27
My dad told my mum he was leaving her on a Sunday. Obviously I was too young at the time to know what day of the week it was, but I know it was that particular day because my mum told me years later that it happened just after she’d cooked a joint of roast beef, and she only ever does that on a Sunday.
She said he was quiet all through the meal, and that at first she simply put it down to tiredness. I wasn’t a very good sleeper, and at that time I was regularly getting the pair of them up at four a.m. on an almost daily basis. On reflection, I’m surprised my mum even managed to prepare an entire roast dinner. If it had been me, he’d have been having macaroni cheese out of a tin and that would have been that. But my mum was trying to be a good wife to him and a good mother to me. In hindsight, she admitted to me once, the whole roast beef thing was her attempt to keep things normal. She had sensed that my dad was growing distant, and she was terrified to ask him the question why. As it turned out, my mum was far more astute than even she realised.
I’ve decided to tell Nancy the story now, as my mum always told it to me. Not because I want to goad her, but because I want her to understand just how hurtful it was, and has always been. My mother pretends to be okay about it now, but I know she’s never really forgiven my father for leaving. As for me, I’ve just grown up always knowing that he did something bad, and that resentment has sat like a huge, murky puddle in the meadow of my affection for him. I’m not sure if I’ll ever completely get over it, but I am starting to realise that I have to try.
Nancy has been listening quietly, but her large, dark eyes widen with sympathy as I explain how shocked my mum was to find out that my dad had already made the decision to go.
‘He didn’t even give her the chance to fight her corner,’ I say now, sniffing in disgust. ‘She begged him to reconsider, but he wouldn’t. He gave us up without so much as a discussion.’
‘Had he already met my mum?’ Nancy wants to know, and looking at her now I realise that she’s angry. It’s not directed at me, though. For the first time ever, it’s aimed at Dad.
‘Yes,’ I say simply. ‘He told my mum that he’d tried to ignore his feelings, but that he couldn’t do so any longer. He didn’t want to have to pretend any more. Imagine that. Imagine the person you love, the father of your child, admitting to you that they’d only been pretending to love you all along.’
‘It would be horrible,’ Nancy agrees, and I think she really means it. She looks more serious and intense than I’ve ever known her to be, and despite the heat I look down to see goosebumps on my arms.
‘I always thought it was a mutual thing,’ she tells me. ‘Mum’s always told me that she met Dad when he was single.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s not true.’
Nancy is fiddling furiously with a loose thread on her beach towel and wraps it around her finger before snapping it in half.
‘I guess I never really thought about it from your mum’s point of view before,’ she says then, and I glance up in surprise. It’s not like Nancy to be contrite or admit that she could have been in the wrong, and for a moment I’m too taken aback to respond.
‘I suppose it suited me to believe what Mum told me,’ she adds, baffling me yet again with her new self-awareness. ‘I didn’t like the idea of Dad being with anyone else. I guess I still don’t.’
‘I don’t either,’ I agree. ‘But I had to grow up with it.’
There’s a beat of silence as Nancy absorbs this, and then she looks up at me. Her refusal to sit in the sun, coupled with all the late nights hanging out with Claudette and the Spanish boys, has lent her skin a greyish pallor, and there’s a bruise of colour under each of her eyes. She looks as if she hasn’t slept for days.
‘Do you think …?’ she begins, but then seems unable to continue.
‘That he cheated on my mum?’ I guess, and she nods. ‘I don’t know. I really hope that he didn’t, but then I guess that’s just wishful thinking. I mean, he must have been sure about Susie. Sure enough to leave us behind.’
‘I hate people that cheat,’ Nancy snaps, and there’s genuine vitriol in her tone.
‘Is that why you broke up with your boyfriend?’ I ask her gently now, the idea only just occurring to me. I think back to the photos I’d seen of the two of them on Facebook – they looked so sickeningly happy with each other that I’d even remarked on it to Tom at the time. It had struck me as odd that they’d broken up so abruptly, but then Nancy had brushed aside my questions about him when she first arrived and I, distracted fool that I am, hadn’t bothered to delve any deeper. Now that I’ve thought of it, I realise that it would explain a lot – the tears, the random kissing of strangers, the look of contempt on her face right this second …
‘No,’ she grunts, looking away to where two tiny birds are picking at a discarded paper napkin. ‘He didn’t cheat on me.’
‘Well, I’m glad,’ I say, puffing out my chest. ‘If he had, then he’d have an angry big sister to contend with!’
It’s a bit of a feeble gesture, but I can see that Nancy appreciates the effort. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a measured conversation before, and it feels weird, as if I’m only just getting to know her, and she me.
‘It’s seriously hot – shall I get us a drink?’ I ask, standing up and reaching for my dress, but when I return a few minutes later with a water for me and a Diet Coke for her, Nancy is crying.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask, digging a quick hole in the sand with my foot so I can put down the drinks without them toppling over sideways.
‘Nothing.’ She shakes her head.
