The New Woman (9 page)

Kate seemed to understand what Carmela was trying to do. She entered into the spirit of things, talking animatedly about the archaeological dig she’d just left. She gave a potted history of the site, which had been occupied for over six thousand years;
she described the implications of their finds; she talked about the blistering heat. When she finally began to flag, Carmela asked about the subject she was planning for her Master’s dissertation, which—Simon discovered—was all to do with dating methods with reference to this particular site. She described various techniques, and explained why she’d chosen this site in order to analyse their effectiveness (it had destruction layers to die for, apparently).

As Simon listened, he almost forgot that this was his scrawny little sister. Get her on to her own subject and she was pretty impressive, he had to admit. He was grateful to her, and to Carmela, who kept prompting her to continue. The younger generation was saving the day, while their parents—generally so polished and hospitable—seemed to have gone to pieces. Neither Luke nor Eilish was speaking, or eating, or engaged in any way.

‘Fascinating,’ he said, to fill the next silence. ‘Gosh. Um, when did you get back?’

‘Flew in on Friday, just in time for Mathis and John’s party—d’you remember, I used to share a house with them? Well, they had their civil union when I was away, and Friday night was the big celebration bash. It was a wedding reception, really. They’re so sweet together.’

Wendy had lost interest during the conversation about archaeology, but now her eyes were round and sorrowful. ‘Kate, that’s terribly sad.’

‘Sad? Why sad, Aunt Wendy?’ There was a dangerous sweetness in Kate’s voice. Simon knew exactly what
that
meant. Take cover, he thought. Trouble ahead.

‘They’re acting against their natures,’ said Wendy.

‘They certainly are
not
. Mathis and John are as committed to one another as any married couple I’ve ever known. And far happier than most.’

‘It’s . . . you know, it’s what they do . . .’ Wendy screwed up her face in delicate disgust. ‘You’re quite right to love them as people, but what they’re doing is a sin.’

‘A sin.’ Kate put down her knife and fork, while Simon mentally donned a tin hat. ‘Tell me something, Wendy. Do you know Mathis or John? No, you don’t. So what makes you qualified to have an opinion about them?’

‘Some things are natural. Some things simply are not. And what they do is—’

Wendy hadn’t finished her sentence before Eilish was on her feet, mumbling something about a headache. She charged upstairs, and a moment later the house shuddered as a door slammed shut. Everyone winced.

Mum doesn’t slam doors. Kate slams doors.

Silence.

‘Why did Granny run away?’ asked Nico.

‘Excuse me,’ said Luke, as he stood up too. ‘Sorry. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Please carry on without us . . . Kate, Simon, could you make sure everyone has what they need?’ He took the stairs two at a time, and disappeared.

‘Now Grandpa’s run away as well!’ cried Nico, and he began to cry.

‘Was it something I said?’ asked Wendy.

Luke

I found her leaning her forehead against the window, looking out across the drive towards the woods. This room knew everything about us. It had seen a young and hopeful couple setting up their first home together; it had been the backdrop as they travelled through the passing years. It had witnessed passion and grief and helpless laughter, arguments and makings-up, and raucous Christmas mornings with wrapping paper scattered across the floor.

Other things, too. It had watched me at those times when Eilish was out and I’d given in to my desperate need. It knew everything.

She spoke without looking around. ‘Why did you marry me?’

‘Because I was in love with you. I still am.’

‘Oh. Nothing to do with convenience, then? Nothing to do with providing a respectable cover? I think it was that.’

I crossed the room to join her at the window, ransacking my mind for true answers. I had to be honest now. No more secrets.

‘Wasn’t I enough?’ she asked.

‘You were more than enough!’

‘Obviously not.’

‘The opposite is true,’ I protested. ‘You were so miraculous . . . I thought you could save me. I really thought I could conquer this thing, if I had you.’

We stood side by side, a universe apart. I could almost hear her heartbeat. Noises filtered up from downstairs: a murmur of conversation, the quiet clattering of crockery, and eventually the thud of a car door. Someone was leaving. I really ought to go down there to see them off. It was my duty to play yet another role—that of the cheerful and apologetic host whose wife has suffered a sudden migraine. ‘Don’t worry,’ I would say. ‘She’ll be fine after a lie-down—she’s so sorry, it just hit her—please don’t feel you have to leave, let’s have a cup of tea.’ I knew all about playing roles. I was an old hand.

