An understatement.
‘But I shouldn’t have lied,’ she continues. ‘I lied about so many things.’
I take her hand this time, grasping it firmly. Her fingers feel thin under mine, like spindly twigs that would snap easily. ‘I know. But, like you say, you were a messed-up kid. I’m sorry for running away. I didn’t want to face it. I was shocked you’d make up something like that. Appalled, even. It made me question everything – our family. Us.’
She shuffles and the leather sofa creaks. I’d never have leather normally, preferring something cosier. But I needed something functional. Another reminder that this is a house for guests, not just for us. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters, not meeting my eye. ‘I was jealous of you. You were always such a goody-goody, clever, off to university. And I didn’t get the grades I needed. You were starting a new life and I was stuck in mine. I was a stupid little fool. I wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, Selena.’
She stands up abruptly and brushes down her jeans. ‘I’d better get back to Ruby. She’s asleep.’
I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. It’s a few minutes to seven. ‘Wow, she goes to bed early.’ I’m lucky to get Evie to bed by eight on a school night.
She plays with the ring on her wedding finger. A huge diamond. I wonder why she hasn’t taken it off. She’s still not looking at me. ‘She gets over-tired … Being here, it’s all very exciting for her.’
I stand up too. ‘I’d better sort out my girls. I think they’re in the playroom and the last guest should be arriving tonight.’
We walk towards the door. She stops and turns to me, looking me straight in the eye. ‘I’m glad we had this chat. Can we forget about the past now, Kirsty? Can we move on?’
I nod. ‘There’s nothing I’d like more.’
She gives me an awkward hug. ‘Great,’ she says, as she pulls away. ‘See you in the morning.’
My mouth twists into a smile. ‘Maybe.’
She laughs then. The first genuine laugh I’ve heard since she arrived. ‘Oh, my God! You remembered!’
I laugh too. ‘Of course.’
‘You were such a bitch.’ She’s wiping her eyes with mirth.
Adrian walks in. ‘What’s so funny?’ he asks, bemused.
‘Your wife. Tell him, Kirsty!’
I smile. ‘Selena used to have this fear as a kid that she’d die in her sleep,’ I say. ‘She told me when she was staying the night at our house and after that I used to wind her up. When she said, “See you in the morning,” I used to reply, “Maybe!” in this spooky voice. It became a standing joke.’
Adrian smiles blandly but I can see he doesn’t really get it. ‘Right. I just came in to ask if you want me to run Evie a bath.’
I lift my head in surprise. I usually have to ask him to sort the kids out – either that or I end up doing it myself. ‘Yes, if you don’t mind. She’s been rolling around outside with the rabbits again.’
He nods good-naturedly and wanders out of the room.
‘You’ve got a good ’un there,’ says Selena. ‘Nigel never helped me with Rubes. He left everything to me.’
I feel a bit disloyal admitting to Selena that I usually have to nag Adrian into doing anything. Before, he was too busy working fifty-hour weeks and since his breakdown he’s been distracted. Mum probably sent him in to ask.
I watch as Selena saunters down the hallway towards Apple Tree, a feeling I can’t quite place tugging at my insides. I should be happy that she’s admitted it was all a lie and relieved that we can put it behind us. But I’m not.
11
29 June 2001
Aunty Bess and Uncle Owen’s small terraced house was crammed with bodies. They were everywhere – clustered around the kitchen sink necking home-made cocktails, gyrating to Groove Armada in the living room, snogging on the sofas, puking in the toilet. I wandered through the rooms, bewildered and slightly panicky. What would Uncle Owen say if he could see the state of his house? He and Aunt Bess weren’t exactly house-proud but this was something else. Why was Selena letting everyone run amok over his things? His lovely old books and his model train set in the spare room. He was very particular, Uncle Owen. The rest of the house might be in a muddle, with piles of newspapers littering the coffee-table and empty wine bottles lined up along the melamine worktops in the kitchen, but Uncle Owen liked his own things in their place. Fastidious, I heard my mum say once but I thought it was his little bit of control.
Uncle Owen was the complete opposite to my dad, who had been like a whirlwind. Everyone knew he was there when he entered a room. Big, loud and fun. He’d bought our 1930s semi from an old lady who’d lived in it for fifty years and he’d done it up single-handed. Uncle Owen was quieter. My granny always said he was ‘the thinker’ of the family. And he tried his best, he really did. As I’d grown older and more aware, I could see how hard it was for him to hold down his job and look after Aunt Bess and Selena. That was why Selena was always at our house. Uncle Owen could do only so much.
And since Dad had died Uncle Owen was like a surrogate father. Not that he could ever replace my dad, but I loved him. He was there for me and Mum, popping over to make sure we were okay with his half-hearted offers of DIY, even though he couldn’t have put up a shelf. And my mum was more than capable: Dad had taught her well. She always knew how to put furniture together and could change a plug. But I think it was his way of keeping in touch, to make sure we were all still family, I suppose. Since Selena had got together with Dean Hargreaves six months before, I’d hardly seen her and I was worried that we were growing apart. In two months’ time, we would be off to different universities. Different worlds.
