Behaving Like Adults (33 page)

Then she took up her usual position on the edge of the bed and cleared her throat. ‘And now you're getting better, I wanted to talk to you about something.'

‘Have you thrown away Rachel's caviar from Wednesday?'

‘Straight in the bin.'

‘Pity, Emily might have liked it. I don't think she's ever tried caviar.'

‘Holly, that creature licks her own arse and eats flies but I suspect that even she would draw the line at caviar. That stuff is revolting. The idea, the texture, the taste. Ugh. There's no
need
to eat food like that. It's like people who eat pig's trotters.
Why?
What's wrong with a cheese sandwich?'

‘So. What did you want to tell me?'

Claw wiggled her foot, a nervous habit. ‘OK. Good news, bad news. Stuart is still representing Mum and Dad. I didn't want to tell you before. Camille says it looks as if he's going to brazen it out. He's guessing you haven't told them, or obviously they'd have sacked him immediately—'

‘Wait. You told
Camille
about what he did?'

‘Shit, Hol, I had to. No one else though.'

‘Oh great. Great. Brilliant.'

‘Look, it's okay. You'll see, let me explain. So, anyway, we reckon that Stuart thinks that to relinquish Mum and Dad as clients would be like admitting his guilt. Also, Hol, he wants to spite you. He can't believe you reported him. He knows this is the last thing you'd want.'

I felt my body cinch itself in, smaller, tenser. ‘Like he hasn't done enough.'

Claudia touched my arm. ‘Yeah, but wait. He also
needs
to keep representing Mum and Dad.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he's a fucking crook, that's why. Listen to this. Mum and Dad trust him, you know what they're like, anyone in a suit is God. So, three weeks ago, Stuart informed them that he would supervise Granny's house clearance. Camille says Stuart always uses the same valuers, the people who assess how much the assets are worth to get a valuation for probate. Because you have to pay tax on the
estate, yeah? Anyway, Stuart invited Mum and Dad down in a way that made it clear they'd be in the way, so they didn't go. So, anyway, it all seems fine. Then, a week or so ago, Camille couldn't find some file, got in a flap, and ended up ransacking random drawers. And she flicked through some papers in an unmarked file. Documents for a property in France. And she wouldn't have thought anything of it, but the name on one of the documents caught her eye.
Mildred Chattersby
.'

‘But that's Granny's name!'

‘Pree-cisely!'

‘Wait a sec. How did Camille know that was Granny's name?'

‘Oh, well, you see I'd told her. We were, um, talking about Granny, at, ah, your birthday party. So anyway, Camille had been given the list of assets to type up and she knew the—'

‘But Claw, we know about Granny's house in the Dordogne. It's a smelly shack. Mum and Dad know about it—'

‘No, Hol, this is a
second
house! Well, not a house, a flat. A huge penthouse apartment in Paris – it seems that Granny bought it about twenty years ago as an investment and rented it out. Mum and Dad didn't know about it, no one did. And Stuart's aware of that because he asked them to give him a run-down of Granny's assets abroad. He must have come across the flat details when he cleared the Wiltshire house. Granny probably kept them under her bed or something. And he's
not
declared it, it's not on the list that Camille was asked to type up. Camille made a point of asking Stuart if this was the final list and he said yes. That's when she got suspicious.'

‘But . . . the evidence seems a bit thin. What if it's just a separate file because that's how he does his filing?'

‘Then why's it unmarked? And why isn't it included on the final list?'

‘So what do you plan to do? Shop Stuart to the police?'

Claudia chose to ignore the sarcastic edge to my voice.

'Er. We could, but Camille thinks we need to let him go further. She thinks he's embezzled from previous clients, but he's very careful. He only does it rarely and he only defrauds certain types. Camille thinks if we wait a while, Stuart will – oh I don't know how it works – but, well, at some point he gets the grant of probate. Then, he'll send it off on the behalf of the executors to the French lawyers, and presumably they'll release the cash for the flat or the deeds to whatever account Stuart specifies. And Camille reckons it
won't
be the client account. I mean, we've got to be careful, we're not
certain
yet, because if we
were
certain that Stuart was a raving crook, then Camille said we could get done if we didn't report it immediately.'

My head boggled and I said so.