This is my fault. I shouldn’t have told her the truth about Dad. I should have let her continue on through life thinking that he was infallible. He’s always been her hero, and now I’ve gone and tainted him. Then again, isn’t it always better to know the truth? Once you have all the pieces, then surely you stand a greater chance of putting them all back together – even if the puzzle does take half a lifetime to solve.
‘Don’t be upset about Dad,’ I say gently, awkwardly patting her shoulder. ‘It was all such a long time ago. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
Nancy is still sobbing, but there’s no sound. There are just tears running like two minuscule streams down her cheeks. At a loss of what else to say, I remain silent, my hand on her back.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ she suddenly asks, and I laugh in surprise.
‘I think so. No, I mean I have. Well, I think I have.’
Classic Hannah Hodges response to a simple question: mumble incoherently like a toothless Womble.
‘Theo?’ she guesses, and I blush.
‘Is he good to you?’ is her next question, and I smile in relief that it’s one I can actually provide an answer to.
‘Oh, yes – he’s great.’
‘I’m glad.’ She smiles weakly at me through her tears, and I get a sudden urge to cross over to her sunbed and put both my arms around her. If she’s surprised by this outpouring of affection after a good twenty years of solid scowling, then she doesn’t mention it. Instead she just cries a bit more, and I feel overwhelmed by helplessness.
‘Shall we call Dad?’
A vicious shake of the head.
‘Do you want to call your mum, then?’
Again, a fierce rebuttal.
‘Some food?’ I try, groping through the limited options open to us.
‘Just a drink,’ she says, sniffling like a hamster, and I reach down and fetch her glass.
All the ice has melted in the sun, and she stares down at it for a few seconds as if contemplating what to do next. Then, before I have the chance to propose a toast to sisterhood, she’s grabbed the straw between her fingers and necked the entire thing in one go.
‘Thirsty?’ I enquire, smiling as she raises a hand to her mouth to disguise a belch, nodding at me in amusement.
‘Then let’s get a real drink.’
‘Salud!’
We cheer the word so loudly in unison that a family on the next table actually recoil in alarm, but that only makes us laugh all the harder.
‘I am drunk!’ I declare, bashing my beer bottle against the side of Nancy’s cocktail. ‘Drunkety, drunken, drunkola!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ she giggles, sucking on her straw and smiling at me through half-closed eyes.
We’ve been at the beach for hours now, and I’ve lost track of how many drinks I’ve had, which I’m mildly aware should be a worrying fact, but can’t be bothered to care too much about. It feels so nice to be merry like this and – best and most oddly of all – it’s actually really fun getting drunk with Nancy. Who would have thought it? Not me, that’s for sure.
Since our heart-to-heart this morning, we’ve been making up for lost time and filling in the gaps we’ve missed over the years of refusing to talk to each other. Well, I say we, but I’ve been doing most of the talking. I had no idea that my sister was such a good listener, but she really is. I’ve told her all about Theo and about Rachel and oafish Paul, and now I’m explaining how great Elaine is. In fact, I’ve even decided that the two of them should meet.
Like I said: drunk, drunkety, drunken, drunkola.
Having skipped breakfast and forgone lunch in favour of yet more alcohol, by the time the sun is setting I’m feeling more than a little worse for wear. Staggering back from the little shack that comprises the ladies’ toilet, I collide with Carlos, who is carrying two plates of food, and almost fall over sideways from laughing.
‘Idiota,’ he mutters with a frown, and I stick my tongue out at him.
‘Look at the sunset!’ I slur at Nancy when I’m back in my seat, but she already is. The view of it from here is even more beautiful than it is from up in the village, the smudged pastel pinks and yellows turning the surface of the sea into molten gold. I try to focus my eyes on the dark patches of gently shifting water, but everything is swimming in and out of focus.
Nancy is sending someone a message on her phone, but I can’t see who it is from here. She hasn’t cried for at least three hours now, which is a huge improvement on the earlier part of the day. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I should get us both some food, or at least a taxi home, but both tasks feel impossible. What it would be nice to do is have a quick nap. Yes, that would help, I think blearily. And the top of the table is so comfortable now that my head is on it.
‘Hannah!’
I sit up so fast that I almost smack the top of my head on Tom’s chin, and he has to swerve out of the way.
‘Bloody hell, Hannah!’
I start laughing, I can’t help it, and Nancy joins in, although she definitely looks more sheepish than amused. She can certainly hold her booze, too, I’ll give her that. She’s been matching each of my beers with a variety of colourful cocktails, but she doesn’t seem anywhere near as wasted as I am.
‘Thomas!’ I declare, grabbing his hand and steering him into a vacant chair. ‘Have a drink!’
‘I think you’ve had enough for everyone in here,’ he mutters, not unkindly.
‘Where’s Theo?’ is my predictable next question, and Tom shakes his head.
‘Gone back to the villa to celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’ I demand, fear snaking its way through the reeds of drunkenness in my brain like a pike.
