Chapter Five #2
For a moment, it hangs in the air around them, even though he asks this every time he sees her. ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Lissa says, as she always does.
‘Good,’ her dad says. ‘That’s good.’ Her parents don’t talk any more – haven’t for years, as far as she knows. She wonders how often her dad thinks of Esme, still in the house they bought together in their early twenties – or if, in general, he tries not to think of her at all.
She is saved from having to think of a change of subject by the arrival of her half-sister.
Elsie slides into the kitchen wearing an oversized hoodie, dark eyeliner to match her brunette hair – the same colour as Nicole’s, but curlier – and baggy jeans.
She seems to deliberately avoid looking at Lissa as she moves around the breakfast bar and takes a loaf of bread out of the bread bin, only to have it immediately taken out of her hands by Nicole.
‘Dinner is two minutes away,’ Nicole says. She bends to get a stack of plates from one of the cupboards. ‘Here.’ She hands them to Elsie. ‘You can lay the table.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ Elsie mutters, turning with the plates.
‘Hi, Elsie!’ Lissa immediately cringes at how her voice comes out, too bright and over the top. She is your sister, Lissa, not a puppy.
‘Hey,’ Elsie says. Or grunts, to be more specific.
‘How are you?’
Elsie shrugs. ‘All right.’
That’s all she gets before Nicole gestures them through to the table in the adjoining dining area, near the sliding doors.
It’s fair enough, Lissa supposes, as she helps Nicole carry through the impressively colourful bowls of salad.
She’s barely around, and although she has Elsie’s number, it’s not like they text or anything.
Lissa takes a seat next to her dad and opposite Elsie, as Nicole tops up her wine. ‘So, how’s school, Elsie?’ she asks – a glutton for punishment, apparently.
‘Fine,’ Elsie says, with a big eye-roll.
Right. School – not a great question to ask a young teenage girl.
Lissa should know that, shouldn’t she? She’ll be asking about her grades next.
This is another reason she gets so anxious about visiting them – this is her sister, for God’s sake, how does she not know how to talk to her?
She wonders what Chloe would have been like as a teenager.
Would she and Lissa still have got on, even with the six-year age gap?
Would she have aced her exams or been a sporty type?
She loved playing outdoor games as a six-year-old, but then who doesn’t?
Would she have gone to university? Maybe she’d have moved to London, as so many of Lissa’s friends did, or to Bristol, like Mia.
Lissa tries to imagine her sister as an adult but just can’t – she’s forever six years old in her mind.
She wonders if Elsie knows anything about her – if her dad talks about her at all.
She doubts it. There are no photos of Chloe in this house, no reminders.
He left her behind when he set up this new family.
And unlike Lissa, he’s managed to forget.
The scrape of cutlery on plates sounds too loud as they all cut into their steaks, and Lissa tries to look like she’s concentrating super hard on which salad to eat next to disguise the awkwardness.
‘Lissa,’ Nicole says into the quiet, ‘we’re thinking of heading to the Maldives next year for a holiday. It’s your dad’s sixtieth and we thought we could make it really special.’
Lissa chokes on a mouthful of her food, slams a hand on her chest. ‘That sounds great,’ she manages to get out, clocking the way Elsie glances at her, a little suspiciously, as she says it.
‘It looks amazing,’ Nicole continues. ‘A friend of mine – another designer – went last year, and you wouldn’t believe the photos. The internet doesn’t do it justice, she said. It really is all white sands and clear blue seas. Anyway, I was thinking, maybe you could come?’
Lissa jolts, and from the second look Elsie gives her, she realises it was noticeable.
Nicole, however, continues like it was not.
‘There’s this place I want to stay – it’s right on the beach, and each villa has its own pool.
I think there’s even a swim-up bar at the main pool. Wouldn’t that be fun?’
‘Lissa doesn’t swim,’ her dad says abruptly, before Lissa has the chance to process that Nicole is inviting her on a family holiday, let alone think of a reply.
Nicole’s mouth turns down. ‘Oh. That’s right.’
A layer of tension ripples around the room, even as Lissa takes a sip of her wine, pretending she doesn’t notice.
‘You don’t swim?’ Elsie frowns. ‘As in you don’t like it, or you can’t?’
‘Leave it, Elsie,’ Nicole murmurs.
‘I’m just asking. Because it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Not being able to swim.’
‘Not weird if you live in the middle of a desert,’ Lissa says with a shrug, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Elsie rolls her eyes. At what age does it stop becoming acceptable to do this so obviously? Definitely by Lissa’s age, she reckons. ‘Yeah, but we don’t. We live on an island.’
Lissa nods, conceding that with a jab of her fork. ‘Also not weird if you’re allergic to chlorine.’
‘Are you?’
‘No. And I suppose that wouldn’t explain not swimming in the sea.’
‘Unless you were also allergic to salt.’
‘True. Imagine being allergic to salt. Chips would lose their joy. And it would take all the fun out of tequila shots.’
She realises a bit too late that a fourteen-year-old wouldn’t – or at least shouldn’t – know anything about tequila shots, and glances to her dad in silent apology. Elsie, however, snorts out a small laugh, and Lissa can’t help feeling a little pleased at being the cause of it.
‘But why can’t you?’ Elsie presses. ‘Did you never want to learn?’
Lissa hesitates. She could tell her the truth, that she’s always had a healthy respect for the water and that any hopes of her wanting to learn were dashed when Chloe drowned in the pond in their back garden while Lissa was upstairs talking to a friend on the phone.
