The Making of Us (42 page)

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Because he’s gay!’ hooted Robyn. ‘So, you know, he has to sort of
bend
his
dick
. To get it into other men’s bottoms!’

Lydia raised her head with understanding and let a smile break over her face. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I get it. I can’t believe I never thought of that. But he’s not gay.’

‘Oh,’ said Dean, still laughing, ‘I think you’ll find he is. Totally.’

‘No. Honestly. He’s not.’

‘Who the
fuck
is Bend Dicks anyway?’ asked Robyn, impatiently.

‘Bendiks is my lodger,’ said Lydia. ‘He lives with me. And he’s also my personal fitness trainer.’

‘Oh,’ said Robyn making a wide O of her mouth. ‘I
see
.’

‘What!’ laughed Lydia.

‘But seriously, Lydia,’ said Dean. ‘He’s as gay as fuck. It’s obvious.’

She tutted and smiled and said, ‘Seriously. He’s not. I thought he was too. But then I asked him.’

‘What? For real? And what did he say?’

‘He didn’t
say
anything. He just …’ She paused. ‘He kissed me.’

Their eyes opened wide and Robyn covered her mouth with her hands and for a moment Lydia felt like their ancient aunt.

‘Well,’ said Dean, ‘I suppose that means that I was wrong. But I could have sworn …’

‘He plucks his eyebrows,’ said Lydia, and Robyn and Dean laughed again. ‘Really – men who pluck their eyebrows just look gay. Don’t they?’

‘Well,
yeah
,’ said Dean. ‘Tell him to stop. Tell him he’s giving out the wrong signals.’

And at that very moment Tom Jones launched into ‘Sex Bomb.’ All of them laughed at the appropriateness of the soundtrack. Dean had finished assembling the spliff and he suggested that they sit out on the terrace to smoke it. The girls followed him, Robyn with a blanket around her shoulders, Lydia in her cardigan. The air outside was sharp and chilled and the rattan chairs were damp beneath their skin.

‘Nice view,’ said Robyn, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. ‘I didn’t notice we’d driven so far from town.’

Dean brought a lighted match to the tip of the spliff and lit it. Lydia watched him, suppressing a maternal desire to tell him that he really shouldn’t, that it was bad for him, that he’d said he’d stop. But Dean had a mother. That was not her job.

‘What’s it like where you live?’ Robyn asked her.

Dean laughed.

‘What?’ said Robyn.

‘Nothing,’ said Dean, ‘just a good question, that’s all.’

Lydia sighed and smiled. ‘I live in quite a big house,’ she said. ‘Dean thinks it’s funny.’

‘Have you been there?’ asked Robyn, directing wide eyes at him.

‘Yeah. Loads of times. And it’s not a “very big house” – it’s a stately home! It’s got its own fucking postcode!’

‘Oh, it does not,’ chided Lydia. ‘Honestly. It’s just a house. A big one. You’ll have to come and visit.’

‘Cool!’ Robyn replied. ‘And will I get to meet your gay boyfriend, too?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend! I told you.’

Robyn threw her a mischievous look and smiled. ‘Whatever,’ she said, knowingly.

Lydia sucked in her breath as she pondered the possibility of sharing something with Dean and Robyn. She felt again the difference in age between her and her younger siblings and wondered how they would react to hearing her problems. But then she asked herself, wasn’t this what it was all about? Wasn’t this the whole point of being related to people? ‘What do you make of this?’ she began. And then she told them about the bankruptcy and the £50 notes and the piles of designer clothes and Juliette’s suspicions. ‘Did you like him?’ she asked, turning to Dean. ‘You met him – what did you make of him?’

Dean shrugged, as she’d known he would. ‘Just thought he was gay really.’

Robyn stifled a laugh.

‘No, seriously. Thought he seemed like a nice guy. A bit intense, you know, but that’s East Europeans for you. Didn’t strike me as a sponger, though.’

Lydia sighed.

‘I’m sure there’s a rational explanation,’ said Robyn, reassuringly. ‘I mean, maybe someone else bought him all the stuff?’

Lydia shrugged. She knew that couldn’t be the case. She knew deep inside herself that she was being taken for a fool. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, ‘it was never meant to be anything serious. It was only ever just some fun, you know …’ She trailed off, hoping that she’d sounded nonchalant and cool, but, judging by the look of pity on her sister’s face, failing miserably. ‘What about you?’ she asked, swiftly changing the subject. ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

Robyn curled her feet up beneath her and shivered slightly. ‘I certainly do. And if you think thinking that your boyfriend might be gay is bad, listen to this.’