‘The filming went really well today,’ he says, and I get the sense that there’s a ‘but’ he isn’t adding.
Before I can press him, though, Tom has a question of his own.
‘How long have you two been drinking?’
Nancy giggles again at this and gives him the benefit of those huge, dark eyes of hers.
‘A few hours,’ she simpers, her eyes not leaving his as she sucks on her straw. It would usually piss me off, but today I’m impressed. If only I could learn how to flirt so openly and with such confidence. Then again, I remind myself happily, I’ve already managed to get my man.
‘I miss Theo,’ I sigh out loud, and Tom rolls his eyes.
‘I think it’s best if he doesn’t see you in this state,’ he points out, but that just makes me grumpy.
‘No!’ I cry, loud enough to cause a few heads to turn in our direction. ‘I’m going to go to the villa – and you can’t stop me!’
‘Au contraire,’ Tom says, putting a big hand on my arm and gently forcing me to sit back down.
‘Trust me, Hannah,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to go there, not tonight.’
‘Maybe I’m a little drunk – so what?’ I grumble, putting my head back down on the table. It really is very comfortable.
The next thing I’m aware of is Tom helping me up the steps of the bar to the street, where by some miracle there’s a taxi waiting. Nancy gets in first and leans her head against the window, and Tom sits between us, giving the driver instructions in very bad broken Spanish. I want to take the mickey out of him, but for some reason talking has become an enormous effort. Once at the apartment, Tom makes me wait at the top of the stairs while he helps Nancy down to the door first, then comes back and orders me to climb on his back.
‘You’ll kill yourself on these stairs one day,’ he warns as we make our way down, but this just makes me laugh all over again.
‘Let’s have another beer,’ I say as soon as we’re inside, heading to the fridge only to begin swearing in earnest. Claudette has drunk my entire stash. Of course she has.
‘Bloody Claudette!’ I rage, slamming the fridge door and seeing Tom wince as all the items inside fall over.
‘I need to be sick,’ announces Nancy, and vanishes into the bathroom.
‘Don’t make that face,’ I scold, as Tom does a convincing impression of a wounded ferret. ‘Nancy and me are friends now! Sisters! Isn’t that what you wanted?’
He eyes me with distrust.
‘Why now? Why today?’
It’s a good question, and I think about answering until I spy a packet of crisps on the coffee table.
‘Cheese and onion!’ I cry, falling on the bag and stuffing a handful into my mouth. ‘My favourite.’
I can’t understand why Tom looks so upset. We’ve been drunk together too many times to recount, and he knows how much I love crisps. Why isn’t he happy for me?
‘She’ll be okay,’ I tell him as I chew. ‘Nancy, I mean. She’s just had a few too many.’
‘She’s not as bad as you,’ he says grimly, and I narrow my eyes at him.
‘You’re no fun these days,’ I reply, kicking off my flip-flop only to have it fly straight up in the air and hit me in the face. Tom doesn’t even laugh.
‘What happened to my fun friend, Tom?’ I ask him. ‘Where did he go? Go and get him. I miss him.’
Tom sighs at this and sits down beside me.
‘I’m right here,’ he says, searching my face with his eyes. He’s wearing a blue polo shirt today that makes him look very handsome, and he’s even swapped those terrible floral shorts for a plain black pair. He must have gone shopping by himself, because I certainly didn’t take him. Wonders will never cease.
‘I miss you,’ I say again, not entirely sure where the words are coming from, then pick up his nearest hand in both of mine.
‘You don’t have to miss me, I’m right here,’ he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him, and for a second I wish I could kiss him. It would be easier than trying to find all the words I want to say to him – words which are, at the moment, lingering hidden at the bottom of a well filled with beer in my head.
‘Hannah …’ he begins, but the sound of the toilet flushing distracts him. Nancy appears in the bathroom doorway looking even more ill than she did this morning, and in a moment Tom is beside her, ushering her towards the bedroom. I should go and help him really, check that Nancy is okay and tell her how glad I am that we spent the day together, but the sofa is so darn comfortable.
I’ll just lie down here for a few minutes, I think. Just until Tom comes back, and then I’ll tell him how sorry I am for being so hammered, and how happy I am that we’re best friends again, just as we’ve always been, like we’re supposed to be. The thought is enough to comfort me, and before long my eyes close and everything dissolves into sleep.
Alas, as is always the case when you drink like Oliver Reed with an unquenchable thirst all day long and forget to alternate your beers with water, I wake up a few hours later with an achingly full bladder and a throat like knotted old rope. Claudette’s bedroom door is shut, but my own is ajar, and I’m definitely not prepared for what I see when I peer through the crack into the gloom.
There on my bed, his arms wrapped around her and contented expressions of slumber on both their faces, are Nancy and Tom. I’m not sure whether it’s the result of suddenly sobering up or if I’m just still very drunk, but when I tiptoe back to the sofa and pull a blanket over myself, I find that I cannot stop crying.