The outside door was still open when I came out of my bedroom, and now my parents and Troy were there as well. There was a small television on one of the chairs. On the kitchen table were a computer with its printer, a portable CD player and a pile of CDs beside it, a bedside lamp with its cord trailing on to the floor. Three large and bulging hold-alls stood by the door. For me, the detail that I found almost horribly intimate was the heap of shoes, his and hers, mixed together. Tennis rackets stood against the wall. An exercise bike blocked the entrance to the bathroom. There was a clutter on the kitchen surfaces: two electric toothbrushes, contact-lens cleansing fluid – did Brendan wear contact lenses, and how had I failed to notice that while I was going out with him? – anti-dandruff shampoo, a make-up bag, another toaster, an electric iron, a framed photograph of Brendan and Kerry sitting on a wooden bench with their arms round each other, piles of holiday brochures, a tangled wind chime that Kerry had had since she was a teenager. How had they managed to accumulate so much so quickly?
I stood for a moment on the threshold of the room and looked at them all. Brendan was grinding coffee beans and Kerry was making toast and jam for everyone, and a comforting burnt smell filled the air. Mum was dressed more casually than I was used to, in an old pair of corduroys and a plaid shirt. Her hair was loose and brushed behind her ears, and for a moment I was taken aback at how carefree she looked. She was carrying a bright bunch of dahlias. Brendan came up to her and put his arm round her and she laughed and leaned against him and held the flowers under his nose. I looked at my father, but he didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He was beaming at the room. He was unshaven and there were circles of sweat under his armpits, jam on his chin.
Troy was sitting on the floor on a folded-up duvet, with his back against the sofa. He was fiddling with a puzzle I'd given him last Thursday, a set of polystyrene shapes which – so it said on the box – fitted together into a cube. I looked at his face as he concentrated. He looked thin and pale and tired. There were bruises under his eyes, as if he'd been crying. But he seemed peaceful as well. Troy is the only person that I know who can be happy and sad at the same time, carrying two kinds of weather round inside him. He slotted in the final shape – yes, it really did make a cube – and gave a smile of satisfaction before taking it apart again. Tenderness rose in my throat and I suddenly wanted to burst into tears.
'Hello, everyone,' I said. I kissed my parents on the cheek and ruffled Troy 's hair.
'Coffee's up,' said Brendan cheerily. 'Afraid I've finished the beans, though.'
'Where do you want to put everything?' I asked Kerry. 'There's nowhere really to hang your clothes.'
'Dad's giving us one of those rails,' she said. 'Just for the smarter stuff and my work clothes. We can stand it behind the sofa. The rest we can just keep in the bags.'
I couldn't manage anything more than a weak, acquiescent shrug. I watched Mum stuffing the dahlias into a tumbler and tried to swallow back a spasm of self-pity. She hadn't given me flowers when she last came round.
'Here we are,' said Brendan. 'Milk, no sugar, right?' He gave a sort of wink, as if he had answered a quiz question correctly.
I sat down next to Troy and watched Kerry put cereal boxes into cupboards. Brendan lifted a heap of books off a wide shelf and inserted the tiny television. 'We can watch it in bed,' he said. 'Is your sofa bed comfy, Mirrie? I've never slept in it.'
'How are you?' I asked Troy. I could see how he was: subdued, all the energy gone, so his face looked blanched and his body limp.
A burst of music filled the room.
'Mozart,' said Brendan, stepping back from the CD player. 'We love Mozart, don't we, Kerry?'
'All right,' Troy said. 'Fine.' He picked up the polystyrene pieces again and started fiddling.
'Here we are, mate.' Brendan squatted down beside him. 'You need blood sugar.' He put his hand under Troy 's chin and lifted up his face. 'You're tired, aren't you. Couldn't sleep?'
'Not much,' said Troy.
'That's no good. Have some toast and jam. Later we can all go for a brisk walk. That'll help with insomnia. Mmm?'
'I don't know,' said Troy. He looked away from Brendan and bit into the toast. 'I don't know if I feel like a walk.'
'I ought to warn you,' I said. 'I've got to go out quite soon. Sorry. It was an arrangement I made before I knew when you were coming.'
'What a pity,' my mother said. 'You can't cancel?'
'Who are you meeting?' asked Brendan.
'No one you know.'
'Miranda,' said my mother. 'I know you don't mean to, but that sounded a bit rude.'
It took an effort not to say something back to my mother that really was rude.
'He's called Nick,' I said.
'Nick?' Brendan raised his eyebrows.
'Yes.'
'How very strange. I just spoke to him on the phone. When you were getting dressed. Sorry – I should have said at once. He rang and I said you'd ring him back – but he didn't seem to know about your prior arrangement. Mmm? On the spur of the moment, I invited him over to supper here. With all of us. I knew you wouldn't mind. We thought we could make a party of it, like a mini house-warming, and Derek and Marcia's kitchen's only got three walls now, so we can't go there, can we?'
I closed my eyes and then opened them again. He was still there, smiling at me.
'I can't…' I said. I didn't know what to say next. I clenched my fists so that my nails dug into my palms.
'He said he'd love to come.'
'We've got to meet him sometime,' said Mum. She was placing Kerry and Brendan's shoes in pairs against the wall.
' Troy can cook,' said Brendan.
'I don't know if I feel like cooking,' was Troy 's response.
'You seem to have got it all sorted,' I said.
'You don't need to do a thing,' said Brendan. 'We're going to spoil you. Our treat, Mirrie.'
CHAPTER 11
I went out anyway. I couldn't stay in the flat. My flat, though it didn't feel like mine any more, with Brendan's shaving cream in the bathroom, Kerry's television on my bookshelf, their music playing, their soya milk in the fridge, their night things slung over the back of the sofa.
I strode over the Heath, feet scuffling up leaves, breath curling in the clear air. A beautiful day and I'd met someone I liked and I should be happy – and all I could feel was this sensation eating into my stomach lining like acid. I couldn't stop myself thinking of Brendan sitting on my lavatory, lying in my bath, eating food a few feet away from me, nuzzling up to Kerry, to my mother… His hair in my brush, his hand on my shoulder, his breath on my cheek. I shuddered, and walked even faster, trying to burn off the anger and disgust.
I must be polite and friendly, for Kerry's sake, I told myself, kicking a little heap of conkers out of my path and watching them roll bumpily away from me. Just a few days, a week or two, then they'd be in their own house, busy decorating it and planning their wedding, and I'd hardly have to see them. Even as I persuaded myself this was true, I heard his voice telling me about my beautiful mouth, remembered his damp lips on my cheek, and felt instantly nauseous.
My mobile rang in my pocket.
'Hello.'
'Miranda, it's me.'
'Nick. I was going to call you.'
'I'm round at Greg's just now. I'm looking forward to this evening, though it's a bit daunting meeting your whole family at once. Shall I bring anything?'
'You don't have to come, you know.'
'Don't you want me to?'
'It's not that. It'll just be a bit oppressive, you know, all the family, and Kerry and Brendan have just moved in with half of their belongings and it's chaos.'
'Brendan sounded very friendly.'
'Oh, did he?'
'No, really. I think he was making a big effort with me.'
'It might be better to meet my family another time…'