But she’s guessing her dad wouldn’t actually want her to explain all this – and that theory is proven right when he says, perhaps a bit more harshly than necessary, ‘That’s enough, Elsie. ’
Lissa can’t help feeling a little sorry for Elsie. It’s not her fault, is it? She clearly hasn’t ever been told enough to understand why this is taboo.
Nicole must sense this too, because when she changes the subject it’s with a deliberately bright tone. ‘Elsie is on the netball team this year. She made the A team.’ The smile she follows that up with is pure proud mother, and it’s enough to make Lissa smile too.
‘Really? That’s amazing. Well done, Elsie.’
‘It’s no big deal,’ Elsie mumbles. Her cheeks have gone a little red, and she’s looking down at her plate. ‘I’m not even sure I like netball.’
‘Of course you do,’ Nicole says.
Elsie shrugs, pushing a piece of tomato across her plate with her fork. Then she looks up. ‘Mum, Jess wants to go into Bath next weekend to go shopping. Just the two of us. We’ll get the train. That’s okay, right?’
Nicole glances at Lissa’s dad. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says slowly.
‘Oh come on.’ Elsie throws her hands in the air. ‘This isn’t about the train thing again, is it? We’re fourteen, we’re not going to be harassed.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Nicole says. ‘Those teenagers the other week …’
‘What, so just because one bad thing happened to one person this one time, now I’m never allowed to get public transport again?’
‘Maybe your dad can take you.’
‘Sure,’ her dad pipes up. ‘I can—’
‘But Bath is safe. It’s, like, known for it. It’s not like I’m asking to head to a drug den in the middle of Leeds or something.’ Lissa’s lips twitch, but she stops herself from smiling. Elsie seems to sense it, though, and glances in her direction. ‘It’s safe, isn’t it, Lissa?’
‘I suppose it is considered pretty safe,’ Lissa hedges.
‘See!’ Elsie gestures emphatically. ‘Lissa agrees with me.’
‘Ah …’ She’s not quite sure how she’s been pulled into the opposing team here – probably not a very safe place to be.
‘We’ll discuss it later,’ Nicole says firmly.
Elsie huffs and crosses her arms in protest, shrugging off the hand that Lissa’s dad puts on her shoulder. ‘We’re just looking out for you, Else.’
Elsie deliberately looks the other way.
‘So,’ her dad says, his tone full of faux brightness, ‘I was thinking we could invite both neighbours round for dinner at some point in the next couple of weeks.’
‘Lovely idea,’ Nicole says. ‘How about we …’
Lissa allows her mind to drift while her stepmum embarks on a list of various suggestions of what they might cook for the neighbours.
Music plays softly in the background – some sort of classical playlist Nicole put on to accompany dinner.
Her scented candles still burn around the dining room as the evening light outside fades.
The scrape of Elsie’s fork on her plate merges with other sounds – the clinking of glasses, laughter, a different sort of music playing in the background, with a husky voice singing in French.
They are sitting in a restaurant, flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes. There are empty plates in front of them, waiting to be cleared. The meal cost more than she could afford on her teaching salary, but he insisted on paying. Beneath the table, their knees almost touch.
‘I wish you didn’t have to leave,’ she says on a sigh, picking up her nearly empty wine glass and twirling the stem between her thumb and forefinger.
‘I know, I’m sorry.’ She loves the sound of his voice, soft and lyrical even when he’s saying things she doesn’t want to hear. ‘I’ll take you to the film premiere, I promise.’
She shakes her head. Because yes, it would be something special to go to a premiere – to go shopping for something fabulous to wear, and sit there next to the film composer himself.
To listen to the music he’d chosen for each scene and wonder what he’d been thinking when he did so.
She wants that – the insight into his world.
But more than that, she wants him. And she can’t have him when he’s away for work.
More than that, she can’t have him if he chooses to go to America to chase the big league and work in cinema out there, as he so often talks of doing.
‘Have you given any more thought to applying for art school?’ he asks. She wonders if it’s deliberate, the change of subject. Still, she sighs and shakes her head again.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
She rolls her eyes, an attempt to bring playfulness back to the evening. ‘You know why.’
He leans forward to take her free hand over the table, twining his fingers with hers.
She feels her pulse hitch as his thumb circles a path on her wrist. She knows he’s going to push her on it.
Because although she’s tried to explain the situation with her family, with her parents, she doesn’t know if he fully understands.
He’d understand more if he met her mother, maybe, but she’d rather avoid scaring him away just yet.
‘What do you think, Lissa?’
She blinks. She’s holding the stem of her wine glass, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger.
For a moment the two scenes blur. She can feel his knee pressing into hers as they draw closer.
Can hear the chatter and laughter of the restaurant humming around her, can feel the echo of his touch on her skin.
Then her dad’s face comes into focus, peering over at her.
She puts her glass down. ‘Hmm?’
‘About putting a sculpture in the back garden.’
Clearly the conversation has moved on from appropriate food to give the neighbours – or is the sculpture being put there to impress said neighbours?
‘Oh, umm … A sculpture, that’s … hmm. Like a big marble naked man or something?
’ She’s trying to think of sculptures she’s seen in gardens before, and that, apparently, is all she can come up with. Some artist she is.
Elsie snort-laughs and her dad exchanges a look with Nicole, like she is a second teenager in the house.
After that, she tries to stay present – it’s the least she can do, given how little she sees them.
But all the while, there is a part of her brain trying to pull her back to that restaurant in post-war Paris.
It’s the echo of a dream. That’s all, surely. A yearning of her subconscious to be somewhere else, somewhere with more glamour, more romance.
But if that’s the case, how is she able to conjure up such specific detail? And why does it not feel like a dream at all, but a memory?