The Ugly Sister (14 page)

Abi had told her all she could and eventually, after much soul searching, Phoebe had written Dave a letter addressed to his work (he still lived and worked in Canterbury; he had turned out not to be very adventurous at all). She had enclosed a potted history of her life along with photographs. ‘I don’t want anything,’ she’d written in her neatest writing. ‘I’d just like to get to know you.’ A week or so later Abi had received a letter from Dave. He hadn’t even had the guts to reply to Phoebe directly. The gist of it was: ‘I have my own family now. I don’t even know this girl. I can’t suddenly start acting like she’s my daughter. Please tell her not to contact me again.’

Abi had agonized for days, had finally decided she
had to be honest with her daughter, to let her know what kind of a man her father really was. Phoebe had been devastated. Abi had never forgiven him for that.

‘So what did you see?’ Jon asks when they’ve ordered. ‘I want to hear all about it.’

‘Just the Francis Bacons and the Picassos, really. I like to go for quality not quantity.’

‘Is the
Triptych
still there?’ he asks, naming one of Abi’s favourites. She’s impressed. He’s obviously been there before.

‘It is. That’s half the reason I wanted to come.’

They talk about Francis Bacon for a couple of minutes while the girls’ eyes glaze over a little. It’s obvious Jon has a real love of art. Oops, time for Abi to experience another self-conscious blush. She’d been having so much fun she’d forgotten her newfound awkwardness. She searches around for something else to say, but all her conversation has left the building. Then she remembers the vase that is on her bedside table.

‘By the way, is that a Grayson Perry in my room?’ Now there’s a question she never imagined herself asking anyone.

Jon’s face lights up. ‘It is! Bought long before he won the Turner, of course. You recognized it …’

‘I’d recognize his style anywhere.’ Abi had assumed that all the art in Jon and Cleo’s house was trophy art. Look-at-us-we’re-rich art. Maybe she was wrong.

‘And I’m guessing that sculpture on the landing is the Chapmans’?’

Jon holds his hands up as if to say, You’ve got me. ‘Again, bought before they were successful. I don’t want you thinking we go around spending millions on this stuff.’

‘To be honest, if I had millions – which I don’t and never will – that’s exactly what I’d spend it on.’

‘You may have noticed that all the modern stuff is tucked away on the top floor. That’s because Cleo hates them. She calls them my monstrosities.’

‘So … what? You go and sit up there and look at them sometimes?’ It breaks her heart to think of all those works of art that she would die for languishing away unvisited. Although the thought of Jon sitting alone on what she has now come to think of as her bed admiring them gives her a shiver of excitement.

That’s enough, she tells herself. Focus.

‘Sometimes,’ he laughs. ‘Does that make me sad?’

‘I like the vase,’ Megan pipes up. ‘I’ve seen a photo of the man who made it. He was wearing a dress.’

‘It’s a woman, stupid,’ Tara says dismissively, safe in the knowledge that as the eldest she must be right. Jon catches Abi’s eye and smiles and so, of course, she flushes an attractive bright scarlet. She looks away.

‘And what about the stuff downstairs? All those sculptures and paintings in the hall and the living room?’

‘Those we agree on. Our taste does meet in the middle sometimes.’ He says this with no hint of sarcasm or discontent. Jon is never anything other than
loyal where Cleo is concerned. That’s one of the reasons Abi has decided that she likes him so much. Perversely she has begun to fantasize about a man largely because she knows he would never reciprocate. And if he ever did then he wouldn’t be the man she had been fantasizing about any more, so she’d no longer be interested. Don’t ask her to try to analyse what that’s all about. She knows it doesn’t paint her in the best, most rational light.

Lunch over, they hop on a boat to the Tower and manage to get seats up at the front for the short journey, where both the girls and Abi ooh and aah over the views. To Abi’s surprise, every few seconds one of the girls starts yelling out ‘spaniel’ or ‘Jack Russell’ and pointing manically at someone walking a dog on the embankment. She looks between them quizzically. She’s about to ask what’s going on when Jon suddenly shouts, ‘Labrador. I win,’ and does a kind of victory salute. The girls groan.

Abi laughs. ‘What …?’

‘Top Dog Trumps,’ he says, as if that should mean something.

‘Right …’

Tara and Megan are giggling at her confusion. ‘A Jack Russell beats a spaniel because it’s cleverer, but a Labrador wins because it’s clever
and
gentle,’ Megan says by way of explanation.

