The image of you, p.35
The Image of You, page 35
And at the same time he did not. Not really. Not entirely.
Forty-Six
Zoe
Poor Anna. I do feel absolutely dreadful thinking about her. It’s not that I feel guilty about how this whole mess ended. Not exactly. I think I’ve done her a favour in many ways. Offered relief. A way out. No, I feel dreadful thinking about her because I think she’s wasted her entire bloody life. Her unremitting faith in Prince Charming and the happily ever after has been incredibly draining. If only she’d chosen to focus elsewhere.
It’s funny, if you think about it, we’re not so very dissimilar. Everyone has always thought we were chalk and cheese, that our personality types were completely opposed, the truth is, we’re the same. Not funny, actually. More like sickening, when you consider the way my parents have always treated me because I’m keen on partying; or, to use their words, I’m addicted to partying. I’m an addict. OK, so I like to have a good time. Shoot me. Anna, however, has always been considered the little darling, their little darling. Eternally needy and wounded Anna, the one deserving their pity, affection and understanding. Lovely, lovely Anna. Really! Really? The brutal truth is she was an addict too, addicted to the fairy-tale myth. The countless times I’ve said to her, ‘Woman, get a grip! Help yourself. Find some perspective.’ But she wouldn’t.
I mean people fall in love at university and they get jilted. Newsflash, it happens. It hurts but you’re meant to be able to get over it. Pick yourself up, dust yourself down and start all over again. It’s a life lesson. Why did she feel she had to be John Jones’s sacrificial lamb, the eternal victim? So he slept with someone else when she thought they were exclusive. Yada, yada, yada. Did she have to have a breakdown? Couldn’t she have just flipped the finger? Leaving Yale, giving up all those opportunities, that really pissed me off. She’d worked her ass off at school, everyone had great hopes for her. We were so proud of her. I was so proud of her. And she chucked it all away because of a man. She let us down.
Next, to plunge herself into that dreadful marriage with that boring, arrogant man just so she could keep up with her girlfriends who were all tripping down the aisle with their college sweethearts. To hear her tell it, everyone loved Larry Morgan. Even if they did, no one loved him quite as much as he loved himself. We certainly never saw eye to eye. He hated the relationship between Anna and me. Resented our closeness. He was always like, ‘Why is she around here again?’ ‘Why is it always you who has to bail her out?’ He was pretty much a stuck record, demanding, ‘Choose me, choose me.’ I think he had an affair to get her attention. Loser.
Yet, she did choose him. That night. April seventeenth, 2014. And that changed everything between us. We never came back from that. If you knew more about that night, you’d understand me way better, maybe even hate me a little less.
We never talked of it, Anna and I. Just didn’t. Just couldn’t.
A lesser person than myself would blame our parents. I mean, looking at it from an outsiders’ point of view, it might be noted that we’ve both ended up more than a bit screwed-up, and, in our very own ways, more than a bit needy. She’s always needed a Prince Charming. I needed a drink, or some pills. And now Nick.
I need Nick.
Sad, in the end, what I’ve discovered. The fact is, it’s the worst thing, needing a person. Worse than needing any number of stimulants because you can’t buy a person, you can’t get someone to deal you a few grammes of a person. You have to win them, then keep them, and it’s hard. Almost impossibly hard. It’s exhausting. I guess discovering as much gave me a level of understanding of Anna’s personality that I hadn’t been able to access in the past.
I see now that, in many ways, her cravings are harder to satiate. People are complex, unreliable, mercurial. It’s funny, the moment in my life when I understood Anna the best was the moment I stopped protecting her, and I betrayed her.
Utterly.
I had been protecting her up until that point. It might not have looked that way, because she was the one who would clean up my messes, but it was a lot more of a two-way thing than people imagined. She knew that. She’d be the first to admit it. She’d possibly be the only one to admit it. She has always needed me as much as I needed her. She needed to be needed. If I hadn’t been so bad, she couldn’t have been so good. The problems started when we found common ground. Nick. That’s when everything became unsustainable. We were knocked out of balance.
