‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I liked the tension in that scene. And when she climbed into the back seat to escape. I did something like that myself once. Took my uncle’s car, I mean, without him knowing. And I was in a crash. The girl I was with, a girl I liked very much, she was badly injured. And she never forgave me.’
‘What happened to her?’ I asked.
‘The windscreen smashed and hundreds of slivers of glass went into her face. She needed a lot of surgery.’
‘And did it work?’ I asked. ‘The surgery, I mean?’
‘Yes, but there were still some scars. Anyway, I liked this passage very much. You write about fear very well.’
‘Well, that is the title of the novel, after all,’ you muttered irritably. ‘Fear.’
‘Yes, but the novel isn’t really about that, is it?’ continued Arjan. ‘In fact, I think the novel has very little to do with fear. In my view, it’s about bravery.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ I said. ‘Not everyone recognizes that.’
‘I wouldn’t be too flattered,’ said Rebecca. ‘As an actor, Arjan is obviously very interested in literature, so he reads a lot.’
‘Something tells me that when you were in school, you were the boy who always came to class well prepared,’ you commented, and I threw you a look, annoyed by your peevishness.
‘I suppose I was,’ admitted Arjan, refusing to rise to your bait. ‘I wanted to pass my exams and to—’
‘Yes, yes,’ you said, dismissing him now with a wave of your hand.
‘Rebecca tells me that you used to be a writer too,’ said Arjan, and I winced at his choice of words.
‘I beg your pardon?’ you said.
‘She says that you wrote a novel once,’ he replied.
‘I’ve written two actually,’ you told him, and Six, I thought.
‘There must be some competition between you then?’ he asked, looking back and forth between us, and I shook my head.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Nothing like that. My husband has been publishing much longer than I have and is highly respected. I’m pretty new to it all.’
‘And yet your book was such a success,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I admitted, for once wanting to accept the compliment. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘It’s your use of the past tense that bothers me,’ you said.
‘I don’t understand this?’ said Arjan, narrowing his eyes.
‘You mentioned that I used to be a writer. I didn’t used to be anything. I am.’
‘Just like I’m an actor,’ said Arjan. ‘Perhaps you’re resting too. I hear a lot of writers do that. Anyway, I look forward to reading your next book. Eventually, I mean. If it finds a publisher.’
Before you could respond to this, Mum came in and clapped her hands to tell us that dinner was ready. I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see anyone in my entire life.
Later, I found you brooding in the hallway, staring at some old family photographs. I felt a rush of anxiety that you were angry with me but this eased when you smiled, leaned forward and kissed me.
‘How about next year we don’t go to your family or mine for Christmas?’ you suggested. ‘We could go away on holiday instead. Somewhere hot. Just the two of us.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘How are you doing, anyway?’
‘Fine,’ you said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You were very quiet during dinner.’
‘I was eating.’
I hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether I should bring this up or not. ‘You know Arjan wasn’t trying to be rude to you,’ I said at last. ‘He was probably just—’
‘I don’t give a fuck about Arjan,’ you said. ‘There’s something sort of tragic about him, don’t you think?’
‘No, not really,’ I said.
‘You don’t think he’s a bit deluded?’
‘In what sense?’
‘His dreams of making it big in Hollywood.’
I said nothing for a moment, wondering whether you actually believed this or had simply decided to spin his remarks to fit your own design. ‘Actually, I thought he seemed quite realistic about his future,’ I replied finally.
‘You fancy him, don’t you?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ I said, hating where this conversation seemed to be leading.
You stared at me for the longest time and then broke into a wide smile. ‘Of course I’m joking,’ you said. ‘Lighten up, Edith! It’s Christmas!’
I pulled away from you but, before I could say anything, the doorbell rang and I heard Mum call out to me from the living room, asking me to answer it.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, trying to move around you, but you were pressing me against the wall. ‘Maurice, you’re in my way,’ I said, raising my voice a little, and now you stepped a little to the side, just enough to let me pass, and I walked towards the front door and opened it. Standing outside, the light from the overhead bulb shining down on him as it snowed, was Robert. He was wearing a grey overcoat that looked brand new and the sort of scarf that could only have been a present from his mother. He’d had a haircut too. The style was a little too youthful; it would have looked good on someone ten years younger but, on him, it seemed a little desperate.
‘Hello, Edith,’ he said. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Robert,’ I said, standing back a little, surprised to see him there. ‘Nobody mentioned that you… Is Rebecca expecting you?’
‘I may have forgotten to tell her that I would be stopping by.’
‘Right.’ I stood there, staring at him, uncertain what I should do next, which was when you appeared behind me.
‘Hello, Robert,’ you said.
‘Maurice.’
‘You look cold, mate.’
‘Well, I’m freezing my bollocks off, actually. Can I come in?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’
‘Of course you can,’ you said, opening the door wider. ‘You’re still family. Come in.’
I stepped aside as he walked into the hallway, taking off his coat and scarf before reaching forward to give me an awkward kiss on my cheek. His cold lips made me shiver a little. ‘You haven’t been drinking, have you?’ I asked. ‘You’re not here to cause any trouble?’
‘I’m perfectly sober,’ he said. ‘I had lunch with my mother and didn’t touch a drop of alcohol as I wanted to drive over to see the boys.’
‘They’re just in there,’ you told him, pointing towards the living room.
‘They’re quite tired,’ I said. ‘They’ve been playing all day and practically ate their body weights over dinner.’
‘Robert,’ said a voice from behind me, and I turned around to see my sister standing there, her face a mask of annoyance. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Happy Christmas,’ he repeated, stepping forward to kiss her too, but she backed away and held her hands in the air as if to keep a careful distance from him.
‘Don’t happy Christmas me,’ she said. ‘I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Full of the season of goodwill, I see.’
‘Robert, I—’
‘I wanted to spend a little time with my sons,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Is that a criminal offence?’
‘No, but we already spoke about this. They’re yours all day on the twenty-seventh.’
‘But it’s not the same thing, is it?’ he said. ‘I missed out on seeing them opening their presents this morning. That’s the first time I haven’t been there for that.’
‘Well, I was there. And so was Arjan. So everything was fine. They didn’t need you. They didn’t even mention you, actually.’