Abi is none the wiser. ‘Who says?’

‘We do,’ Tara laughs.

‘Don’t ask,’ Jon says. ‘We’ve been playing it ever since these two were little. I think Tara may have made it up. It makes no sense to anyone but us.’

‘Alsatian,’ Megan shouts, pointing.

Jon smiles at Abi. ‘Be my guest.’

She looks around. ‘Um …’

There’s a woman walking a large black thing, but she doesn’t know what the breed is.

‘There,’ Tara says, pointing to a gathering of about five owners and their mutts.

Abi has no idea what she is meant to say. ‘Staffy?’

Megan rolls her eyes. ‘A Staffy doesn’t beat an Alsatian. Only a Border collie beats an Alsatian.’

‘Of course,’ Abi says, clueless.

‘Everyone knows that,’ Jon says, laughing.

‘Everyone,’ Abi says, nodding sagely.

‘So do you get it now?’ Megan demands.

‘No. Definitely not.’

The girls fall about laughing, and Abi joins in. She doesn’t know why it’s so funny but soon they’re all helpless and tears are pouring down her cheeks. She looks at Jon who seems to be finding it as amusing as the rest of them, one arm round each of his girls, unashamedly revelling in a carefree moment with his daughters. She feels a warm rush of something, an overwhelming feeling of family and rituals and in jokes and belonging. She takes a deep breath, looks out at the river, afraid that if she’s not careful she might cry for real.

The Tower is packed to the rafters, but Abi still loves it. They go round in a big group with a guide, which ordinarily would drive her crazy, but when it’s so busy it seems like the best way to get close to anything. Tara and Megan get caught up in all the gory tales, as does she, and they seem to have completely forgotten that being a tourist is uncool. On the way back, on the bus, Abi gamely shouts out the name of every other dog she sees, generally to a chorus of ‘no’s and gales of laughter. She still has no idea what the rules are, if indeed there are any – she has an inkling there may not really be rules, that the whole thing might be an elaborate practical joke – but it’s fun trying.

By the time they get home, Abi is exhausted. She can’t face helping Jon to cook because she’s not sure she can keep up the pretence that everything is normal between them for much longer, so she disappears off to lie in her big bath while she waits for dinner to be ready. Thankfully a bit of distance has thawed relations once again and Cleo seems happy to hear all about their day.

‘I wish I could have gone with you,’ she says at one point, conveniently forgetting that it was her decision not to.

‘We can go again – we’ve got weeks,’ Abi says, although she has a sneaking suspicion that had Cleo been there the excursion might not have been such a success.

‘Lovely.’

‘We tried to teach Auntie Abi Top Dog Trumps,’ Megan says excitedly, wanting to recreate the fun atmosphere of the afternoon.

‘Oh lord, that stupid game.’ Cleo pulls a face. ‘It drives me to distraction when they all start shouting out that nonsense.’

Abi had completely forgotten that Jon had promised to go over to see his brother in Shepherd’s Bush tonight and that that would mean once the kids had gone to bed it would just be her and Cleo for the rest of the evening. The thought of a long stretch of time alone with her sister fills her with unease. What are they going to talk about? This will be the first time they’ve been alone together since Abi got there, apart from about twenty minutes the day she arrived and the odd snatched breakfast here and there. She reminds herself that this is what she came for, this is why she’s here. It’s all about rebuilding her relationship with her sister. Nevertheless she tries to keep Tara and Megan from going off to bed for as long as she can. It should be easy – they always want to stay up longer than they’re allowed – but they’ve worn themselves out and by half past eight they’re falling asleep
and demanding to be said goodnight to. Well, if all else fails, maybe she can just suggest that she and Cleo watch Ant and Dec together.

She gets hugs from both girls as they head off, and
they both tell her they had a fun day and can we do it again? Abi feels as if she’s made real progress with them, and she hugs them back, kisses the tops of their heads and promises them that they will. Now that just leaves her and Cleo. They chat about not much for a while and Cleo asks more about what they did today and whether Abi is having fun and it actually seems like she means it.

Abi tells her again how much the girls loved the Tate and Cleo smiles and says, ‘Tara’s growing up way too quickly. My fault, I suppose.’

Abi refrains from agreeing out loud, although, of course, she does so in her head. It’s an insight that Cleo’s even aware of it.

