Secret Smile

CHAPTER 26

There were sixteen days to go until Christmas and four days until Kerry and Brendan were to be married in the register office half a mile from my parents' house. Overnight, the weather changed. It was still cold, but it became greyer, wetter, foggier. I woke in the morning to darkness outside my windows and the sound of rain, and for several minutes I couldn't make myself get out of my warm bed. The hot-water bottle I'd made myself last night was stony cold, so I pushed it on to the floor with my feet. I thought of having to scrape the ice from the van's windscreen, of hammering nails into floorboards in the empty and unheated house in Tottenham with bare, numb hands, and squirmed deeper under my duvet.

I heard the sound of mail being pushed through the letterbox and thumping on to the floorboards. In twelve days, it would be the shortest day of the year – and then they would start getting longer again. I tried to remind myself that there would be a spring, on the other side of these dark months.

There was grey showing at the edges of the curtains. I forced myself out of bed, sliding my feet into my slippers and putting on my dressing gown, and collected the letters. I made a large pot of coffee, put two slices of stale wholemeal bread into the toaster, turned on the radio for the company of someone else's voice. I spread honey on one slice and marmalade on the other, warmed up some milk in the microwave and poured myself a cup of coffee.

I sat at the table and opened my mail. There were nine Christmas cards, one of which was from someone I couldn't remember ever having met. He hoped we'd manage to meet up in the New Year; another was from Callum, the man I'd met at the party I'd gatecrashed with Laura and Tony. It seemed ages ago, another life. I had thought then that things had got as bad as they could and would now begin to get better. I didn't know then what bad meant. I pushed away Callum's card, with the scrawled invitation to a party. I didn't think I'd be getting round to writing Christmas cards myself this year, or going to parties. There were two appeals from charities, a credit card bill, a bank statement, three catalogues. And there was an envelope with Kerry's writing on it.

I finished my cup of coffee and poured another one. I ate a triangle of toast and honey slowly. Then I slid my finger under the gummed flap and lifted out the letter inside. 'Dear Miranda', I read. 'Brendan and I thought it might be a good idea if you would be one of our witnesses on Friday. Please let me know as soon as possible if this is all right with you. Kerry.' That was all.

I grimaced and a little corkscrew of pain wound itself round my right eye. That would be Brendan's doing. Getting me to stand beside the happy couple and sign my name by theirs. Pose for the camera. Smile at Brendan, my brother-in-law, part of my family. I felt nauseous and pushed away the toast. I managed a last sip of tepid coffee.

Perhaps I should just say no. No, I will not be your fucking witness. No, I will not play your game. No, no, no, never again. Perhaps I should simply stay away from the wedding altogether. They'd be better off without me there anyway. But of course I had to be there because not being there would just be read as yet another hysterical gesture on my part: mad, obsessed, lovesick, hate-filled Miranda; the ghost at the feast. I had to be there because I was Kerry's only sibling.

I sighed and stood up, tightening the belt of my dressing gown, crossed the room to the phone, dialled.

'Hello?'

'Mum. It's me.'

'Miranda.' The flat tone I'd become used to since Troy 's death.

'Hi. Sorry to ring so early. I really just wanted to speak to Kerry. About being a witness.'

'She said she was asking you.' There was a pause, then, 'I think it is a very generous gesture on her part.'

'Yes,' I said. 'Can I talk to her?'

'I'll go and call her. Before I do, though… We thought, Derek and I, that we should have a small gathering for them before Friday. There'll be no party on the day. It doesn't seem right. Anyway, they'll be leaving almost at once for their week away. This would be just family, really, to wish them well. We think it's important for them. Bill and Judy are definitely coming. Are you free tomorrow?'

It wasn't really a question.

'Yes.'

'About seven. I'll get Kerry for you.'

I said to Kerry that I'd be a witness and Kerry said she was glad, in a cool, polite voice. I said I'd see her tomorrow and she said 'Good', like a verbal shrug. I had a sudden memory, like a bright shaft of sunlight shining through the dreariness, of Kerry and me swimming in the waves off the Cornish coast, both of us sitting in large rubber rings and letting ourselves be tossed on to the shore, over and over again until we were breathless with tiredness and cold; our skin tingling with the rub of the sand. We must have been about ten and eight. I remembered us laughing together, laughing at each other, squealing with gleeful fear. She used to wear her hair in neat plaits. She used to have a shy, close-lipped smile that made one small dimple appear in her cheek. She still did, I thought.

'I'm thinking of you,' I said in a rush, wanting to fall to my knees and howl.

There was a silence.

'Kerry?'

'Thanks,' she replied. Then, 'Miranda?'

'Yes?'

'Oh, nothing. See you tomorrow.'

She put the phone down.

I drove to work through the fog. Houses and cars loomed up at me. People passed by like shadows. The trees were dismal spectres lining the roads. It was one of those days that never get properly light and when dampness clings like an icy second skin.

The house in Tottenham was quiet and cold. My footsteps echoed on the boards and the sound of hammers echoed round the room. I made too many cups of acrid instant coffee, just to be able to fold my hands around the warmth of one of the stained, chipped mugs the owners had left behind for us. It was better to be at work because what else would I be doing? Not Christmas shopping. Not sitting in the kitchen with my mother, watching as she pressed circles of pastry into moulds and filled them with mincemeat. Not gossiping with Laura. Not giggling at one of Troy 's surreal remarks. I worked until my hands were raw and then I drove home and sat in the living room under the beam. That beam. I wished the ceiling would be dragged down in an explosion of plaster under the weight of it, all on top of me.