Lydia and Dean looked at her, questioningly.

‘I thought mine was my brother.’

Lydia eyed Robyn with squinted eyes over a cloud of smoke and said, ‘Continue.’

She smiled. ‘It’s not actually very funny at all. But when I first started going out with my boyfriend, there was this one time when I saw him in the mirror and I thought it was me. And then a load of my friends met him and were saying all this stuff about how he might be my brother. Because, well, he might have been, mightn’t he? And I didn’t even know then that I had two brothers. And I started freaking out. And then I found out that my second brother, you know,’ she gestured towards Lydia, ‘little Thomas, had been born the same year as my Jack, and I
still had sex with him
. Isn’t that totally fucked up? I mean, seriously? I was sleeping with him at the same time as thinking he might be my brother.’

Dean looked at her and grimaced. ‘That’s fucked up,’ he said.

‘Er,
yeah
,’ said Robyn, raising her eyebrows. ‘I know it was. But I just couldn’t stop myself. It was like – it was like this uncontrollable force. But after a while I just couldn’t deal with it and I dumped him. Well, I didn’t dump him, I just sort of cooled off. Didn’t see him for a while. Which was
hideous
. But, of course, it turns out that it was fine. You know, that Jack is not, in fact, my brother, and that I am not, in fact, a disgusting pervert. His mum came round to see me and I asked her and she said I was nuts! So it’s all cool. But still. You know. Sick or what?’

She cackled with laughter then and it was clear to Lydia that this was the first time she had been able to laugh about such an important thing. It was clear that this was the first time she had found any humour in it whatsoever, and Lydia thought to herself that, yes, this was what it was like to have brothers and sisters; this lightness of spirits, this banter and laughter and the shaking off of unnecessary weight from serious subjects, the peeling back of clouded issues.

‘Did you ever tell him?’ Lydia asked her. ‘Did you tell him what you’d thought?’

Robyn shook her head emphatically. ‘No way,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘Because he’d have thought I was a freak. Thinking he was my brother but shagging him anyway. And he’d hate me for lying to him. Wouldn’t he?’

There was a doubt at the end of the question and Lydia gave it some thought. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Why would he hate you? It’s not your fault. It’s not. We’ve
all
got these weird, crazy backgrounds, and we have to make these bizarre excuses for ourselves all the time. And if he loves you and cares about you, he’ll understand that, surely?’

Robyn nodded. ‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘I know he still feels freaked out about us splitting up. I’ve never really been able to explain it to him. But maybe I should. Maybe you’re right. All this weirdness is part of who I am. He’ll have to accept that. And, you know, all this, meeting you two, seeing our donor today, all of it, it’s just made me realise what’s been wrong with my life this last year. And …’ She stopped talking for a moment and drew in her breath. Then she smiled. ‘And what I need to do to fix it. Because I always thought my donor was a god and I was some kind of deity myself. But really, he’s just a man and I’m just a girl and the rest of my life is not carved out in stone and from here on in I am going to
wing it
.’ She smiled with satisfaction at her closing words and Lydia felt her own heart fill with pride, seeing someone so young work it out all for themself.

Lydia watched Dean rub the end of the spliff out against the brick wall and then tuck it into his jacket pocket. ‘Funny, that,’ he said, pushing his hands into his pockets and stretching back against his chair, ‘because all this has made me feel completely the opposite. Been winging it too long.’ He sniffed. ‘Meeting you two, both so clever and so … what’s the word? You know,
driven
and stuff … it’s made me wonder what else I could be doing. It’s like, no one ever let me think I should be doing anything with my life. Everyone always let me think it was OK just to drift along. The only person who ever thought I should be more than I am was Sky …’

‘Who’s Sky?’

Dean winced and wriggled against the back of his chair. ‘She was my girlfriend. Mother of my kid. She died …’

Robyn recoiled slightly and said, ‘Oh, no, Dean. I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s life, isn’t it? I wish it hadn’t happened. Worst thing that ever happened to me. But it did, and now I’m getting on with it. You know. And I’m thinking maybe I can be the person she wanted me to be. You know, get off my skinny arse and do something. Contribute something. I mean …’ he smiled ‘… I reckon it’s got to be there in me somewhere. In my genes. I come from a pretty bright family, after all …’

‘And what about your child?’ said Robyn. ‘Tell me about your child.’