She grinned and replied, ‘Holly, Stuart is going
daaaaaahn!
'

I tried not to smile and succeeded. ‘Claw, I'm glad you're so sure, although I think you should know better by now. I really hope Camille hasn't got it wrong. Are you sure we can trust her? I mean, why's she doing all this detective work on our behalf?'

Claudia grinned again, this time a bashful, blushy sort of grin, and said, ‘Mm . . . could be because I'm sleeping with her.'

‘GAH?'

I instantly realised that, were
I
to announce myself a lesbian, I wouldn't have wished my sister's reaction to be ‘Gah?' So, quickly, I said, ‘What, you're
gay
?'

Ingenious. I was no better than Caroline's classmate who spotted her in her police uniform in a police van one Saturday night and said, ‘Caroline! Are you in the police?' (Caroline told me she'd replied, ‘No . . . this is for a fancy dress party.' She'd patted the side of the van and added, ‘Thought I'd make an effort.')

Even faster, I added, ‘that's great!' And even faster, ‘Sorry. How patronising. Like the Wimbledon champion congratulating the guy who came second. Sorry. God. I mean, it's great that you, that you've found what you were looking for. It's just that I, I had no idea. And you're my
sister
!'

Claudia giggled. ‘That's exactly why you had no idea.'

If I'd had it my own way, I'd have sat with my jaw agape for a good four minutes, so a hasty compromise was called for. I wasn't sure if I should give her a congratulatory hug, or if that was patronising too. Then I gave her one anyway, because I could see she was so happy. As I released her, she wiped her eyes.

I paused. ‘I want to ask loads of questions but they're probably all grossly ignorant. I don't want to offend you.'

Claudia shrugged. ‘Try.'

‘Well. How long have you known? I mean, your last boyfriend . . .'

‘Seven years ago. Yeah. It was like kissing a girl you don't fancy.'

‘Jesus. I know nothing about your life!'

Claudia laughed. ‘It's not wildly different from how you imagined it was five minutes ago. Just substitute the gender. I think I've always known. It wasn't something
I
had to fight myself about, because this way it just felt right. Infinitely better. Like, “okay,
now
I understand!” I was relieved, when I knew. It felt normal. But I – well, you never know what your family will think.'

I was hurt. ‘What, even me?'

‘Oh, Hol. I should have known you'd be cool with it, but, this, it's so much part of who I am that, well, you want to protect yourself. You're scared of telling the people who matter, because if they had a problem with it, then it would be very difficult. You know, it's like what Nick once said when one of Bo's friends referred to “the Paki shop”. He said to her, “I can find no redeeming qualities in a racist.” That's how I feel about homophobia. And racism too, obviously. So there's a lot at stake. I mean, if you
don't
have a problem, it's not a big deal. It's merely a question of preference.'

‘So . . . so what made you decide to tell now?'

Claudia inhaled, swelling her chest like a sparrow. A grin spread wide. ‘I fell in love.'

I blinked. ‘With
Camille?
'

Claw nodded. ‘I think she's wonderful.'

‘Coming from you – she must be.'

‘Oh she is. She's brilliant. I totally respect her, she's the cleverest person I know, and very funny. And gorgeous. I feel so lucky to have met her, although –'

She stopped, embarrassed. I realised what she was thinking.
Mustn't boast to Holly about my wonderful life when hers is such a God Almighty mess
. I gasped, ‘Oh, no, no, ridiculous!'

She looked down. ‘I do feel selfish, telling you. It seems so frivolous, with what you're going through.'

‘Not at all. The opposite. Please. Tell me as much good news as possible, I need to hear it. And love is never frivolous. I mean that. What could be more important than finding love?'

I wondered if I still believed it.

Claudia giggled. ‘Bo would say “to be useful in life” or something.'

I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, and you know how we all want to be like Bo. What a joy she is, spreading light across the world.'

Claudia sighed.

‘What?'

‘No, nothing.'

‘Go on, Claw, what?'

‘It's just that . . . you've got meaner, Hol. I don't mean that in a bad way. You were probably too nice. You'd never say a bad word against anyone, before . . .' She trailed off.

