Secret Smile (3 page)

'I towelled her hair for her,' said
Brendan.

'That's enough,' I said, lifting up my
hand, pretending to laugh. 'We'll stop with the getting dry, shall we?'

'I can't tell you how relieved I am that
you know,' said Kerry. 'When I discovered about you two, well, for a bit I
thought it would ruin everything. I would never do anything to hurt you. You
know that, don't you?' She looked remarkably pretty: soft and slim and radiant.
There was a small pain in my chest.

'You deserve to be happy,' I said, turning
my back on Brendan and speaking only to her.

'I am happy,' she said. 'We've only known
each other for a few days, ten to be precise, and it's not been long since the
two of you — well, you know... So perhaps I shouldn't say this, but I can't
remember being so happy.'

'That's good,' I said. Ten days, I
thought.

We ate our meal, drank our wine. Glasses
chinked. I smiled and nodded, and said yes and no in the right places, and all
the time I was thinking. Trying not to think. Not to remember: the way his
tummy bulged slightly over his boxer shorts; the black hair on his shoulders...

Finally I looked down at my watch and gave
a fake start of surprise at the time it was, though it was only just gone
nine-thirty, and told them I had to get back — early start tomorrow; long
drive, no time for coffee, so sorry... We had to go through the whole rigmarole
of saying goodbye, with Kerry hugging me hard and Brendan kissing me too close
to my mouth and I resisting the urge to wipe the dampness away with the back of
my hand, and everyone saying how we must meet again very soon, oh yes, how
lovely I'd been, how kind, how
good.

He walked me to the door of the
restaurant.

'It's been raining,' he said.

I ignored him.

'It's an incredible coincidence,' I said.

'What?'

'I break off with you and a few days later
you meet my sister in the street and you start going out. It's hard to
believe.'

'There's no such thing as coincidence,'
said Brendan. 'Maybe it's not surprising that I'd fall in love with someone who
looked like you.'

I looked over Brendan's shoulder at Kerry,
still sitting at the table. She caught my eye and gave me a nervous smile and
glanced away. When I spoke to Brendan I smiled, so that our conversation would seem
friendly to Kerry.

'Brendan,' I asked, 'is this some kind of
weird joke?'

He looked puzzled and a bit hurt.

'Joke?'

'If you're playing with my sister as some
way of getting at me.'

'That sounds pretty self-centred,' said
Brendan, 'if you don't mind my saying so.'

'Just don't hurt her,' I said. 'She
deserves to be happy.'

'Trust me. I know how to make her happy.'

I couldn't bear to be with him another
second. I walked home through the damp streets, breathing in deeply, letting
the air cool my face. Had he really fallen in love with Kerry? Did it really
matter how they had met? I walked faster, till my legs ached with the effort.

I often think of positions in families,
the difference it makes to you. Would I have been someone else if I'd been the
oldest? What about Kerry, if she'd been in the middle, instead of me? Would she
have been more confident and extrovert, more like me — or, at least, more like
the me the family assumed I was? And Troy, the baby of the family, who came
along nine years after me? If he hadn't been all on his own, the obvious
mistake, what would that have meant for him? Or if he'd had brothers who could
teach him how to kick a football and use his fists and play violent computer
games, instead of sisters who petted and ignored him?

But we were stuck with what we'd been
given. Kerry had come first and had to lead the way, although she hated being a
leader. And I was second, impatient to grow up and chafing to be first, always
trying to overtake her, push her out of my way. And Troy was third and the only
boy — very much the last, but almost the first as well, thin-shouldered,
wide-eyed, dreamy, strange.

I let myself into the flat. It was true
that I had an early start tomorrow, but for a while I couldn't get to sleep. I
lay in bed, shifting to different positions, turning the pillow to find a
cooler spot. There was no photograph of Kerry in my flat, of course there
wasn't. But then I hadn't believed Brendan's story anyway, so what did it
matter? He tracked down Kerry because she was my sister. Considered from a
certain angle, it might seem romantic.

CHAPTER 4

As I drove home from work the following
day, the buildings wavered in the drizzle, the skyline was soft and blurred. If
it were this time in summer, then it would be light for hours more, but now
people were drawing their curtains, turning lights on. In my flat, I pulled off
my overalls and stood under a tepid shower for thirty seconds before dressing
in a baggy pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I stood in front of the
mirror and pulled in my stomach. What had Brendan said about my weight? I
turned sideways to the glass and gazed at myself, dissatisfied. Maybe I should
start running. Every morning before going out to work, perhaps. What a horrible
idea.

The phone rang as I was leaving to meet
Laura.

'Miranda?'

'Hi, Mum.'

'I tried calling before, but there was
never any reply.'

'My answering machine's packed up.'

'How are you? Are you all right?'

'Fine.'

'Sure?'

I wasn't going to help her.

'I'm fine, Mum. Just a bit tired. I've
been busy at work, now Bill's away. How are you and Dad?'

'I spoke to Kerry. She said you'd had a
lovely dinner together.'

'It was nice to see her.' I paused and
then relented. 'And Brendan.'

'Miranda, you're being very good about
this. Don't think we don't realize the effort. I just wish you'd told us when
it all happened. I hate to think of you being miserable and not telling me.'

'There wasn't anything to tell. Everyone's
got the wrong idea.'

'If it's any consolation, Kerry is
transformed. You saw what she looked like yourself. She's like a different
person. I'm happy. But I'm almost frightened as well.'

'You mean because Brendan might leave
her?'

'Oh, don't say that! Anyway, he seems to
adore her too.' I was silent for a second too long and she said sharply,
'Miranda? Don't you think so?'

