One Step Too Far (9 page)

It was just so strange that now here he was in her car, about to meet her parents, and he'd assumed until he got her email that, whatever attempts he made, he actually stood
zero chance
, she was so insurmountably gorgeous. When he’d picked up Emily’s mail, half-drunk from the pub, he’d jumped up and down and punched the air, like he was actually at Old Trafford instead of just down the road from it. He’d called her before he even realised what time it was, though he would have called her anyway.

Emily parked her car behind her father’s BMW so its boot hung just onto the pavement. Before Ben even had time to get out, the white plastic front door opened and Emily’s mother waved hello. She was blonde, pleasant-looking, her face having lost the faint bitterness it had held for so many years. In its place was weary acceptance – of her characterless house, of her weak-willed husband (oh she knew), of her nightmare youngest daughter.

“Hello, you must be Ben,” she said as she shook his hand. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Emily doesn’t normally let us meet her boyfriends, so we’ve been terribly excited.”

“Muum,” said Emily, embarrassed, but it was true. Emily had never been interested in boys, largely because she couldn’t bear fighting with Caroline over them. It was as if once Caroline had finally made peace with their mother, there’d become less need for competition over Frances, and so the next battleground she'd chosen was boys. It had put Emily right off the whole thing, and she’d left Caroline to it, preferring to spend time with her friends and her books. And as Emily got older boys never really approached her anyway – she didn’t seem to know how to give off the right signals – and so she began to assume she just wasn’t attractive. The few boyfriends she had had were kept well away from her family, just in case.

With Ben it was different, it seemed natural to bring him for Sunday lunch. She’d been scared at first to even ask, as though she was being too forward, too serious, but Ben had said yes immediately, that he’d love to. That was what she adored about Ben, that there was no side to him, just complete straight-forwardness and apparently genuine enthusiasm for her. She found it odd though how they were still too scared to spell out how they felt, where they saw it going, as if voicing it would spoil it, so for now they skirted around the words, and their eyes and their bodies told them instead.

“Emily,
hello!
” said Frances. “I said, do you want tea or coffee?”

“Oh, sorry Mum, coffee would be lovely.”

“Come and sit down Ben, Andrew will be in in a minute, he’s just finishing off in the greenhouse. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Where’s Caroline?” said Emily, changing the subject.

“Oh, she had to pop out love, she’ll be back soon.”

“How’s it going having her back home?” Emily winked at Ben.

“Oh, you know, we can’t get in the bathroom, she plays her terrible music far too loud, it’s like she never left really.” Frances paused. “But I think she realises it’s for the best, just for the moment.” She looked at Ben. “I expect Emily’s told you Caroline had a breakdown?”

“Mum!” said Emily. Even though she had told Ben, she didn’t know why her mother was being so indiscreet, it was most unlike her. Ben looked down embarrassed, at the thin lines of grey grout between the square white tiles, and he thought they looked too clean, too spick, like in a hospital perhaps.

“Sorry darling. I just thought it was best that we all know where we are, so we can have a nice lunch, that’s all.”

“How’s she doing?” said Emily.

“OK under the circumstances, I think.” Frances turned to Ben. “We thought she’d done so well – living in London, great job in fashion, but you never really know what’s going on with some people, do you?”

Ben nodded nervously, not knowing what to say.

Has she gone stark raving mad, thought Emily. She’d never seen her mother like this, it was alarming.

“I just think Ben needs to know, that’s all,” said Frances. “If we’re going to have a nice lunch together,” and then Emily understood. Frances was warning Ben – she obviously still didn’t trust Caroline not to steal her own twin’s boyfriend.

The key scraped in the door. Caroline slouched in, looking amazing. She had streaks of amber through her hair and it was cut shorter than Emily’s, a long asymmetric bob. Her style was distinct, all bold lines and sharp contrasts, and she looked sleek and dangerous. Her eyes glittered and Ben saw what the other two didn’t, but said nothing.

“Hi Ems,” she said and air-kissed her sister. “How’s things? Is this your boyfriend?” And she said it like she was still 16, not 26, and Emily cringed.

“Hello,” said Ben. “Great to meet you.” He felt relieved to see for himself that she was so different from Emily, that they were definitely two separate people, and he caught Emily’s eye to show her it was going to be OK, after all.