I stared at my duvet cover. Cream, from the Conran Shop. It had looked so serene in
Elle Deco
, in a fashion designer's minimalist home in Notting Hill, all stripped painted floorboards and antique chandeliers – ‘jewellery for the house' she'd called them. I couldn't afford a chandelier that wasn't from BHS – even a weeny one from the architectural salvage company cost four hundred quid – but I was desperate at the time to re-ignite the spark in our relationship, and surely if I copied something perfect from the Notting Hill house, it would help. I chose the cream duvet and a week later, Nick spilt Ribena on it. I bleached it and it went blotchy. I was doomed to a non-
Elle Deco
life.

‘I'm going to throw away this duvet cover and get a new one,' I said.

‘Okay,' replied Claudia.

Claw was good like that. She wasn't the kind of person who insists on a strictly linear conversation, who pounces with a high-pitched, ‘Where did
that
come from?' if you
dare to deviate. Nor is she the sort who steams ahead with a gruesome anecdote if you ask her not to – some people will not be stopped. Claudia was a relaxed conversationalist. Claudia was gay. Weird – not that she was gay, that she was different from how I had supposed her. But then, was she different? No. Her personality hadn't altered. Possibly my mind was clouded over with other things, but I didn't feel as if this was major news. What would change? It wasn't as if my mother was that precious about the Christmas seating plan. (Nick's and Rachel's parents insisted on boy girl boy girl and invited the ghastliest of guests purely to equalise gender.)

‘So,' I said – such a treat, to get away from
myself
– ‘when are you going to tell Mum and Dad? And Issy?'

Claw covered her eyes. ‘I dread it. I don't know if I ever can.'

I squealed. ‘Are you kidding? I'm sure they'll be happy for you.'

I wasn't sure this was true. And again, it sounded patronising, along the lines of ‘how
marvellous
!' – as if Claudia had no legs and was running the marathon by spinning herself along in a wheelchair.

I tried to offer sense. ‘Or, they might be a little concerned, but only for your sake, because they don't want you to get hurt. Some people are prejudiced. Mum and Dad wouldn't want you to suffer a moment's pain because of it. That's all.'

‘I don't know. Will it be a neighbour trauma? It will, won't it?'

‘I really don't think they'll
tell
the neighbours. Not that they'll try and keep it secret, I don't mean that. They're not big gossips, that's all. Mum will tell Leila.'

‘Yeah, I can imagine what
she'll
have to say about it. She'll think I have AIDS! No, she'll think I fancy her! I should shave my head and pinch her bottom just to give her a thrill.'

I pursed my lips. ‘I'm not totally sure that would help.'

Claudia sighed. ‘You know what gets me? It's the feeling that if Leila said something snide, Mum wouldn't defend me. Even if she wanted to. She wouldn't dare offend Leila. She'd sort of laugh and say nothing. I couldn't bear that. I'd be so angry. I'd have to stop speaking to her.'

She had a look on her face like the insult had actually taken place. I said, ‘Be calm. Mum and Dad are easy-going. They might find it a bit strange at first, but only because it's outside their experience. Once they get used to it, they'll be fine.'

Claudia scowled. ‘I don't want them to get
used
to it. That implies there's something wrong with it.'

‘Sorry, but I don't think it does. Don't go in there being chippy. I really don't think it's going to be as bad as you imagine. It's not like they're not going to speak to you.'

‘No, but I don't want them being funny with me.'

‘Claw. They're reasonable people. You don't have to be afraid of telling them anything.'

My sister gave me a look. ‘I don't see
you
rushing to confess.'

I felt a throb of anger. ‘It's completely different. You, in essence, are telling them
good
news.'

I slumped back on my pillows. My whole life was dreary. I despised my bedroom for its lack of style. It was utterly non-magazine. I couldn't even read
Livingetc
without spilling coffee over it. The shame was, I, we – Nick and me – we'd loved this house. It wasn't so special, but it appealed to us. We saw it, we knew. It had obviously belonged to an old couple, recently dead. When we viewed it, there was a checked shirt left out to dry on the washing line and an old linen nightdress hanging forlorn in the wardrobe. The paint was cracking and the carpets foul, but I knew it could be our home. That was when I was still imagining a rosy future, children playing in a garden full of apple trees and blackberry bushes.