'They both seem very happy,' I said.

'So are you really all right?'

'Really. But I'm running a bit late.'

'Yes, but before you dash off, will you
come over at the weekend? How about Sunday lunch? Then we can all get
together.'

'You mean, with Brendan too?'

'With Kerry and Brendan, yes.'

My stomach clenched.

'I'm not sure I'm free then.'

'I know it's hard for you, Miranda, but I
feel this is important. For Kerry, I mean.'

'It's not hard for me. At all. I just
don't know if I'm free, that's all.'

'We could make it Saturday lunch. Or even
the evening if that suited you better. Or are you going away for the whole
weekend?'

'All right. Sunday,' I said, defeated.

'It'll be very casual. You'll be fine.'

'I know I'll be fine. I'm not anxious. Not
in the least. Everyone's got the wrong idea.'

'Maybe you can bring someone with you.'

'What?'

'Someone. You know. If there's anyone...'

'There isn't anyone at the moment, Mum.'

'I suppose it's still early days.'

'I've got to go now.'

'Miranda?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, I don't know. It's just... well,
you've always been the lucky one. Let Kerry have her turn. Don't stand in her
way.'

'This is stupid.'

'Please.'

I imagined her fist clenched tightly round
the receiver, her frowning, intense face, the strand of hair that always hung
loose over one eye.

'It'll all be fine,' I said, just to stop
her. 'I promise I won't do anything to stand in Kerry's way. Now I really do
have to go. I'll see you tomorrow when I pick up Troy, though.'

'Thank you, dear Miranda,' she said
emotionally. 'Thank you.'

'I never met him, did I?'

We were sitting cross-legged on the floor,
backs against the sofa, eating jacket potatoes. Laura had dotted sour cream on
hers, but I'd split mine open and mashed several large knobs of butter into it,
then sprinkled grated cheese over the top. It was very comforting. Outside it
was dark and wet.

'No, it was so brief. When you went to
Barcelona it was before the beginning, and when you came back it was after the
end.'

'You
finished it with him?'

'That's right.'

'So why do you mind?'

'I don't,' I said before all the words
were out of her mouth.

'You do. I can tell you do.'

I thought for a moment.

'Yes, I do. Because it's creepy. It feels
incestuous. And the way my mum and presumably everybody else thinks I'm
heartbroken. It makes me want to smash things.'

'I can see it must be irritating, but it's
quite funny too.'

'No,' I said. 'Not in any way at all. She
calls him "Bren".'

'Well

'And he called me "Mirrie".'

'Families,' said Laura vaguely. She wiped
her chin.

'Mirrie,' I repeated. Then, 'Am I
overreacting?'

'Maybe.'

'You're right. I'm overreacting.'

I'd eaten all the potato and only the
crisped skin was left. I put a bit more butter on it and bit off a piece. Then
I took a large swallow of wine. I didn't want to move; it was warm in here and
I was full up and pleasantly tired, while outside the wind rustled in the trees
and cars drove through puddles.

'How are things with Tony?' I asked after
a while.

'Oh. All right. I suppose.'

I looked at her. She'd pushed her glossy
dark hair behind her ears, and her face looked very young.

'You suppose? What does that mean?'

'They're OK. You know. It's just sometimes...'
She stopped.

'Sometimes?'

'Sometimes I wonder what happens next.'
She frowned and poured the last of the wine into our two glasses. 'I mean,
we've been together for nearly three years. Do we just continue like this? I
think that's what Tony would like, just to go on year after year, being
comfortable together, as if we were already married — except with separate
houses. Or do we start living together — properly, I mean. Buy a place
together. A fridge. Plates. Put our books and CDs together. You know. And if we
don't, then what are we doing together now? You have to keep moving forwards,
don't you?'

'I don't know. I've never been in a
relationship that long.'

'That's the thing. You have all these
dramas and excitements in your life.'

'Me?'

'Things beginning and things ending.'

'And things not happening at all.'

'Yes,' she said doubtfully. 'But I'm only
twenty-six. Is that part of my life all over? Is this it?'

'Do you want to move in together?'

'Well, sometimes I think it'd be . . .'

But then there was the sound of a key in
the lock and the door swung open.

'Hello,' Tony called cheerfully, dropping
his bag on the hall floor with a thump, kicking first one shoe then the other
off" his feet, so his shoes skidded over the wooden boards. He came into
the room, hair damp on his forehead, cheeks reddened from the air. 'Oh, hi,
Miranda. How are you?'

He bent down and kissed Laura, and she put
one hand up to his cheek and smiled at him. It looked all right to me.

He was out of the door before I'd even
parked the van, and running down the garden path. He couldn't wave because he
had a bulging plastic bag in one hand and was holding his backpack by the
other, but his pale face was shining, and he was grinning and saying something
to me that I couldn't hear. He tripped over something on the path and half
stumbled. His backpack swung against his legs, but he kept on smiling and
mouthing words. Sometimes it is more painful to see Troy happy than to see him
low.

'Hi there,' I said as he pulled open the
door and clambered into the passenger seat, his bag getting tangled up with his
angular body in the process. 'How's it going?'

'Fine. Good. Really good.' He wrapped the
safety belt round himself and his baggage. 'I've been teaching myself to play
the guitar, you know. Do you remember your old guitar? I found it in the junk
room. It's a bit clapped out, but I don't suppose that matters much at the
moment. Anyway, I thought I'd cook us supper tonight, all right? I brought the
stuff with me. You haven't got any other plans, have you?'