The Sisterhood (39 page)

After forty minutes, Helen said something, and we pulled in between some old, stone gateposts. I stared ahead, through the windscreen, as we rounded a corner, and a chateau came into view. It was like a painting.

It was grand and beautiful, built from pale stone, with rows of windows winking in the sun. The evening sun made it all glow gold. Everything was casting long shadows. The drive was gravelly and dusty. There were two cars parked outside, both of them modest but shiny. Helen had told me she lived in a chateau. I'd had no idea that she really meant it.

'Helen,' I said. 'This is incredible.'

She shrugged, but smiled.

'Yeah,' she said, and for once, she looked genuinely pleased. 'I've missed it, actually.'

While I paid the driver, she bounded up the stone steps, looking like a princess in her floral dress, and banged on the door with a big brass knocker. She shook her hair out, over her shoulders, and looked round at me. After a few minutes, the door swung open. A woman stood there. She looked at Helen, and then at me. Then she smiled.

1992

Mary's life as a mother, in southern France, surprised her every day. She found herself drawn into baby Helen's world, obsessing over every tiny thing her daughter did. She watched her as she learned to sit up, tried to crawl and then toddled along. They walked around the vineyard together, holding hands. She told Helen about Nepal and India, and promised her that one day, they would go back, would sleep on the beach and draw their water from a well. Helen was too young to understand, but Mary wanted her to know that she was included in her dreams.

She felt horribly guilty about Beth. She had done this before, and failed, and now she was trying again, and getting it right. She knew she was not a natural mother, but she knew, too, that she was good enough this time. More than that, though, she adored Helen in a way that she had never allowed herself to adore Beth. That was the thing that made the difference. Helen touched a part of Mary that she'd never realised she had. Helen made her feel complete.

She was a beautiful child, and not only in the eyes of her adoring parents. Her hair was white-blonde, and her eyes were a piercing blue. People stopped on the street, all the time, and told Mary how lovely her daughter was. She was so happy that when the three-year-old Helen asked for a baby brother or sister, Mary managed to convince herself it might be a good idea. She could do it, now. Even though she was too old, at forty-one, she decided that it was worth a try.

Jean-Pierre was delighted. Mary worried ceaselessly, but she was pregnant within a few months. When she looked back on it, she was sure that she had had no premonition of doom. That was something she imposed on herself, with hindsight.

Everybody was excited when she had a boy. Jean-Pierre gave a case of wine to everyone in the village. Tom had a crumpled, imperious face, and a loud cry, and was quite different from his sister. To her relief, she loved him just as much. She would look at him, sleeping in his crib. 'My son,' she would say. 'My son.'

Mary found herself at the heart of a nuclear family. Married parents, a son and a daughter — and all that at an age when she could have been a grandmother. She could never have foreseen it. She still wanted to travel, but the world was changing, and for the moment she was content to be where she was. She hadn't felt that way since Goa.

For the moment she was tired and content, happily ensconced in France with her babies. She watched footage of John Major's election victory in the news, and she knew she could never go back. She was pleased with the way things were for her here.

Helen held her baby brother proudly on her lap, clasping him tightly around the waist, squinting into the sun. Mary snapped a photograph, and another, and another.

Two days later, the spell was broken. Mary had never known, had never wanted to know, the French for cot death.

30 June

I could feel the blood pounding around my body. My legs were shaking and I kept clenching and unclenching my fists. I was scared, and I was happy, and at the same time I had a strong feeling of dread. I could not stay still. I wanted to be with Matt.

Tom loitered in the drive, by the taxi. I pretended he wasn't there.

When I saw Mother, I wanted to cry. I had never been away from her in my life, and now I was back. It had only been a few months, but it felt like years. There was something about the familiarity of her — her slight body, her long hair, her flowing dress — that made me, bizarrely, want to hug her.

She managed to appear almost pleased to see me.

'Helen!' she said, and she pulled me close and rubbed my back. This was quite unlike her, and I reciprocated gingerly. 'Papa said you might be coming, but we didn't know when to expect you. Oh, how lovely to have you home again.' She pulled back and looked at me. 'But you're too thin! How much weight have you lost? You were tiny before, and now there's nothing of you. You look like a skeleton. We need to feed you. I knew you wouldn't be able to look after yourself.'

