It was Elliott Erwitt, he says, who said that photography is about finding something interesting in an ordinary place. That it’s little to do with the things you see, and everything to do with how you see them.
Oh, Josie says. That’s beautiful.
I always thought so, Robin says. But it doesn’t have to relate to photography. Or travelling the world. It just has to relate to that little bit of life you’ve made for yourself.
He lifts his eyes to Nora’s when he says this.
So tell me about seabirds, he says to Josie, already lookingback down at his food. I couldn’t tell the difference between a goose and a gull, personally.
Josie chuckles, and it is that interaction, more than anything that has come before, that swells a lump in Nora’s throat. Makes her want to help Josie, here, and be more Robin; lead with generosity, and kindness. So she steadies herself. Knowing, despite her own anger at the scene he’d just made – anger at herself, too, for triggering it – she is the only one who can appease things, here, and bring Bren back to the table.
I’ll check on the lamb, she says, as Josie starts telling Robin about guillemots. Freya passes her the cleared plates, and Nora heads back to the kitchen, half expecting the room to be empty but no, there he is, bent double, black shirt and red hair and breathing out with both hands on the countertop.
She thinks, for a horrid jolt of a second, that he’s crying, but his eyes, when he looks up at her, are as cold and clear as before.
What was that, she asks him.
A mistake, he says. Which throws her.
Okay, she says. Then go and make up for it.
I can’t, he says, as she puts the plates down on the side. I can’t do this, Nora. It’s why I left. She drives me insane. I love her, I do, but I can’t sit here talking about cartoons and grilled peaches that aren’t even in the fucking salad.
Your mum didn’t say that, Nora says. Mine did.
Because she barely saysanything! She doesn’t ask or know anything, orwantto know anything about me! Ever! She never did, even when I was a kid! All her energy goes into taking her pills, doing the laundry, having her toast on Saturdays and her casserole on Sundays and being bored of her own littlelifethat’s killing me, Nora, with every second that I stay.
Do youhearyourself?
But that’s how it feels! Being here, it’s like there’s no air! It’s why I can’t talk to my ownmother, Nora, because I’ve tried! I’ve really fucking tried! But all the things I’ve done, all the things I do, to live the life he – the one hesaidI should – I’ve done it! And she doesn’t even care! Just likeyou, Nora. You used to care. You used to want more, as well. But you’re the same, you’re all the same, and I’m alone, again, I’m alone because you chose him.
And Nora is the one crying, now, but it isn’t her, she realises, who has caused this; something has dawned on her, as he raves. Because whatever they had is broken, she broke it, or he broke it, long ago, she’s not sure; but actually, that isn’t what truly hurts. What’s causing him this deep-rooted pain.
Do you really think that’s what’s wrong here, Bren, she asks, through her tears. What Idon’twant? Have you ever thought that maybe, it’s what you’re missing?
He looks at her, uncomprehending, emotion in his eyes, too, at the sight of hers, but she keeps going.
I think you move constantly, reaching for this idea ofmore, she says, new places and experiences, hopingsomething will fill this hole inside you, Bren. And I can’t fill it, either, even though you think, right now, that I can. Simply because – and you said it yourself – I just happen to be here.
Don’t do this, Bren says. Don’t make this about him, when it’s about us, Nora.
But you can’t even say his name! Nora says. You can’t even say Dad!
That has nothing todowith this, he blasts. I bought us two fucking tickets to New Zealand, okay?
What?
I bought us two tickets because we should be together, Nora! We’ve just been waiting, for too long, and wondering what could have been!
But that’s the thing, Bren! Nora cries, and she actually stamps her foot – that’s the point of it all! Making decisions and seeing them through, means there willalwaysbe should-haves, or might-have-beens, but that’sokay. That’s just human.That’sthe real stuff of living. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, and her tears are rolling out of her now, desperate for him to hear her, to see it.
Nora, he says, reaching a hand out, towards her tears.
No, Nora says, stepping back.Iam okay, here, Bren!You’rethe one who’s lost. You’re more lost than any of us.
Bren lowers his hand to his side. Watching her.
This isn’t about me, he says, is it.