There’s only ever been room for two.
I have not turned into her, get that thought right out of your head. No one could call Nick my Prince Charming. I am not pursuing that fantasy. But I do want him. More than anything.
More than Anna.
By which I mean I want him more than Anna does, and I love him more than I love Anna.
It’s just the way it is.
Forty-Seven
Nick
Finally, they pushed through the clouds,; the grey tarmac loomed up to meet them. The wheels banged on the runway and, despite instructions to the contrary, people immediately started to loosen their seat belts and reach for their hand luggage. Focused, Nick and Zoe were amongst the first to disembark.
He walked as quickly as he possibly could through the airport; Zoe matched his step but she didn’t speak to him, nor he to her. Their heels clicked and clacked on the polished floors, echoing, even though the terminal was heaving. He felt singled out. Conspicuous. He imagined a spotlight shining on them. No, not a spotlight, a search beam. He expected that, any moment now, a hand would land heavily on his shoulder, that he’d be cuffed and dragged away. His eyes stung with lack of sleep and trauma. He could smell his own body, and it disgusted him. He kept his eyes ahead and maintained his pace.
For the bulk of the eight-hour flight Nick had grappled with thoughts of what would come next. His imagination, stretched and limited by popular culture rather than any real experience, took him to an interrogation room, to a cell, to a dock, to a cell again. He imagined his parents’ horror and profound disillusionment; would they ever be able to forgive him? He imagined his friends’ and Rachel’s shock and silence; would they stand by him? Yet, for the first time in months, he had found some clarity.
He deserved to be punished.
He was appalled at the thought of it. Terrified. Sickened. But there was no other way. He couldn’t fix this but he wouldn’t dodge it. He would hand himself in. His account may or may not be believed. It didn’t matter to him at that moment; all that mattered was that he confessed, that he repented. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise. However, before he went to the police, he had to find Alexia and David. They deserved to know the truth. The facts. Stiff and formal as they were, he hadn’t especially warmed to them, but no parents should have to live through this nightmare. News that one of their children had murdered the other was incomprehensibly vicious; it was enough to send someone mad.
He’d caused this. He hadn’t beaten or pushed Anna but maybe he’d pushed Zoe.
He remembered Anna telling him that they were a special sort of twin: monochorionic, monoamniotic twins. The sort that had shared everything from before they were born. He shouldn’t have expected them to share him. He’d taken advantage of Zoe. He should have been stronger and turned her away that first night when she was flirting. He knew she was ill, vulnerable. Anna had warned him but he’d been drunk, flattered, intrigued, drawn in. He had to go to her parents, explain as much as he could. It would be a vile and dreadful story to tell and the most awful one for them to hear, but he had a duty to set the record straight. If he didn’t, they would only ever hear sensationalized titbits as the press reported his arrest and subsequent court case. They’d have to wade through the facts, the speculation, the allegations, the lies. And that would be unbearable. He’d caused so much pain. He would face them, as he’d never faced Anna. Tell the murky, horrific story and then they could call the police to arrest him.
Besides believing that they were owed the truth, or as much of it as he could deliver, Nick had another motive for visiting the Turners. Whilst he was resolute that he had to be punished, he was not certain Zoe ought to be too. Surely, it would be punishment enough to wake up, day after day, for the rest of her life, and for her first thought to be, I killed my sister. And certainly this must be her first thought. Every time she looked in a mirror, she’d see Anna; there would be no escaping.
Zoe was obviously out of her mind, and it terrified him. The shaming fact was he’d known as much within minutes of meeting her but he’d chosen not to confront it. There were grey mists and he’d hidden in them, although he knew that respectable eccentricity bordered on dangerous insanity. He’d hidden from the facts because it had suited him; he’d gained from it. Zoe needed help. If he turned himself in, thereby turning her in, would she get it? The Turners were pretty wealthy, he thought that they probably could get a decent lawyer if they wanted. A lawyer who could explain her addictions, who would ask for some leniency. Some clemency. But might their awful relationship with Zoe, their frustration with her past behaviour, be a barrier to doing that? They might not recognize that she needed help. They might just hate her for taking Anna.