‘Jon’s very good with her,’ Abi says, and then thinks, Oh no. I’ve got crush symptom number three: mentionitis. I want to say his name out loud. (Number one is the blushing, by the way, and number two the tongue-tiedness, the lack of ability to say anything remotely intelligent. Reaching Mach three is a worry. There’s a number four, but don’t even ask what that is. There’s no way Abi is going to reach number four.)

Remember he’s your sister’s husband. Don’t keep talking about him.

‘He’s a good father all round –’ Oh good, she thinks, I stuck to the plan, then – ‘at least, he seems to be.’

‘He is. Jonty’s very good with the girls,’ Cleo says in a way that implies that he’s not so good in other ways. Abi can’t stop herself.

‘I’ve never really got to know him before, I suppose,’ she says. ‘I mean we never saw much of him and everything … but he’s a really nice bloke. You’re lucky. Both of you, I mean.’

Cleo knocks back the contents of her wine glass. ‘We are.’

Don’t ask. ‘You don’t sound entirely convinced. Is something wrong?’

Cleo looks at her. ‘No … it’s all me … I just …’ Abi waits with bated breath. Cleo smiles. ‘He’s not very exciting sometimes. He’s a very devoted father and he’s loyal and kind, but … well, he used to be more dynamic, more ambitious … more fun.’

Abi can’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s so typically Cleo. ‘Things have to move on, though, don’t they? You have kids now. It’s amazing to find a man who’s happy to come home and cook for them every night so you don’t have to.’

‘Amazing, yes, just not very … thrilling.’

Abi honestly can’t imagine much that would be more thrilling than having a man who she loved who was prepared to leave work early to wait on her and Phoebe every evening. She’s not going to say that, though, so she tries to make a joke of it. ‘I’m not sure thrilling and having kids can ever go together.’

Cleo takes her at face value, nodding. ‘And, between you and me, his business has never turned out quite like I imagined it would. When we first met, he had all these plans, he was chasing all the big campaigns. Now
he seems content to make adverts for small-time compensation lawyers and people who buy up your old gold.’

‘What’s the difference? They all pay, don’t they?’

‘Well, not so much, actually. He’s doing fine financially, though, but that’s not the point …’

Can Cleo really be this shallow? Abi knows she’s self-obsessed and narcissistic and a whole host of other negatives, but she’s always believed that there was still a real person under there somewhere. Maybe not. Maybe Caroline is well and truly dead.

‘Things change,’ Abi says. ‘People’s priorities shift as they get older …’

‘I just feel like my life has become very ordinary,’ Cleo says, lighting up a cigarette. Me me me.

Well, at least she’s opened up. That was what Abi wanted, after all. There was never any guarantee she’d like what was in there. She feels as if she should seize the moment so eventually she says, ‘What we were talking about before … you being too young to go off like that? I always wonder what Mum was thinking.’

Cleo bristles. ‘She wanted to give me the best chance in life. She knew it was what I wanted.’

‘I wouldn’t have let Phoebe, though. I mean sixteen, it’s so young, whatever you think at the time.’

‘Well, it paid off, didn’t it?’

Abi can feel Cleo’s getting irritated, somehow interpreting Abi’s comments as a criticism. She has to backtrack. As always happens when they get onto shaky
ground, she has to resort to flattery to placate her sister. ‘You’ve had an amazing life, really. You’ve achieved so much.’

And, as always, when Abi gives a little so does Cleo. ‘It’s not always been easy. You’re right – those early years were tough. Being on my own, away from home …’

Abi refrains from saying that moving out was Cleo’s choice. We all make bad choices at sixteen. Abi’s sure she did, although she can’t think what they were, because she spent most of her time trying to be the perfect daughter to make up for the one who had gone off and pretty much forgotten all about their parents. She blew that, obviously, when she became a single mother and jacked in her degree.

Cleo goes through her well-rehearsed and often repeated monologue about her struggles and sacrifices to make it as a top model and Abi says nothing. She’s heard it all before. It’s a masterpiece in self-justification. In fact, she’s heard it many times before, whenever she’s tried to steer the conversation round to something more fundamental, more real. It’s a revisionist’s attempt to paint herself as as much of a victim as the rest of the family and, every time Abi hears it, it makes her angry. This is not what she’s here for. She interrupts.