Caroline took off her blazer, ostentatiously, revealing a tight orange T-shirt with “Let’s talk” in clashing aquamarine splashed brazenly across her skinny chest, and then she slung the jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and sat down.

“Hear you two really
fell
for each other,” said Caroline. “Sweet.”

Before Emily could think what to say in reply, Andrew came in from the garden. His jeans were ill-fitting, high-waisted, his hands were filthy, his hair had drifted out of place. He’s almost got a comb-over, Emily noticed for the first time, with a stab of sympathy for him. Andrew had always been so handsome, it was a bit pathetic to see him like this.

“Hi, Dad, this is Ben,” she said. Ben held out his hand instinctively and as Andrew shook it clumps of earth fell on the sparkling white floor. Everyone laughed, nervously, except Caroline.

“Come to ask permission, have you?” she sneered, and Emily wondered for the millionth time why Caroline went out of her way to alienate people.

“Not this time,” replied Ben, and Emily thought that that was such the perfect answer, she loved him even more.

Over lunch Ben noticed that Caroline topped up her glass before Andrew offered and before anyone else was ready. He was surprised that they let her, but she was no longer a child, so short of having her sectioned again what were they meant to do? Caroline was a continuing shock to him. He’d been stunned when Emily had told him that first night in Chester that she had an identical twin. He couldn’t believe that there was someone else out there, who looked like Emily, sounded like Emily but that he didn’t know and wasn’t mad about. It was freaky.

She’d told him it all in a rush then, as she lay in her bed beside him, their arms and legs intertwined – about how she and Caroline had never really got on, how at 15 Caroline had been hospitalised for anorexia but then had appeared to recover so quickly, her relationship with her mother somehow miraculously improved – how she’d sailed through all her exams and taken a place at Central St Martin’s, studying fashion. She’d told him how they’d all been so proud of Caroline when she’d done her final show and had sent the models down the catwalk dressed as exotic giant spiders, and it had even made the press. She had glamorous boyfriends, trails of them, and she got herself a trendy flat near Spitalfields and everyone thought she was
fine
. It was her friend Danielle who had finally found Frances’s number on Caroline’s mobile, and begged her to come down –
now
– as Caroline was convinced there were terrorists in the walls and fist-sized spiders down the plug-holes. Frances hadn’t seen her daughter for a couple of months, and she’d been shocked by her daughter’s state. Frances had put it down to Caroline witnessing that horrendous nail-bombing in Soho a few years earlier (and of course she couldn’t bear to think of any other reasons): Caroline and her boyfriend had been caught right in the middle of it and she’d still been so young. It had taken time to take a toll on Caroline’s mind, but the years of hard living and the brittle relationships and her tendency to melodrama anyway had all come together to send her quite mad, and Frances hadn’t known what else to do but call 999.

The ambulance drivers were unsympathetic, unmoved, they just recommended she take her daughter and get her assessed (“It’s for the best love”), and anyway they were about to go off shift so they needed everyone to hurry up. Caroline was in the hospital for just eight weeks, and when she came out she seemed fine again, a little subdued maybe, but definitely on the mend. Frances wouldn’t let her stay in London though, she put her foot down for a change and made Caroline move home again – just for a while, she'd said, just until you get your strength back.

Ben had been stunned. The only histrionics that had occurred in his family was when his mother had reversed his father’s beloved Rover into the garden wall, and, oh yes, one of his cousins had shockingly left his wife within a year of marriage. But that was about it. His family didn’t do drama.

“What've you been doing in the garden?” Ben asked Andrew, as he took the last mouthful of his Sunday dinner.

“Oh, you know, a spot of weeding, pricking out my tomato seedlings, watering the nasturtiums, just a bit of a spring clean now the weather seems to have finally turned.” Ben didn’t know what pricking out was or what kind of plants nasturtiums were, and he nodded politely, unsure what to say.

“More potatoes, Ben?” Frances asked.

“Yes, thanks, they’re great, really crispy.”

Caroline smirked. “Have some more gravy, Ben,” she said, and she shoved the oval gravy boat with the brown flecked pattern that matched the plates, across the tablecloth, over the placemats, towards him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and her fingers brushed his as he tried to take it by the small looped handle and the boat tipped dangerously.