He didn’t know, but he had to try. He owed it to Anna to do the right thing. He owed it to Zoe too. He had finally worked out what sort of a man he was. A man who made mistakes. Terrible, unforgivable mistakes, but a man who could at least take responsibility for them.
Nick and Anna were directed to different queues to pass through security. Hers was for nationals, and therefore considerably shorter and more efficient. She brightly told him she’d meet him at the carousel, as she needed to collect luggage, but he only had a carry-on case.
‘I’ll be through in a jiffy. You’ll be ages, but it will even out,’ she said brightly as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
Playing Anna.
He felt a wave of pain, grief and love. But he didn’t know who for.
* * *
As soon as he’d cleared passport control, Nick took his chance. He dashed towards the exit. Mercifully, he was near the front of the taxi queue and he’d lost her in the labyrinth of the airport. He didn’t doubt she’d call him as soon as she realized; she’d track him down, corner him once again. However, for now he was free of her. For the first time since he met her, he was his own man. He didn’t turn around and check over his shoulder. He didn’t want to risk catching a glimpse of her.
Just in case.
Just in case he discovered that he loved her, still. Mad, bad and lethal to know, as she no doubt was, he knew it was a possibility.
‘Where you heading, sir?’ the cabby asked.
Nick checked his phone and found Alexia and David’s address.
‘Bridgeport is a long drive. Way out the city. It’s gonna cost.’
Nick nodded.
It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Forty-Eight
Pamela
Rachel enjoyed a long lie-in and emerged from her room just in time for an early lunch. Although, in theory, she was there to look out for her parents, no one objected to her lazy start. Unfortunately, although she caught the last train out of London, it had been delayed and she hadn’t made it home until nearer 2 a.m. Her parents had both lain awake, waiting to hear her let herself in, although they’d both pretended to be asleep. It was one thing worrying about your twenty-seven-year-old child; it was another letting her know.
Together, they ate scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toast. The conversation gently drifted; Pamela and George were thrilled to hear Rachel had received a late callback to interview for a position as deputy head.
‘Usually these things are settled before now, but apparently the person they offered the job to is suddenly moving to Aberdeen and so they’re recruiting again. I think I stand a decent chance.’
They were also excited to hear that she’d broken her journey to spend the evening with Anna and Nick in London. They loved to hear that their adult children socialized with one another; it somehow reminded them of times gone by when the children played Monopoly together.
‘Smart restaurant, was it?’ asked George.
‘Desperately.’
‘What did you eat?’
George liked to hear if anything was especially delicious or disappointing. Rachel obliged. Once he was vicariously satiated and had also finished his actual lunch, he retired to the sunroom to read the Telegraph. Rachel and Pamela lingered at the table, sipping coffee and dunking a constant stream of biscuits.
‘Anna’s twin was supposed to come along to dinner but she was a no-show,’ commented Rachel.
‘That’s a shame. I get the impression that Anna finds Zoe a challenge.’
Rachel nodded. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that her sister and parents are refusing to come to the wedding?’
‘Families are odd, darling.’
‘We’re not,’ Rachel insisted defensively.
‘Well, not to ourselves, no, but we no doubt are to others.’
‘How?’
‘Your father and I enjoy jigsaws.’
‘That’s hardly odd.’
‘I knit toilet-roll covers in the shape of cupcakes.’
‘That’s creative.’
Pamela smiled. She was trying to avoid gossiping. Her daughter was her daughter. Nothing could or would change that intense, tight, beautiful relationship, but they had to find room for Anna now, a daughter-in-law. It didn’t seem especially kind, sitting around speculating as to why her family had decided not to attend the wedding.
‘Why do you think they’re refusing to come?’ Rachel obviously disagreed; she thought a good gossip was lifeblood.