'I'm fine,' I said. I looked round. Mother was watching Liz walking over to us. The taxi disappeared down the drive in a cloud of dust. Tom was jogging away towards my little house. 'This is Liz,' I said, and I watched Mother hard to see whether she would guess.

I felt bad about Liz. The things I'd done had got out of control. I'd never meant to make it that bad for her, and I was praying that when she found out the truth, she would see that I'd had no choice: it had all been a means to an end.

Mother set off down the steps to meet her.

'Hello,' she said, warmly. 'I'm Mary, Helen's mother.'

'Hi, Mary,' said Liz, and there was an awkward moment when Mother went to kiss her on the cheeks and Liz was clearly not expecting it. They laughed it off and came back towards me.

When I looked at them together, I wanted to jump up and down and shout with joy. I had done it. She was here. They were together. This was the reunion. I was the only one who knew it. I savoured my secret. I tingled with anticipation.

'Welcome,' said Mother. 'Helen told her father she was hoping to bring a friend. But I had no idea you were expecting. When's your baby due?'

Liz smiled. 'In the middle of August.'

'Oh! Not long! I'm surprised they let you fly! You did come by plane? When Helen left, she went on the train.' Mother looked at me. '
And
she told us she was going to Paris.'

I shrugged. 'I got there and had an urge to go further. Check out my heritage.'

I looked at them both closely. Neither of them suspected a thing. I blocked out all the bad thoughts, and made myself concentrate on the positive. Whatever else happened, I had done a good thing. In fact, I was delighted, and proud of myself in a way I had never been before.

I wanted Liz to stay in my cottage, but Mother insisted on making up a room for her in the house. I supposed Tom would be in my spare room, anyway, so Mother was right.

'Can you believe it?' she asked Liz. 'You can see how much space we've got here. And yet she insists on living in a shed. She could have had her own wing, but no, she had to get out from under our roof. I suppose it's natural.'

Liz smiled. 'You've got one child at home, though, haven't you? Or is he away too?'

Mother froze. 'Um,' she said. 'No, I think you've got the wrong end of the stick there. There's just Helen.'

My pulse quickened. I shut the bad things out, again.

'You can put Liz in the pink room,' I said quickly. I stepped between them. 'That's got the nicest view. You can see across the vineyard to my house. Mother, did I mention that Liz is my landlady in London? I rent a room from her in Kentish Town.'

Mother took this in.

'Really?' she said. 'Thanks for looking after her, Liz. She's always been a bit of a law unto herself. It's nice to think that she's been with you. Did she eat anything at all?'

'I thought she did, yes,' said Liz. 'She's been a godsend. I'm on my own, and Helen's a great lodger. She even does the supermarket shopping, more often than not.'

'I lived in Brighton, myself,' Mum said. 'Up until I came abroad without looking back.'

'Oh, I know Brighton!' Liz told her. 'I grew up in Haywards Heath, so Brighton was always the place we went to for teenage kicks. I used to love it. All the little shops in the Lanes, and the fabulousness of sitting on the beach on a sunny day, drinking.'

I hugged myself and grinned.

Mother nodded. 'It's a good place to be when you're young. At least, it was for me.'

We had reached the pink bedroom. I was jigging up and down, trying to work out when I should share the news.

'It's seven o'clock,' I announced. 'Are we having aperitifs?'

Mother looked at Liz. 'You must be exhausted.'

Liz nodded. She was sitting on the bed, and she looked ready to collapse. 'I keep having these Braxton Hicks,' she said. 'I think my body's telling me to stop.'

'In France they don't have Braxton Hicks contractions,' Mother said. I had no idea what they were talking about. 'In France, those are just called contractions.'

Liz looked alarmed. 'They don't feel like I'd expect real contractions to feel,' she said.

