‘Rebecca, that’s just cruel,’ I said, and she turned on me now, pointing her finger in the air and telling me to keep my nose out. She was a little drunk and her tone brought me back to our shared childhood, when she would turn on me without any warning and the scene could rapidly descend into violence. The memory frightened me.
‘I just want to see my children,’ said Robert quietly. ‘Can I go in? Please?’
‘No, you cannot,’ she said. ‘If you go in there now, you’ll only get them all excited again when I was planning on putting them to bed soon. It would be best if you just left.’
‘But Rebecca, he’s come all this way,’ I protested. ‘Surely a few minutes wouldn’t—’
‘Oh, here we go,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘You always take his side, don’t you?’
‘I’m not taking anyone’s side,’ I said. ‘But it’s Christmas Day, after all.’
‘See?’ she said, turning to Arjan, who had joined us in the hallway but was standing back a little, looking uncertain what his role, if any, in this conversation should be. ‘This is what I have to put up with. No one ever supports me.’
‘I’m honestly not looking for an argument,’ said Robert calmly. ‘Hello, Arjan, how are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you,’ replied Arjan. ‘And you?’
‘Never better,’ he said. ‘I had a slight head cold earlier in the week but it seems to have—’
‘Can we please stop with the small talk?’ asked Rebecca, raising her voice now.
‘You want to take a little cold and flu medicine,’ you said. ‘This time of year, if you catch something it can lay you out for days.’
‘I have some Nurofen, if that would help,’ said Arjan.
‘Thanks, Arjan,’ said Robert. ‘But I think I’ll be all right for now.’
‘Well, I can give you a couple to take with you if—’
‘Arjan!’ roared Rebecca, and I jumped a little. ‘Can you…’ She stopped talking, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose. It was the kind of thing I imagined a therapist might have told her to do in moments of stress.
‘It’s only right that I see my children,’ said Robert. ‘Even Edith thinks so.’
‘I asked you to leave Edith out of this,’ you said, stepping forward and putting your arm around my shoulders.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Sorry. But look, shall I just go in, Rebecca, and say hello? There’s no point in us all standing out here in the hallway.’
Before she could reply, Damien, the eldest of my two nephews, came out into the hallway and gave a whoop of delight when he saw his father standing there, running towards him and throwing his arms around his legs. A moment later, Edward appeared, following suit, and the two boys immediately started telling him about the various presents they’d received, taking him by an arm each and dragging him into the living room to show him their toys.
‘Sorry,’ said Robert as he passed Rebecca, failing to keep the note of triumph out of his voice. ‘I promise I won’t stay long. An hour, tops.’
‘I am not having this,’ said Rebecca as soon as he had disappeared inside and closed the door behind him. ‘If he thinks he can just show up here whenever he likes and—’
‘Perhaps if you organized proper visiting times for him,’ I said. ‘From what I understand, you’re being terribly difficult.’
‘Oh, shut up, Edith. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘But you’re addressing all of us, Rebecca,’ you said. ‘So it’s not unreasonable that your sister should offer an opinion.’
‘You’re on his side too, then, are you?’ she asked. ‘What a surprise! Look, it’s over between us and I don’t want him hanging around all the time, is that so difficult to understand? The boys belong to me and—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said, throwing my hands in the air. ‘The boys don’t belong to anyone! And if they did, they would belong to both of you!’
‘They belong to me,’ she insisted, ‘and they need to be left alone to adjust to the new reality of their lives.’
I couldn’t take any more of this nonsense and followed Robert into the living room and slowly, one by one, you, Rebecca and Arjan followed too. Robert was true to his word, staying only an hour, and had it not been for the boys’ tears when he finally left, it would have been a perfectly pleasant visit.
It was only later that night as I was falling asleep that a line from the argument popped into my head. Something that you had said to Robert.
I asked you to leave Edith out of this.
When did you ask him this, Maurice? Because it wasn’t while we were standing there. Did you call him after he came to see me at UEA? Or did you take a train to London and not tell me anything about it? And what else were you doing during those months that I knew nothing about? All things considered, you’ll forgive me if I sound a little suspicious.
5. January
The new term got off to an exciting start with two pieces of news, one a cause for celebration, the other a source of scandal.
The former was the announcement by Garrett Colby that he’d secured a publishing deal over Christmas for his debut collection of short stories, The Voices of Animals. He told us as we settled down for our first workshop, during which he himself was due to be critiqued, and the reactions of the other students ranged from delight to envy to disbelief to a sort of carefully controlled fury.
I weighed up whether or not to tell you but decided that I should. You would find out eventually and wonder why I hadn’t mentioned it myself. But I waited until a couple of days later, when we were having dinner and you seemed to be in a good mood. That evening, I’d come home and been a little frustrated to find you working in my study again. You pointed out that it overlooked the garden rather than the street and that you needed peace in order to write and, besides, I was on campus throughout most of the day, so what did it matter?
‘You’re in very good spirits,’ I remarked as we ate. ‘Your work must be going well.’
‘Very well,’ you said cheerfully. ‘You know that moment when you realize you’ve got a firm grasp on your book and know exactly where it’s going?’
‘Sort of.’
‘That’s how I’m feeling right now. Writing a novel is a war and I think I’m winning at last.’
‘I’m really glad to hear that,’ I replied. ‘So are you going to give me some clue as to what it’s about?’
‘Afraid not,’ you said, shaking your head and grinning like a mischievous child. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘I’m hardly in a position to,’ I said. ‘It’s not as if I’ve been willing to tell you about mine.’
‘Exactly,’ you said. ‘You must be getting close to a final draft, anyway?’
‘Another six weeks or so. And you?’
‘Around the same.’
‘What?’ I asked, staring at you in astonishment. ‘But you’ve only been working on it since November.’
‘I know, but it’s just coming together a lot more quickly than I imagined. These things can happen. Anthony Burgess wrote A Clockwork Orange in about three weeks, you know. Faulkner wrote As I Lay Dying in six.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ I said, unsure whether it was or not. I couldn’t even conceive of writing a novel in so short a time, but I was aware that you’d often worked in sustained periods of creative intensity.
‘Actually, I have some news too,’ I said carefully, praying that my announcement wouldn’t destroy your positive mood.
‘Oh yes?’ you asked. ‘What’s that?’