As Mum’s car headed down the drive, Eilish moved listlessly. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘We still have guests.’

‘I don’t want to leave you alone.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s you who’s hurt me, though, isn’t it?’

She was broken, and I couldn’t put her together again.

When I walked downstairs I was met by a reception committee. Kate and Simon were standing by the cleared table, waiting for me. It was years since I’d seen them look so unified.

‘Granny’s gone. She’s dropping Wendy at the station,’ said Kate. ‘Carmela and Nico are playing on the hay bales. Dad, please. This is awful. Tell us what’s going on.’

Simon nodded. ‘If one of you is ill, or if there’s some serious problem, I think we have a right to know.’

They eyed me with wary determination. My children. This pair, and their mother, were at the centre of my existence. I would die for them if I had to. In fact, that’s what I’d intended to do, that very week.

Out in the garden, a thousand birds seemed to be singing. There were roses in a bowl on our kitchen table. I could retire soon, and travel with my beloved wife, and be a sedate grandfather. My children were clever, good, contented people; my grandson was the apple of everyone’s eye. And I was about to lose it all.

For one last breath, I wavered. Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps I could still turn back.

‘We deserve the truth, Dad,’ said Kate. ‘We’re adults.’

Nine

Kate

She laughed. She laughed, loud and long. He was obviously joking. Her oh-so-respectable Dad with a wig and false boobs, tottering along the street! Frigging hilarious.

‘You
are
kidding.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Everything had been cleared away, except Eilish’s yellow roses. More petals had fallen. They lay on the lace cloth, curling up as though they were in pain. Kate sat at the table, opposite her father. Simon leaned his hands on the kitchen counter, staring down at the floor between his feet. It wasn’t until later that Kate realised he’d been stunned. Literally, stunned. Their dad might as well have hit him on the back of the head with a spade. One minute Simon was waltzing through his smug life—just a normal, boring, basically quite nice guy—and the next minute he was flat out on the ground with a big hole where his respectability used to be.

‘Gender dysphoria,’ he kept muttering. ‘I don’t get it.’ Each time he said that, Dad patiently found a new way to explain.

‘You’re having us on,’ said Kate. She was still trying to giggle, as though by laughing she could make it all a joke. What she really wanted to do was run away. ‘You’re my dad. Ergo, you are a man.’

‘Yes, I am your dad. And I am a man.’

‘Glad to hear it!’

‘At least . . . I have a male body; but that body feels completely wrong. It’s as though they got the wrong model off the shelf when I was born.’

Kate knew of people who’d experimented with their gender; she’d once had a lecturer who was a trans woman. She wished them well. But this was different. This was her father.

‘D’you mean . . . you want to cross-dress?’ she asked now, hoping he’d scoff at the idea.

He didn’t scoff. He nodded, and she felt her world shake.

‘Shit. Have you ever actually . . . ?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I have cross-dressed.’

No. You can’t have. You really can’t.

‘Look, this isn’t about what I wear,’ he said. ‘It’s about who I am. Who I really am.’

This is a weird dream, she thought, and picked up a yellow petal. It was so soft. When she rolled it between her finger and thumb, it crumbled into almost nothing. Funny how roses look loveliest when they’re dying and bits are falling off them.

Abruptly, Simon seemed to come back to life. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ His voice was too loud.

‘I’m not playing, Simon.’

‘Please tell me this is a hoax! I’ve got news for you, Dad. Listen, and listen carefully. You are
male
. You’re a father and a grandfather, and a brother and a husband, and you’re fifty-five years old. Jesus Christ! It’s a bit late to decide you’re a screaming shirt lifter.’

‘I’m not gay.’

‘You want to put on a dress. You fancy men. I’ve met perverts like that before.’

‘Not perverts,’ said Kate. ‘They’re—’

‘Shut up, Kate, for Christ’s sake! Spare me the political correctness. This is our father, not one of your trendy gender-bender mates.’

Luke raised his hand. ‘I don’t fancy men. Not at all. This has absolutely nothing to do with my sexuality.’

‘What is it about, then?’ asked Kate. ‘If not sexuality?’