'Oh, don't worry! I had them for months with my first. Then I went a week overdue. It doesn't mean a thing, except that, you're right, your body's probably screaming at you to lie down. Why don't you come down at eight or so, and you can have a nice cold drink and something to eat, and then turn in for the night?'

I nodded my approval, thrilled that Mother had mentioned her first baby. With an effort, I restrained myself from blurting it out, on the spot.

There was still an hour to go until eight o'clock. I was so excited, so sick, that I had no idea what to do with myself.

My house smelt musty. No one had been in there for ages. It felt as if it was just as I had left it. The bedroom was bare and soulless. Clothes were hanging in the wardrobe, and folded neatly in the chest of drawers. I looked at my old clothes, and winced. I'd had no idea about style. The panic was beginning to mount.

'Tom?' I said.

All was silent.

'Tom, I'm here. It's me. You can come out. What are you doing?'

He didn't come.

'I did what you said!' I told him. 'I brought her here, for you. I wasn't going to and in a way I wish I hadn't, but we're doing it now. You have to talk to me. We have to decide what we're going to say.'

He didn't say anything. There was definitely no one in the house but me.

I forced myself to go to his bedroom. It was across the landing from mine. My hand shook as I pushed the door. It opened with a creak.

I half expected him to be lying on the bed, looking up at me with his big, lazy eyes. But the bed was not made up. There was nothing in the room but a dusty old bedstead and a small table. There wasn't even a mattress.

I shut my eyes and remembered this room as Tom's holiday room. It was his refuge from the main house, because he had needed one, just like me. Life with Mother and Papa suffocated him, just like it did me. He came to stay with me whenever he could, because we were partners. I pictured a plumped-up duvet on this bed, with a white cover. Two pillows with white cases. I imagined the windows thrown open, the sun pouring in. And Tom. I remembered Tom, in here.

'I don't know where he's gone,' I said aloud. I could hear my voice shaking, feel it trembling.

I lay down and closed my eyes. When I opened them, it was five to eight. I was desperate to roll over and stay asleep until morning, but I knew I had to be polite. Helen's mother, who was spookily identical to her daughter, seemed like a nice woman, and I couldn't just refuse to get up.

Exactly the right clothes were folded neatly in my bag. I imagined Helen rummaging through my bedroom. I didn't know how she had done it, how she had packed so well on the spur of the moment, but I was glad that she had.

There was a spotless little bathroom next door. I cleaned myself up, and went downstairs. Although I was only planning to eat for politeness's sake, I was feeling strangely relaxed. For the first time in ages, I was outside my normal parameters. I wasn't at home in Kentish Town, wasn't at school, or anywhere in London, or in Sussex. Those were the only places I went, these days. A few short hours ago, I'd been cowering away from Rosa, watching her smashing up a car because of me and the baby. Now I was in someone else's big old house, and for the moment I had nothing to do. I was breathing more deeply, letting myself relax. This was a good place to be. All the same, as soon as I could make my excuses, I was going to go straight back to bed.

The house was vast, and I had no idea where to go. There was no sign of anybody. The entrance hall was surprisingly dark, and the furniture was big and old and beautiful. I went to an open door, and stepped through it nervously. There was a sitting room, clearly rarely used. It was a small, formal room with a sofa and chair that were both draped with sheets. I stepped back.

A man appeared behind me.
'Bonjour!
he said. 'Hello!' He spoke English carefully. 'I am Helen's father. I am enchanted to meet you.'

I put out a hand, but he kissed me firmly on each cheek. He was a nice-looking man, with wild white hair and a friendly face.

'I'm enchanted to meet you too,' I said. 'Thank you for having me to stay.' He looked down at my bump, and we smiled at each other.

'Come and take a drink,' he said, and I followed him into a bigger, brighter room, which had French doors open to a gravelly area behind the house. Beyond that area, the lawn stretched away to the edge of a vineyard. He led me outside, and I saw that Helen's mother was sitting at a wrought-iron table, on a cushioned chair, holding a drink. Helen was there too. As I looked at her, I realised that she had to be anorexic. She was just bones. I had always believed her when she said she was naturally skinny. I felt sorry for her, and sad that I hadn't noticed before and tried to help her.