like that any more. Snowball's chance in hell, love. Sorry.'

'Please?'

'No chance.'

I tried to think. 'I'll do anything you want.'

He looked at me oddly. 'Tempting as that offer is ...'

By the time I got back to Paddington, I was calming down. I spoke to Tom, and told him exactly what had happened.

'Stick it out,' he said.

'I can't,' I sobbed. 'She hates me. She said so.'

'She didn't say she hated you. She told you to fuck off, admittedly.'

'Several times.'

'Yes. But she's pregnant, she's in a situation that's so stressful that we can't imagine it, and she was tired. You pushed her too hard. You should have stood back and let her go home. You shouldn't have run after her at the Tube.'

'I know,' I sobbed. 'I know that now. But she was running away from me. Running away from me!'

'It's all right, H. Find yourself somewhere to live. Do it by yourself. That'll show her. You know you can. You've learned to get around London, haven't you? So you can do this. Arrange to bump into her at some point in the future. I promise you, she'll apologise. She will.'

Tom had always been the silly one. Now, suddenly, he was the fount of all wisdom. He had been convinced I was on a wild goose chase, but now he was helping me with it. I supposed, in the same way that it used to be easy for me to give Liz obvious advice, he could see the situation more clearly from a distance. He could see that I was managing, in my own way, and he thought I could do it. I tried to take some strength from that.

I decided that I would try to stay a little bit longer. London was big enough for both of us. I was not going to stay at the hotel. I would find myself somewhere else to live, and I didn't care where it was. And I would watch Liz. I would watch her all the time. She would not shake me off. I was going to stick this out.

February 1970

She felt that she never slept any more. It wasn't usually the baby waking her. She just didn't manage to fall asleep. Everything was wrong. She had fallen into the wrong life, and she needed to get out of it. She desperately searched for ideas. It was the fact that she was stuck that kept her awake.

She was going out without the baby, quite often. Nobody knew. So far, the baby had always been all right. She wondered how she was going to feel, one day, when she came home and found a fire engine outside. The trouble was, she didn't care enough.

One February night, she lay rigidly still, and stared at the orange light of the street light outside, the pattern it made on the ceiling. The bedroom was a box, a prison. She was shut in there, with Billy, this stranger, snoring beside her. And Elizabeth, her tiny jailer, shifting around in the little bed, farting occasionally and making little sucking noises that she was supposed to find sweet.

Everything was supposed to be getting better. She had her daughter. She was a mother, and nobody was interested any more. Her parents, and Billy's parents, had a granddaughter. People were vaguely disappointed on her behalf that Elizabeth wasn't a boy. She didn't care, one way or the other. She told people often that she hadn't particularly been hoping for a boy. That was true, in its way. She hadn't wanted a girl, either. A kitten would have been fine.