‘Well, Anna said it was a matter of finances for her parents.’
‘But they’re quite well off, aren’t they? And anyway, Nick would’ve paid,’ Rachel said through a mouthful of biscuit.
Pamela wanted to remind her daughter not to speak with her mouth full, but didn’t; she hadn’t had that right for years. ‘Maybe it was workload, I forget.’
‘And don’t you think it’s odd that her sister is leaving the country just a week before the wedding? Why wouldn’t she stay, since she’s been here for ages?’
‘I’m not sure it’s any of our business.’
‘Of course it’s our business,’ Rachel gasped. ‘Nick is marrying into that family. We’ve a right to know what’s going on.’
Pamela was from a different generation. One where she only expected to know what she was told, and she didn’t expect to be told anything much. In an effort to turn the conversation she said, ‘Did you all have fun together last night?’
‘It was OK. Although as Zoe didn’t show, Anna went into freaked-out mode.’ Rachel fell silent.
Pamela had hoped her daughter would embrace the idea of Nick marrying and see it as gaining a sister, not losing a brother; this didn’t appear to be the case. Rachel looked genuinely concerned about something. Something bigger than having to wear a bridesmaid’s dress.
‘Nick didn’t seem himself yesterday.’
‘In what way?’
‘He was distracted, agitated.’
‘Wedding nerves, I should think.’
‘You think he’s having second thoughts?’ Rachel sounded almost pleased.
‘No! I never said that, Rachel. I meant he may be subject to the usual and expected nerves that a person might have before they embark on something so momentous as marrying. Or he might just be excited.’
‘He didn’t look as though he was excited.’
‘How did he look?’
‘Scared.’
Pamela didn’t know how to respond. What could Nick be scared of? He was a grown man. A particularly successful one, who was about to marry a very lovely young woman. He had the world at his feet.
‘Could it be a work matter? He does carry a lot of responsibility.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Rachel let the silence settle between them, but she couldn’t hold it back in the end. ‘Don’t you think it’s all a bit fast, Mum?’
‘Well...’ Pamela didn’t know how to answer.
She hadn’t in all honesty expected things to move quite so quickly as they had, after she’d dropped her hint that he should think about relationships more seriously. Just five hours from the telephone conversation to the proposal. She had no idea she wielded such power. She used to have to ask him at least thirty times before he tidied up his bedroom. He never learned not to throw damp towels on the bed, and she must have mentioned that a thousand times. Not that Pamela had a problem with Nick proposing to Anna. Far from it. Yet, well, the speed of the commitment was startling. She was just a little dizzy with it. She thought perhaps they all were.
‘I trust Nick to do the right thing, darling. I always have, and he always does. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’
Forty-Nine
Nick
Nick stumbled out of the taxi. He could smell the aeroplane on his clothes, he could smell the fallibility of his own body, his breath, his sweat. There was nothing he could do about it. He handed over his credit card as it hadn’t crossed his mind to pick up currency at the airport. He stood on the pavement and looked towards the house; the home where Anna and Zoe had grown up together. Anna had told him all about it. She’d loved it. Nick shook his head. He couldn’t get used to thinking about her in the past tense. What had Zoe done? What was he a part of? Anna had described the mature trees they’d climbed, and how one of them—an elm at the back of the house—had the twins’ initials carved into the trunk. There, he would also find the pool they’d dipped in and the two swings that they’d been given when they turned ten. Zoe had apparently said they were too old for swings but in fact they’d both played on them for hours throughout the long hot summer days and even into the chilly winter evenings. The house was as he’d imagined from her descriptions: large, white, wooden with a picket fence and a porch. Modest Anna hadn’t hinted at how prestigious her childhood home was but Nick guessed that it had been built when the city was founded. He glanced up at the windows and wondered which bedroom they’d slept in when they were girls. Then he remembered, it was one at the back of the house; Zoe had taken advantage of the fact, shimmying down the drainpipe to escape to parties as a young teen. This was the only thing Zoe had ever told him about her home.