“So what is it you do for a living, Ben?” Andrew asked, although he already knew, Frances had told him that morning.

“I’m afraid that I’m an accountant,” Ben said.

“Wow, that sounds exciting,” said Caroline. “You two must have so much to talk about.”

Emily scowled at her sister. “The beef was nice mum, where’s that from?”

“Oh, I got it from the butcher in the town, darling, I find it's so much better than what the supermarkets sell.”

“Oh, I agree,” said Caroline. “I find dead meat is so much nicer when it’s local, don’t you?”

“Caroline,” said Andrew, mildly. No-one spoke. Ben’s fork scraped agonisingly on his plate. Emily took a sip of her red wine.

“We thought we might take the dog out after lunch,” she said, to break the silence. “It’s such a lovely day, we could take him down by the river.”

“Good idea, mind if I join you?” said Caroline.

“Of course,” said Ben quickly. “In fact, we could all go.”

“Oh, I need to get cleared up,” said Frances. “And Andrew is bound to need to finish up in the garden." She hesitated. "You youngsters go.”

“OK, it’s just us three then,” said Caroline. “Super.”

“Actually, thinking about it, maybe we should give it a miss if that's OK,” said Ben. “I’ve got some work to do, so we probably need to be getting back quite soon anyhow. D'you mind, Emily?”

“Of course not, whatever,” said Emily.

“Shame,” said Caroline, toying with her vegetables, pushing them around the plate as if she was tormenting them. “I do love a nice Sunday afternoon stroll.”

Ben looked across the table and wondered again how Caroline could seem so normal – a bitch certainly, and well on the way to being drunk – but not mad, not anorexic. She caught Ben watching her and raised her glass to him with a mocking smile. “Chin chin,” she said, and took a long swig.

13

As I open the gate to the house I see that the bin men must have been, the front garden has been cleared. Only the wheelie bins and the smashed up furniture remain and it’s at this point I realise that I’ve forgotten the bin bags. Shit, I don’t fancy a tirade from Bev, but I can’t face turning round again with all my shopping and my bulky new picture, so I steel myself and go in. There’s laughter coming from the kitchen – loud machine gun blasts that I haven’t heard before. I plonk my grocery bags down in the hall and run upstairs with the print. I prop it on the bed and I quite like it now, the men look so carefree lunching in the sky, as casual as if they were on a park bench, and it makes me wish that I could be more like them again, less terrified of life. I go down to put my shopping away and flat-pack Jerome is in the kitchen with an exotic Hispanic-looking girl, it's her laugh that I could hear earlier. She's all boobs and hair extensions and chunky gold jewellery, and she's warm and friendly and says, “Ello darleeng,” in a fierce unidentifiable accent. She's laughing at something Angel has just said, who sits in the corner and looks soft and pink in a white fluffy dressing gown. Her hair's still damp, she must have just had a shower, and she looks way too clean for that bathroom, this house.

“Hey Dolores, this is the girl I was telling you about, she tried to kill me with a flying mattress.” Jerome winks at me and Angel giggles, and Dolores lets off another military round of laughter. Swarthy Boy One or Two is at the stove, this time attending to an acrid-smelling stew, I think that’s what it is, or is he boiling his cycle suit? “Let’s Dance” is playing, I used to love that song, and I realise I’ve not listened to music for months. There’s lots of people here and I feel hopelessly shy. I check my watch, it’s nearly six o’clock, where has the time gone today?

I open the fridge and it's stuffed with jars and bottles and God knows what and there appears to be no room for all the food I’ve bought. I didn’t even think of that, but it’s too hot to leave it out. I start trying to shift things around to make some space. As I rummage I discover a liquid courgette wrapped in cling film, a quarter of a tin of beans covered in a thick layer of spawning green mould, a stray cooked sausage of indeterminate age, naked amongst the sad-looking vegetables in the crisper section, a curled up slice of ham. There's a thick layer of grease on all the surfaces, and a deep burgundy stain across the once-white back wall. Although it’s gross I feel it’s rude to start throwing things out, especially after what I’ve done to my bedroom, so I just pile in my things as best I can and ram the door shut.