Perfections (27 page)

‘Stop thinking,’ Loki whispers. He taps her on the forehead. Smiles.

‘Is this all right?’ She traces a finger over his mouth. ‘Being with me like this? Last time, you talked about crossing a line.’

‘It’s an odd feeling,’ he says. ‘But not . . . I think the line has shifted.’

He rolls her onto her back, trails kisses over her breasts and stomach. Only when his mouth moves further down does she flinch and clamp her legs together. ‘Don’t,’ she says. ‘I don’t . . .’ A momentary lapse, a small chink through which her shadow self attempts to crawl. Jacqueline Paige, who prefers darkness for encounters such as these. Darkness, or the forgiving flicker of candlelight. Better for her lovers not to see her scars. Better for her not to see the concern in their eyes. Concern or disgust or, occasionally, an altogether more prurient gleam.

‘It’s okay.’ Loki presses his lips to her thighs. ‘I know about these, remember?’ His tongue flicks over her cross-hatched skin. ‘They don’t worry me.’

‘I’m not going to explain. I don’t think I can–’

‘You don’t have to.’ He keeps kissing her. ‘They’re part of you, Lina, and you don’t have to explain yourself.’ Her name in his mouth. Sexier than anything else he could have said, and she feels herself loosen. Feels herself again become Lina. Flawed, lost,
imperfect
– but nevertheless
loved
. And she leans back. Arches against Loki’s tongue, against Loki’s hands, and allows herself to open.

‘We seem to be pretty good at that,’ Loki says later, much later, after they’ve exhausted themselves twice over.

She laughs. ‘Pretty good, yes.’

She wants to tell him she loves him but the words catch in her throat. It’s not something she has ever told anyone before. Not in this way. Not to mean what she wants to mean right now. Instead, she gets up to pee and brush her teeth. Considers the shower, but only for a moment. She doesn’t want to be clean. Doesn’t want the smell of him, the smell of
them
, to be gone so soon. Back in bed, Lina curls around him. Presses her face into his skin. Listens to his breath deepen and slow. She feels serene. Not the cool dissociation of the blade; far from it. She belongs to her body. To her flesh. It no longer frightens her. No longer seems a cage from which she must escape. She finds this mildly astonishing.

But we’re not real
, Jacqueline whispers.
Neither of us
.

Lina squeezes her eyes shut. Hugs Loki even tighter. ‘I love you,’ she tells him. ‘So much.’ She stays awake until she hears the front door open and her sister creep into the apartment. Then she relaxes. Lies still and listens to Ant make tea and get herself ready for bed. Such a different texture, this sisterly kind of love. Both more and less complicated than what she feels for Loki. Familiar, comfortable. Worn thin at times but never worn through.

Loki and Ant, the two halves of her heart.

Two halves?
Jacqueline scoffs.
Try two thirds. At best
.

‘Stop now,’ Lina murmurs as she drifts towards sleep. Two halves. Two to make one whole and nothing in between. No dark sliver of space. No chamber, narrow and needy, forced closed for too many years.

Just her sister and her beloved. All that she loves. All that she needs to love.

Pitter patter
, Jacqueline whispers.
Pitter patter
.

— 19 —

Antoinette’s mother is right about Dr Chiang. He is a good man, a good doctor to have spent his morning up here on the mountain, sitting on the couch and drinking tea and explaining oh so patiently about syringe drivers and continuous subcutaneous injections and hydromorphone and metoclopramide and a million other scary-sounding medical words that he wrote down for them in careful block letters. Not that they would have to worry about any of that. Starting tomorrow, a homecare nurse would pop in each day to prepare and administer the prescribed dosage, and the nursing service would be on call if anything was needed between visits. Dr Chiang wrote down those details as well. He’s taken care of everything – including, it seems, Sally Paige’s determination not to be taken care of. Her mother sat passively in her armchair the whole time the doctor spoke. Silent and shrunken and wrapped in an oversized pink cardigan, she stared at her slippered feet and nodded whenever it seemed required of her.

At this stage, we’re focusing solely on pain management.

We will make you as comfortable as we can.

Thank you, Sally. Thank you for allowing me to help.

‘You care about my mother a lot,’ Antoinette observes as she walks him out to his car. ‘More than . . . more than you need to, I think.’

Dr Chiang smiles. ‘I’ve known her a very long time.’

‘Were the two of you ever . . . I’m sorry, this isn’t an ethics thing, really. I’m just trying to find out who my mother was. Who she
is
.’ She grimaces. ‘I don’t think I know her very well. Actually, I don’t think I know her at all.’

He holds up his left hand, a wide gold band glinting in the sun. ‘My wife and I have two children. Toby is a teacher now and Grace works in, ah, something to do with computers. Something to do with the internet – don’t ask me exactly what she does, I never understand when she tries to explain it to me.’ He twists the ring around his finger and his smiles fades, dials right the way down. ‘I love my children, and my wife is an excellent mother to them. But if Sally hadn’t married your father, or if your father had left her before . . .’ Dr Chiang sighs. ‘
If.
So much regret in just two letters.’

