Chapter Thirty-Seven
London, 2014
‘The house is painted. They did it in a week. It looks great. And I got them to put some furniture in. I just had a coffee, looking out to sea. That view of the bay – man, it’s beautiful here, Ben. I get it, I really do.’
‘I can’t wait to see it. Thank you so much, darling.’
He could hear his wife crossing something off a list. She loved lists. ‘OK. Ben – honey, you still need to tell me what you want to do with the beach hut. It’s just there, rotting into the sand.’
Ben, used to commanding entire movie sets, to silencing a room with one raised hand, was, in the home, as low-key as ever. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘Yep. Well, I don’t know.’
‘We’d get a good price for it,’ said Lauren, ever practical. ‘I made a few calls. The land is worth more than the building.’
The first time Ben met Lauren, at a charity dinner in New York years earlier, she had outbid an American baseball player for a signed David Hockney print which she promptly resold to an ageing movie producer she knew who collected Hockneys. He’d watched her long fingers alternately tapping on her BlackBerry to do the deal and tucking her bob behind her ears. She’d donated the extra money back to the charity. The whole thing had been sewn up by the time the green-tea panna cottas were served, and Ben had watched throughout, transfixed by her, this force of energy, quite unlike anyone he’d met before.
She added, ruthlessly, ‘You want my opinion? We should just tear the thing down.’
‘It’s Cord’s. She’s the one who’ll have to decide.’
‘Sure.’ He could hear her scribbling something. ‘So, no news?’
‘None. She was here again last week, you know. But that was to see the girls. It’s the third time.’
‘What do they say about it?’
‘They say it’s great. She tells them about Mads when we were little, what they used to get up to together. Funny things.’ He thanked his lucky stars once again that Lauren wasn’t the jealous or awkward kind and he could always mention Mads in front of her. ‘She remembers it all, stuff I’d totally forgotten. And of course she knows about staging so she’s been a great help to Emily with her dissertation. But she won’t ever stay for a meal, or even a glass of wine. Iris thinks she has a melancholy heart.’
‘What a sad expression.’
‘Well, but it’s true.’
‘When can I meet her, Ben? It’s totally crazy I’ve never met her.’
He shrugged. ‘Listen, I haven’t seen her for ten years and she’s my sister.’
‘When was the last time?’
‘Would you believe it, I bumped into her on the street, outside an all-night pharmacy in Wigmore Street, do you remember? She had toothache, and I was picking up a prescription for Emily’s eczema. And we chatted, and she was perfectly friendly, but she hurried off the moment I mentioned meeting up. Just said, “I’m so sorry,” and she was off.’
‘I don’t get it.’
Ben gave a deep, shuddering sigh. He still found it upsetting. ‘You know, I think she just didn’t want to be close to us any more. I’ve thought about it a lot. Where’s it written that you have to stick like glue to your family for the rest of your life? She always was a loner.’
He trailed off, shaking his head, because while that was the version he’d chosen to believe and the one he’d repeated to their mother over and over through the years, and the one he used to explain things away to curious friends and relations, he didn’t actually believe it. As a child, Cord had loved company, loved bringing people together and organising things. He didn’t believe she enjoyed her solitude. He didn’t believe she didn’t want love, and rejected intimacy. I know you, little sister, he thought now. I still know you, I always will, and I know you’re not happy.
‘Well, next time, you tell them to tell her I wanna meet her.’
His phone buzzed with a message and Ben jumped slightly. ‘She won’t stay at the house if she thinks I’m going to be there. She’s told them she needs time to get used to it all. She has some operation coming up on her throat again, too, they’re going to try and repair the damage. Apparently what they can do, how precise they’re able to be, has moved on an awful lot in ten years.’
‘That’s incredible. I mean – if it worked – What are the chances?’
‘The girls say she thinks it’s pretty even fifty-fifty. So it might be a disaster but it’s a good thing she’s trying. Right? I mean, all of this is good. It’s amazing she’s even in touch with the girls. I wonder what made her change her mind all of a sudden.’
‘Honey. I don’t know. Your mother, presumably.’
‘Yep – but she’s so stubborn.’ He paused. ‘God, Lauren. I hope we’re doing the right thing. Bringing the Bosky back to life – it’s for her. I hope she doesn’t just – freak out.’