‘Little girl,’ he replied. ‘Isadora. Izzy for short. She’s nearly four months old.’

‘Wow!’ Robyn’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘A baby. You’ve got a baby. And that means … that means that I’m an auntie!’

‘Yeah,’ smiled Dean. ‘Yeah. That’s right – you both are.’

‘Oh my God,’ she laughed, and turned towards Lydia. ‘Did you hear that? You and me – we’ve got a niece! We’re aunties! That’s, just, like the coolest thing
ever
!’ She turned back to Dean. ‘Have you got a picture of her? A picture of Izzy?’

‘As it happens …’ he smiled and felt around inside his coat ‘… I did bring one along. My mum gave it to me before I left. Here she is —’

He sparked up his lighter and held the flame in front of the photo. Lydia leaned in closely, her head almost touching Robyn’s. She had never seen a picture of the baby before either. And there she was, a little half-formed person with wide eyes, a plump mouth and a head of thick dark hair. ‘Oh, yes,’ said Robyn, touching one corner of the photo with her thumb and forefinger. ‘Oh, yes, indeed – she is one of us. Without a
doubt
, she is one of us …’

The three of them sat like that for a moment, three dark heads held close together around the soft flame of the lighter, staring in awe and affection at this proof of the power of their connection. This baby, much more than the man fading away in the hospice down the road, was what bound them together. Lydia stared into the child’s dark eyes and felt her own eyes dampen with tears. Suddenly she knew what babies were for. She’d never understood before what possible role a baby would ever play in her life. But now she did.

Continuity.

The soothing reassurance that it would all carry on, minute after minute, day after day, year after year, century after century. The knowledge that there was more to life than her own limited experience of existence; that long after she was gone, there would be others like her; that maybe one day, when all that was left of her was a granite block in a Welsh cemetery, a person somewhere might say something like:
My mother’s great-aunt made a fortune out of paint, you know
. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe she would never be spoken of again, her headstone obliterated by moss and grime. But still, just to know it … just to know that there was more than just her. And to remember that without all the reproduction and continuity there was just age and decay. A big full stop. And here, in Dean’s hands, was proof that life really would go on.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Robyn said, loosening her hold on the photo, ‘really, really beautiful.’

‘Yeah,’ said Dean quietly, letting the flame of the lighter die out and slowly returning the photo to his inside pocket. ‘Which is pretty miraculous really, given that she looks just like me.’

His comment lightened the mood and all three of them laughed.

‘So,’ said Dean, slapping his thighs. ‘Who fancies a bowl of cornflakes then?’

They ate their cornflakes, on their knees, around the coffee table. The clock said 2.30 a.m. yet still it seemed too early to call it a night.

They were family now. Lydia knew that, and she sensed that the others knew it too. It would be surprising if they didn’t come together as a threesome again over the years to come – but this, what they were doing here tonight, this would never be repeated. The combination of factors that had brought them all here … the fact that they were in their father’s home waiting for him to die, the lateness of the night, the fullness of the moon … but more than that – the newness of it all. This was their first date and Lydia didn’t want it to end.

They ate in silence, just the sounds of their spoons hitting china, the crunch of the cereal between their teeth, breaking the peace. When they’d finished they immediately returned to the kitchen and poured themselves second bowls, and then, when they’d finished those, they opened another bottle of wine, rolled another spliff and headed back out to the terrace. The sky was already losing its blackness and the moon had shifted out of sight. It would be dawn before too long.

Lydia shivered slightly and Robyn pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and draped it across their knees. And then she snuggled up against Lydia and rested her head on her shoulder. Lydia stiffened slightly. The gesture was reminiscent of Dixie’s in the early days of their friendship – ‘touchy-feely’, Lydia had called it, and in return Dixie had laughed and called her the Tin Man. Lydia thought of those moments now with the weight of Robyn’s head against her shoulder, the tickle of her hair against her cheek, the hard points of her knees against her thigh, and she reached deep down inside herself to find something she knew was in there somewhere, something basic and human and raw, and as she did so she felt it rushing through her, from her heart to her feet to her hands. Lydia put her arm around Robyn’s small, neat shoulders and pulled her closer. And then she rested her head against Robyn’s head and breathed in the smell of her, the smell of her sister.