‘If I wasn’t born?’ Antoinette bristles. ‘Is that what you mean? If your children that you
love so much
weren’t ever born, then maybe you and my mother could have lived happily ever after in a castle far far away? Well, excuse us all for being so bloody inconvenient.’

He blinks. ‘I’m sorry. That was tactless.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re not the first. My mother wishes she hadn’t had me either.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. Sometimes, people in her situation–’

‘Her
situation
?’

‘She’s dying, Antoinette. She’s frightened and she’s in pain. If she says things that seem strange, or hurtful, then you need to make allowances.’

He opens the boot of his car, puts away his medical bag and briefcase, and when he straightens again his face has slid back into neutral. That caring Good Doctor face she remembers from when she was a kid. His hair now fading to grey, more lines dug in around his eyes, but still the kind, soft-spoken man who was always straight up about how much it would hurt, how long it would take to get better, how bad the medicine would taste going down.

‘How’s your sister?’ he asks. ‘You said she was working today?’

‘Yeah, she’s pretty busy right now.’

‘Both of you should realise that your mother is looking at a prognosis of weeks, not months. If you’re having trouble getting time off work, either of you, I’ll be more than happy to write a letter to your employer.’

‘It’s not that. Jacqueline doesn’t . . . there are some issues.’

I never want to see that woman again, Ant.

But she’s our mother, Jacqueline. She’s–

Your mother perhaps, not mine. She was never mine.

‘Talk to her,’ Dr Chiang says. ‘The window for goodbyes is closing.’

His handshake is as firm as when he greeted her earlier, his skin cool and dry, and as Antoinette thanks him she searches his face for a sign that he knows more than he’s letting on about Jacqueline and how she came to be, some hint that Sally Paige has confided in the good doctor after all. But there’s nothing. Merely compassion and professional concern and maybe, just maybe, skulking wounded at their heels, the bone-weary sorrow of a heart too long misplaced.

‘Does
she
love you?’ she asks. ‘I mean, if
you
weren’t married . . .’

‘
If
. That word again.’ His laughter is shrapnel sharp. ‘We’ve never spoken about it, not once. At this stage, I would rather not know.’

Back in the house, her mother is preparing tea. Hands shaking, more water splashing onto the counter than into the pot and Antoinette rushes to take the kettle from her. ‘Here Mum, I’ll do it.’ Steers her away by shoulders grown thin enough to snap, more substance in all that pink wool than in what it covers and Antoinette can’t believe how much her mother has deteriorated. Three weeks, not even, and god, she should have been here, how could she not have been here?

‘I don’t need help,’ Sally Paige rasps. ‘I’m managing fine.’

‘Okay, sure, but I want to help. Please?’

A grunt, dismissive and scornful, but her mother nevertheless permits herself to be led back and resettled into her chair. Sits with knees drawn up beneath the rug that Antoinette finds in the linen closet and holds her teacup with both hands.

‘I have to work tonight,’ Antoinette tells her. ‘But after this shift, I’m taking leave until – well, for as long as you need me. And, don’t worry, I’ll be back here in time for the nurse tomorrow morning.’

Her mother smiles grimly. ‘My dutiful daughter.’

‘Mum, please. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Last time, some of the stuff you said . . .’

‘You don’t have to come and look after me. I’ll have a nurse.’

‘You’ll have a nurse for five minutes a day, Mum. You heard Dr Chiang, it’s best to have someone here full time. Just in case.’

‘Then I’ll get a full-time nurse.’

‘Your insurance won’t cover a full-time nurse, and we can’t afford–’

‘How do you know what I can afford?’

‘I looked into this a little, Mum. It’s not cheap, that kind of care.’

Her mother snorts. ‘You think I don’t know? You think I haven’t
looked into this a little
myself?’ She sips at her tea. ‘There’s still something left from selling your grandmother’s house, even after paying off this one. I’ve been a bookkeeper going on fifteen years now, my dear. Tricky as they are, the concepts of savings and investments haven’t eluded me completely.’

‘Okay,’ Antoinette says. ‘That’s good, that gives us options.’

Even this sick, Sally Paige can summon a glare cold enough to frost glass. ‘You don’t need to take care of me.’ But her voice cracks and she digs into the sleeve of her cardigan for a crumpled tissue, holds it to her mouth as she coughs.

‘You took care of me,’ Antoinette tells her. ‘You took care of both of us, me and Jacqueline, even though you never . . . I mean, you could have put us up for adoption or something. You could have gone on with your life.’

Her mother grimaces. ‘We make our beds. Just because I couldn’t feel like a mother, doesn’t mean I didn’t still want to be one.’ An odd kind of gentleness settles over her face, a warmth that seems almost out of place. ‘I raised two daughters, two good daughters. I did that. I can be proud of that.’