‘Gender.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘The two are completely separate. You
know
that, Kate! Ask John and Mathis.’

Simon had stormed off to the other end of the kitchen during this exchange. He seemed to be in physical pain, unable to stand still. Now he was back, with his fists pressed to the top of his head. ‘You dress in women’s clothes! How can you do this to Mum?’

‘Not . . . all right. Yes, I sometimes do—but the clothes aren’t the point. I’m not cross-dressing for the sake of it. I’m not a transvestite. That’s a different thing, you see? I identify as female. I actually—’

‘
Jesus
.’

‘Go on, Dad,’ urged Kate.

‘I actually think of myself as female. God knows I’ve tried to deny it, tried to kill it, tried to hide it under layers and layers of other things—but it’s the inner core of me and it won’t die until I do.’

There was a nasty tightness around Simon’s jaw, as though steel cords were knotted under the skin. Kate had seen it before, on her first boyfriend, when he was about to hit her.

‘I don’t care what labels you stick on this fucked-up weirdness,’ he shouted. ‘If you’ve been wearing skirts and high heels, you’re no father of mine. You’re a freak! You should’ve been drowned at birth.’

‘Hey, Simon,’ said Kate. ‘Hang on a minute.’

Simon smashed his fist on the table, right in front of Luke. The bowl of roses jumped. Petals rained down. ‘What about Mum? Is she collateral damage?’

Suddenly, this boring brother seemed menacing. Kate jumped to her feet, ready to intervene, but she didn’t have to, because Carmela and Nico chose that moment to return. Nico’s fingers
gripped a bunch of wildflowers.

‘I picked all of these for Granny,’ he announced happily, standing in the doorway. He couldn’t quite manage his ‘
r
’s’.

‘Don’t come in. Turn around. We’re going,’ said Simon, barring their way.

‘Now?’ Carmela looked mystified. ‘But why? He has flowers for Eilish.’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

Give that Spaniard her due, thought Kate, she’s no wilting pansy. Carmela wasn’t used to being pushed around and she wasn’t scared of Simon. Kate couldn’t hear what was said, but she could tell from the furious whispering that Carmela was not impressed. While his parents argued, Nico ducked past them and trotted in through the open doors. His face fell when he saw that Eilish still hadn’t come down.

‘Granny?’ he asked, looking all around.

Kate rather liked her nephew. He took no shit from anyone, and she respected that. Now his whole world was about to be turned upside down. Poor kid.

‘She’s still not feeling very well, little man,’ said Luke.

‘Aw! Still not very well?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Flowers will make her feel better.’ Nico held out his gift. ‘You can have them, Grandpa, if you promise to share them with Granny.’

‘Thank you, my friend.’ Luke’s voice was gentle. ‘This is the first bunch of flowers I have ever been given. Please may I have a kiss goodbye, if I promise to share that with Granny too?’

Grinning, Nico hooked his arms around Luke’s neck and planted a noisy kiss on his nose. ‘Byeee!’ he cooed. ‘See you later, alligator.’

‘In a while, crocodile. I love you.’ Luke kept hugging the little boy, as though he might never see him again.

Simon was back. ‘Get your hands off my son,’ he snarled, snatching the poor little bugger away. Simon didn’t sound like
himself; his voice was distorted. Kate had a feeling he might be very close to tears, but it was hard to tell. Rage, grief . . . even fear, she thought. They all sound the same.

Carmela had followed. She faced Luke, her gaze incredulous. ‘Simon has just told me . . . I cannot believe what he has just told me. Is it true?’

‘I’m the same person I’ve always been,’ said Luke quietly. ‘I’m not dangerous.’

‘See a shrink.’ Simon was on his way out, speaking over his shoulder. ‘Behavioural therapy. Aversion therapy. Electroconvulsive therapy. Whatever it takes. Please, Dad.
Please
. Just get yourself cured. Are you coming with us, Kate? No? Well, we’re going right now. Come
on
, Carmela.’

Nico wailed all the way to the car (
But why, Daddy? Why are you cross with Grandpa? Why, Daddy?
), and seconds later they were off.

Poor Jeep, thought Kate. It wasn’t designed to be thrashed like that. The engine screamed as Simon accelerated away.

Her father’s head was bent over the table, a hand covering his eyes. He looked defeated.