Lauren said nothing; the crackle of the line whirred between them. ‘I wish I knew what to say to make it better.’
He laughed. ‘You can’t always make it better, my dear.’
She said, ‘You want to bet? Now – decide about the beach hut. Tell me what you think we should do.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ben said, bleakly. There was another silence and he wished he knew her more, this kindly, beautiful woman who was his wife. Who decorated houses in weeks, organised parties at the drop of a hat, made life smoother and more comfortable than it had ever been and yet with whom he still sometimes felt uneasy, like wearing a warm woollen jumper that’s just a little scratchy. A woman who was nothing at all like brave, haunted, indomitable Mads. Nothing at all.
Then she said, ‘I know you have happy memories of it but you know, honey, it’s the place she killed herself. I think you should—’ She paused; the static silence crackled down the line. ‘Start again.’
‘I have.’ Ben rubbed the stump of his fingers against his knee.
‘Not really. You need to take practical steps, Ben. If Cordelia is too. It’s time to give it a new lease of life, the whole house, and it seems kinda weird to leave the hut where Madeleine killed herself just standing there.’
He wanted to say, But I have so many happy memories there too. I remember her letting me kiss her, I remember the feel of her, I remember the three of us, Cord, Mads, and me, sitting on the steps talking or sleeping the night there as a special treat. We were always together.
The time we lit a fire inside the hut because Cord insisted it’d be OK and we toasted marshmallows and nearly burned the place down. Or when Mads removed the curtains because she said they were dirty and they just fell to pieces in her hands, they were so ancient. Or when we did that play that was a rip-off of Peter Pan on the Bosky steps and made Mumma and Daddy watch it with Mrs Gage, and Daddy fell asleep and his head kept falling on to Mrs Gage’s shoulder and she was horrified . . . The rules for Flowers and Stones, they’re still up there, they’ve been up there since the day Cord pinned them to the wall. These things matter.
I remember how my wife looked in death. Not peaceful – that’s what they always want you to say. Her arms were above her head, her eyes wide open . . . The hair flooding the bed like a Victorian bride . . .
‘Tear it down,’ he said, suddenly. ‘Do it.’ There was a knock at his door.
‘Dad?’ came a voice from outside. ‘You in there? The car’s here for you.’
‘What did you say? Keep it?’ said Lauren, quickly.
‘Absolutely,’ Ben said. ‘Look, I have to go, darling, I’ll call you later—’
‘Ben, I just want you to love the place—’
‘Yes,’ said Ben, not really listening again. ‘Me too. Bye, darling.’
He heard, but did not process, the little sigh she gave as he ended the call and swung the phone back into his pocket with his remaining finger and thumb hooked together. He stared at the smooth stump, remembering for a moment, until the noise of the waiting car in the driveway recalled him to the present.
But it wasn’t until he’d put on his jacket and had his hand on the door of the study that Ben remembered to check his phone for the message that had buzzed while he’d been speaking to Lauren.
OK OK. You are annoying. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I will come to the Bosky with you. Just once, to see Mumma. Don’t go to any trouble, please. It’ll be lovely to see you, Flash Gordon. Cord x P.S. This is a stupid question but is Hamish living in your basement and is he an accountant?
Ben smiled, and stared at the photo he always kept on his desk of him and his sister, kneeling on the sand, plump arms flung tightly round each other, grins as wide as their faces. He heard the car outside revving its engine a tiny amount, a respectful reminder and, slinging his phone and wallet into his pocket, he picked up his satchel and left the room. On the way out, he bumped almost straight into Emily, who was leaning against the hallway looking at her phone, her long bronze hair falling about her face.
‘Oh, Dad,’ she said, vaguely, staring at the back-lit screen. ‘Hello. Listen, have you got any cash on you?’
‘Cord,’ he said, pinching her cheek. ‘Cord’s coming. She’s coming.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘She’s coming back. She’s coming to see Mumma. Oh, Emily. You and your sister are geniuses. Well done, darling. She’s finally going to come back.’
Emily didn’t look up. ‘Of course she is. She always would have. You two are both crazy for that place.’ And she carried on tapping at her phone.