‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. I mean, did you fancy your sister?’
‘Come on…’
‘No, I mean, seriously – I know you’re not supposed to, and it’s, like, forbidden and all that, but when you hit puberty and there’s this cute girl living with you…’
‘You just don’t allow yourself to think like that.’
‘But if you did allow yourself – I mean, what you say suggests you actually did find her attractive, or is there some mechanism which makes a sibling repellent…?’
‘Leah!’
‘OK, sorry, forget it. I’m getting out. Let’s hurry to this pub of yours in case they run out of food. I’m starving.’
Fortunately, the pub had not run out of food when they arrived and the small bistro-style restaurant was busy with Saturday night diners. Jake cursed himself for not making a booking, but to his relief a table came free almost immediately and they took their seats and studied the menus.
As the meal progressed, Leah resumed her enquiries about Jake’s twin sister. ‘So, tell me more about Fran,’ she said. ‘Like, when you were kids.’
‘Well, as I’ve said, we were twins with no other siblings, so we did a lot together.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Pretty much everything kids do. Play games, watch TV and movies, sometimes we would go swimming together, either at home or if we were on holiday.’
‘…and fight?’
‘Actually, not much.’
When Leah said nothing, Jake sipped from the glass of Côte du Rhone the waiter had just delivered and continued: ‘I think it was her courage that was her most striking feature; not just physical bravery, although she had plenty of that, but her readiness to say whatever she wanted regardless of the audience.’
‘Like what?’
‘I remember once at school; we were about eleven and were in the same class for maths. The teacher – a large, overweight man with a foul temper who was a natural bully – was picking on a boy who was hopeless at maths, mocking his answers until the boy was almost in tears. The rest of the class was largely complicit in what was happening. The boy was slightly odd-looking and far from popular. Then Fran stood up and said, “Excuse me, sir, I think you are being unfair to Simon. You know he finds maths very difficult. You need to explain the concept again rather than make fun of him for not following what you said.”’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, it’s hard to convey what an electrifying effect this had on the whole class. The teacher went a deep shade of purple and responded in a sarcastic way about not needing her help to run the class. But he stopped bullying the boy.’
Leah looked at him but said nothing.
‘Sometimes she would do this kind of thing at home,’ Jake continued. ‘Challenging our parents when she thought they were being illogical or hypocritical, as all parents are sometimes – and I must say, I found these occasions quite uncomfortable myself. I know that her directness would sometimes hurt them, but that’s the way she was.’
‘Sounds like a precocious brat to me.’
Jake flinched. He knew he was overprotective of Fran’s memory, but any criticism was always painful. It was one of the reasons he hated talking about her and he was irritated now that he had been drawn into this conversation. No one, he felt, had really understood her like he had. He remained silent, looking past Leah towards the entrance of the restaurant.
‘No,’ he said finally. ‘That’s quite wrong.’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I apologise.’
‘OK, but perhaps I’ve given you the wrong idea; she was actually very down to earth, clever without being brilliant, amusing and generous, but most of all she was fun to be with.’
‘What about when you were older, in your teens – did she have boyfriends?’
Jake hesitated. It was a question he had generally avoided thinking about as he didn’t know the answer. ‘Well, at thirteen we went away to separate schools so I didn’t see much of her during the term time, but we still got on very well in the holidays.’
‘Was she at a co-ed school?’
‘Yes, it was a boarding school, but co-ed.’
‘So she must have had boyfriends?’
‘Why does it interest you whether she had boyfriends? Maybe she did, but I don’t think anyone serious. She never brought any boys home.’
‘I guess she didn’t need to.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Forget it.’
Leah suddenly seemed aware that her persistent questioning about Fran had spoilt the atmosphere between them. Jake became taciturn, drinking more than usual. She tried to repair it with talk of Australia and amusing stories about her own childhood, but as the meal limped to its conclusion she was unable to re-kindle their usual warmth and sparkle.
Later that evening, as they got into bed together, Leah returned to the subject of Jake’s twin sister. ‘Tell me what happened to Fran,’ she said, ‘and then I promise I won’t ask you any more questions about her.’ Jake said nothing. He had wanted to tell Marianne earlier but she hadn’t been inclined to listen. Now here was someone who wanted to know. Suddenly it seemed to Jake that Leah was the perfect recipient for his long-awaited confession.
There were two versions of the story. One was the version he had told to everyone who had ever asked; the version his parents believed, the version he would have liked to have believed himself if he could have rid himself of the other version, la vérité vraie, as he thought of it – using the French phrase to wrap the concept up in his mind and keep it hidden, even from himself.
He shut his eyes. For nearly ten years he had fought to supress the memories; now he relaxed his grip on the safety valve and up they came from the depths, like so many giant bubbles of gas bursting through a murky pond.
The sun is hot on his back as he lies on the grass watching his fishing line – nothing has bitten all day. He gazes down at the river washing past, tugging at a branch caught between two rocks. For a hundred metres below where he lies, the river cascades through rapids before flattening out again and rushing along a narrow valley. Opposite him, the river has bent around a sheer rock face where a deep natural pool has been formed, perfect for swimming. But he is bored with swimming. And he is bored with fishing. Without Fran, there is no fun. She is back at the house, unwilling that morning to cycle down to the river with him.
If they had the kayak, he thinks, they could shoot the rapids together as they have done in the past. He decides to call her. She answers, but she is not impressed by his suggestion. She wants to finish her book. He presses her. ‘Come, and bring the kayak,’ he urges. ‘It’s already on the roof.’
‘There’s only Auntie Manne here, stupid,’ she replies, ‘and she doesn’t drive in France, remember?’
‘You could drive.’
‘What, the old van? Are you crazy?’
‘Why not?’
‘Ah – let me see: haven’t passed my test, no licence, no insurance, only had three lessons in my life – and they were in an automatic – and the shitty old van has gears, if you remember. We’re in France, where, in case you hadn’t noticed, they drive on the other side of the road. Auntie Manne would probably stop me anyway and Granny would be furious if she found out. So, no real reasons, I guess.’
‘You’ve driven a car with gears – remember?’
‘Yes, a couple of times on the beach in Wales.’
But he doesn’t give up. He keeps on at her. ‘You could easily do it,’ he tells her. ‘Auntie Manne is usually having her snooze at this time. It’s a quiet little road – hardly any traffic – just the main road to cross over, which we do on our bicycles every day, then you are in the lane leading down to the river.’