‘Yes,’ Antoinette says. ‘You did.’ Because being a Sally Paige
project
is better than nothing, better than being a failed experiment or, worse, the living reminder of a decision ill-made. ‘For what it’s worth, I do love you. Sometimes, especially these last few weeks, I haven’t really wanted to feel that, but, you’re still my mother. You’re the only mother I have.’

‘What about your sister?’

‘She’s, um, she’s pretty upset by all this. I don’t know if she–’

‘No, what I’m asking is, do you
love
Jacqueline?’

The question startles her. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Even though you know what she is.’

‘That doesn’t . . .’ Antoinette tries to shave the edge from her voice. ‘She’s my
sister
, is what she is. Nothing else is important. Nothing.’

‘Well then.’ Her mother winces as she reaches around to place her cup on the side table. ‘I need you to do something for me. For Jacqueline. I’ve been thinking about it and I believe it’s the right thing to do. It’s what any good mother would do, yes.’

‘What is it?’

‘I need you to take Jacqueline from me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You feel your boy, yes?’ Her mother’s fingers curl into a fist, tap lightly against her own breastbone. ‘In here?’

Antoinette nods. ‘It’s like a small weight, like a stone.’

A stone, Sally Paige agrees, although she has never thought of it quite like that, but yes. And it will always be there, the link, the connection between the two of them – Loki won’t feel it but it’s what tethers him to her. It’s what keeps him alive. Because perfections are not completely autonomous, not in the way human beings are; they’re dependent on their makers, their hosts, for an ongoing source of – energy? essence? soul? – no one has ever agreed on the terminology, let alone the precise mechanics of the process, but that doesn’t stop it from working the way it does. When the host dies, so does any perfection connected to her. Every time.

‘So when you . . .’ Antoinette swallows. ‘Jacqueline will, what? Disappear? Like the fendlies used to?’

‘That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? I’ve already told you, dear, perfections are not the same as whimsies. They’re flesh and blood, like any other living thing. And like any other living thing, they leave a corpse behind them when they go.’

‘She’s just going to die?’ No, not her sister. Not Jacqueline.
No.
‘But she’s only twenty-seven. It’s not fair–’

‘Oh, grow up, child! Since when does
fair
hold any weight in this world?’

Antoinette fights back tears. ‘But you said I could take her from you? And that would work? She’d still be here then, after you, you know.’

‘You can say it. I’m not in any kind of denial.’ A wry smirk hooks her mouth, and she looks more like Sally Paige than she has all morning. ‘And yes, if I give her to you she will survive my death. It’s been done before.’

Relief twists fresh with doubt. ‘But if she’s
my
perfection, will I still love her? Or will it be like with Loki?’

The smirk doesn’t leave her mother’s face. ‘Would it matter?’

‘It’s just that I love her so much. She’s the only person left that I
can
love. If I lose that . . .’

‘You’d rather she die then?’

‘No! Of course not, I just . . .’

‘Stop snivelling.’ Her mother sighs. ‘This is transference, not creation. It won’t change a thing in terms of how you feel towards your sister – or how
I
feel, on the off chance you were wondering.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get my head around all this.’

‘There is one thing you’ll need to give up.’

Antoinette rubs at her eyes. ‘Do I even want to know?’

‘If you take your sister, you won’t be able to hold on to that boy of yours.’

It’s impossible, Sally Paige explains: no woman can host two mature perfections of such complexity as Jacqueline and Loki, especially when one of them wasn’t even hers to begin with. Assimilating her sister will be draining enough without having to maintain Loki at the same time. Sally Paige rubs her lips back and forth, and no, she says over Antoinette’s objections, there’s no way around it. Antoinette will take her sister, and Sally will accept the boy. A swap like this is less simple than a one-way transfer, but it can be done. It will be done.

Jacqueline for Loki. Fair exchange. No refunds, no returns.

‘But what happens to him?’ Antoinette asks. ‘When you die?’

‘I told you what happens.’

‘No.’ She springs to her feet, paces with fast, anxious strides. ‘I can’t just let him . . . no. I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? You don’t love him.’ Her mother merely stares at her. A fish could exhibit more emotion than Sally Paige right now. ‘He was a mistake, dear. You need to fix it.’

‘But I do love him. Not in
that
way, sure, but it’s still love.’ Tears slide down her cheeks, and she snatches a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘He’s like family, Mum, he’s
my family
, and I’m responsible for him. You’re asking me to kill him. To let you kill him.’

‘No. I’m asking you to save your sister’s life.’

‘What if I just have them both?’

‘That’s impossible, I told you. You could never–’

‘Why?’ Antoinette shouts. ‘Why is it impossible, Mum? What happens if I have them both? You made Jacqueline
and
Charlie, remember? You made two perfections, so it can’t be
impossible
.’

‘Best case scenario?’ The words are cold and hard. ‘You get tired – more than tired; exhausted,
fatigued
– all the time. Every minute, every day. Your body can’t handle the stress so you get sick, maybe you get cancer, yes? You follow? Our bodies aren’t made to cope with this. Supporting lives not our own. One is bad enough, you’ll see. But two? My dear, you have no idea.’