Chapter 31 Just the one rubber duck, actually #2
‘Oh, how interesting.’ She repeats that word, clasping her hands in an enthusiastic slap. Interesting.
I predict that she might use interesting, different, maybe even throw in a quaint or two over the course of the dinner.
Our plates are decorated with thinly sliced vegetables standing up and leaning against each other like a tent.
Sophie, I think that’s the sister’s name, sits closest to me.
She taps the fork that we are meant to use and blinks when I grab the correct one.
I now realise that I haven’t really said anything or asked a single question.
‘I am so sorry for intruding, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis,’ I say when everyone digs in.
‘Nonsense. A friend of Toby is a friend of ours,’ Mr. Lewis responds. ‘Say, what college did you go to?’
‘College?’ My head cocks to the side. I didn’t go to a college, I did my A levels at the same Catholic school Hannah studied at up until now, which is rated excellent by Ofsted.
‘Dad, please—’ Toby tries to intervene.
‘At Oxbridge,’ he continues firmly, disregarding his son’s plea.
‘I didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge, sir.’ I haven’t used sir unironically since my A levels, funnily enough.
‘Oh,’ his mother sings out. The same way one would react to a celebrity divorce. Mild amusement with slight shock. ‘Neither did Sophie.’
Sophie is wearing this great woollen turtleneck jumper that I now realise might have been a strategic pick, as she dips her chin behind the collar. Her shoulders are tense again. So are mine.
‘What do your parents do, then, Fuko?’ His dad turns back to me.
‘My father.’ I have never called him father to others before, but now it feels like the only appropriate word. ‘He works as a strategy director at’—I don’t know where, if I am being completely honest—‘a company that has something to do with change and innovation.’
That seems to mildly satisfy them, as they turn back to their food. My plate is fuller than the rest of the Lewises’. Something deep and primal in me is telling me that the plates need to be completed at the exact same time with them in order for me to stay alive. Not before, not after.
‘And your mother?’ Mrs. Lewis asks.
‘Oh, uh...’ I look at Toby. He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him, and he is going to find out right now. There wasn’t a natural moment for it to come up. Or maybe there was, and I chose to ignore it. Ugh. Here comes nothing. I shrug my shoulders with an awkward chuckle. ‘She’s dead.’
The rhythmic slicing and poking against the plates stops. My face scrunches like when you step outside and the light is too bright.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ says Sophie, and I am so glad it’s her that’s speaking.
‘It’s fine, I was 10. It’s been long enough.’
Toby’s expression is blank. I wonder what he’s feeling right now. Betrayal? Pity? I want to reach out across the table and explain that I didn’t hide it on purpose.
‘It must have been so difficult growing up without a mother. Has your father remarried?’ Mrs. Lewis asks.
‘No. It was just him, my sister, and me. We help each other.’
‘That’s so... inspiring and impressive, to do so much on your own from such a young age. Toby is like that. He has always done what was right.’
The plates are taken away. I sigh in relief at the thought that this dinner is over, but it’s not. That was the entrée. We have one more knife, fork, and a dessert spoon to go. Lamb chops are the main course.
‘So, what do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis?’ I ask, as if I don’t already know.
‘I am an event organiser in the charity sector, and my husband is a tradesman.’ Organising charity galas and an oil magnate is what they really mean, but they want me to ask more questions, which is why she left it ambiguous.
‘Toby will work with me after he is done doing his finger-painting job. Isn’t that right, Toby?’
Toby doesn’t dignify his father’s order with a response. Not even a curt nod or an mm-hmm. It’s not up to him. It’s already been decided.
‘At least Toby has a job.’ Mrs. Lewis slaps her husband on the knee. ‘Sophie didn’t even finish uni. And we found her the best tutors. She was falling slightly behind, you know how girls can be, rebellious against their mothers.’
I wouldn’t know; I don’t have a mother. I could say that and embarrass them, and part of me desperately wants to shut them up for a second.
But I bite my tongue instead, cutting the softest lamb with too much ferociousness.
Wine is being poured in all the glasses, which dissolves the knots that were constraining (if you can believe that!) Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’s flippant tongues.
‘Toby was such a good boy growing up. He never argued.’
‘He always did what he was told, without question. Sophie, on the other hand.’
‘She refuses our help. I am surprised she showed up today, considering how easy it is for her to change her mind on things.’
‘She hated ballroom dancing even though she danced beautifully. Just one more thing she abandoned.’
Toby has complained about his sister to me more than once.
I thought, before this evening, that it was just brotherly concern, but now I see it for what it truly is—his parents have set them up against each other.
On those rare occasions when I do get a chance to ask her a question, she is more impressive than any of them make her sound.
She has her own yoga studio that is building a Pilates expansion.
She organises community events in the local community centre and volunteers in women’s shelters.
Sophie is kind, despite having parents like this.
It’s funny to think that Toby’s parents are the type of people I thought his friends from Oxford would be.
What shocks me is how silent Toby is throughout this.
Not once has he stood up for her, not once has he put a stop to his parents’ berating his younger sister.
He notices my glares at him and turns away.
I look at Sophie, and for a second, I see Hanako.
I didn’t know that my dad was comparing her to me, but when I found out, it was my duty to make it right.
It is Toby’s job as an older brother to shut this down, but here he sits, silent.
This is not the Toby from work. This is not the Toby from the market.
This is not the Toby that made me believe in fate and magic.
‘She can’t even keep a relationship. Her last partner had a stable job and a good family, and she just breaks up with him—’
‘I’m glad she did,’ I say, cracking the top of my crème br?lée too aggressively for the delicate pudding, ‘because he was a dick.’
For the second time that evening, the room falls silent because of me. But this time I relish it, sucking on my spoon, waiting. Sophie tucks her chin again, this time trying to hide her smile.
‘Pardon?’ Mrs. Lewis says again.
‘You are not pardoned. I was the one who told her to break up with him, because he was a horrible piece of shit. One might even call him a cunt.’
Ohhh, that did it. Hell breaks loose, and flames heat Mr. Lewis’s stoic face.
‘I was wondering for the longest time why Sophie stayed with someone who treated her like shit—’
‘Maybe let’s stop using the language—’
‘Do not interrupt me, Mrs. Lewis. How could a girl stay with someone who verbally abuses her in public? But it makes so much sense. Because of you!’ In a eureka, I slam my hands on the table, shocking myself. It must be the wine.
‘We do not abuse our children!’ Mr. Lewis shouts at me, his angry red finger wobbling in my face.
‘And thank god for that. I can’t even imagine what would’ve been left of them if this is your version of not abusing them.’
That’s right, the wine has had the same effect on me as it has on them.
They shout some obscenities, something about motherless daughters, they even throw in a couple of the swear words they hated so much but a minute ago. But they leave. Sophie’s shoulders are now relaxed, as she takes the deepest breath. The chefs are frantically cleaning up.
Toby and I do not break eye contact.
He might be lucky in everything else, but good god his parents are pricks.