I sat there for about an hour, just sitting and listening to the rain dripping outside from the branches of bare trees. Then I picked up the phone because I needed to talk to someone. I pressed the first few digits of Laura's number, but stopped. I couldn't speak to her. What would I say? Help? Please help me because I think I'm going to go completely insane? I had always turned to Laura, but now she was a closed door to me. I thought about what had happened and felt sick. I thought about the future and felt a sense of vertigo – like looking into a dark pit at my feet, not being able to see the bottom.

So at eight o'clock I went to bed because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I lay there holding an old shirt of Troy 's against my face and waited for it to be morning. I must have slept at last because I woke to a grey dawn, sleet stripping through the circles of light from the street lamps.

At exactly seven the next day I was knocking at the door of my parents' house. Kerry answered. She was wearing a gauzy pink shirt with beads round the neck that made her face look peaky. I kissed her on her cold cheek and stepped inside.

Work had stopped on the house. The gaping hole in the kitchen wall had been crudely boarded up and there was thick polythene billowing over the side window. Pots and pans that had been emptied out of the old units were piled on the lino. The microwave was on the kitchen table. In the living room, the carpet had been taken up, and a trestle table cluttered with tools stood where the bookshelf used to be. Everything had stopped at the moment when Troy had been discovered strung up on my beam.

Bill and Judy were already there, sitting in a cluster with my parents round the fire Dad had made. But Brendan wasn't there yet.

'He's seeing somebody about an idea,' said Kerry vaguely.

Looking at my depleted family together, I realized they had all become thinner. But not Brendan. When he arrived, a few minutes later, I saw he had put on weight. His cheeks were pudgier, his paunch strained at his lilac-coloured shirt. His hair seemed blacker and his lips redder than ever. He met my eyes and inclined his head, with a half-smile that looked like… what? Victory, perhaps, graciously acknowledged.

He was less ingratiating now. His manner was slightly aloof. There was a touch of the bully in his tone when he told Kerry he needed a stiff drink. When he mocked my father about the rather feeble fire, there was an edge of contempt in his voice. Bill glanced up at him and wrinkled his brow. He didn't say anything, though.

In other circumstances, we would have been drinking champagne, but Dad brought out red wine instead, and whisky for Brendan.

'What are you going to wear tomorrow, Kerry?' I asked after a moment.

'Oh.' She flushed and looked up at Brendan. 'I'd planned to wear this red dress I bought.'

'Sounds lovely,' I said.

'I'm not sure it suits me, though.' Again, that anxious glance at Brendan, who'd refilled his tumbler. 'I don't know if I can carry it off.'

'You can carry off anything you want to,' I said. 'It's your wedding day. Show me.'

I put my wine glass down. The two of us filed up the stairs together, into their room. The last time I'd been in here was when I'd found that rope stuffed under the chest; I pushed the thought away and turned to Kerry. She reached into a large shopping bag, unwrapped tissue. My face ached. I wanted to cry. It all felt so wrong.

'It looks gorgeous. Try it on for me,' I said. All my anger at Kerry had gone. I only felt helpless love for her now.

She wriggled out of her trousers, pulled her pink top over her head, unclasped her bra. She was so thin and white. Her ribs and her collarbone jutted out sharply.

'Here.' I passed the dress across to her and as she reached out for it we both became aware of Brendan standing in the doorway. No one said anything. Kerry started struggling into the dress, and for a moment her head was obscured by the red folds, only her skinny naked body was visible, shining in its whiteness like a sacrifice. It felt perverse that Brendan and I should be watching her together. I turned sharply away and stared out of the window, into the night.

'There,' she said. 'Of course it needs high heels and I'd pin my hair up and put make-up on.'

'You look lovely,' I said, although she didn't; she looked washed-out, obliterated by the bold red colour.

'You really think so?'

'Yes.'

'Hmmm,' said Brendan. He stared at her appraisingly, then a funny little smile flitted over his face. 'Oh well. They're all waiting to toast us downstairs.'

'I'm coming.'

'Back to being friends, are you?'

It was as if his words had lit a fuse and now anger was burning up towards my centre. I turned to him.

'We're sisters,' I said.

We stared at each other. I wasn't going to be the first to look away. For the few moments that we gazed into each other's unblinking eyes, I felt that there was nothing left inside me except hatred.

On Friday morning, I got up early, had a bath and washed my hair, then I went into my bedroom and stared at the clothes in my wardrobe. What do you wear to the wedding of your sister to a man you hate that is taking place only days after your brother has died? Nothing flamboyant, nothing sexy, nothing glamorous, nothing jaunty. But you can't wear black to a wedding. I thought of Kerry's white face staring out from the red velvet. I thought of a face in a lined coffin. Eventually I pulled a lavender-coloured dress out of the cupboard and held it up to the light. It had a thin knit top and a loose chiffon skirt and was really for the summer, but if I put my nice raw silk shirt over the top it would do. I applied make-up, blow-dried my hair, put earrings into my lobes, pulled on tights and clambered carefully into the dress. I looked at myself in the mirror, grimaced at the whey-faced, hollow-eyed creature I saw there.

I pulled on my long, black coat, picked up the present I'd bought them and left. We were all going to walk to the register office together from my parents' house, so I drove there through the traffic and parked a few doors down.

I half-ran through the drizzle, lifting my dress to keep it clear of the puddles, but even as I lifted a fist to hammer at the door, it opened.

'Miranda,' said my father.

I was startled. He was in his tatty tartan dressing gown and unshaven. Had I got the time wrong?

'We've got to leave,' I said.

'No,' he said. 'No. Come in.'

My mother was sitting on the stairs, in a pair of baggy leggings and an old turtleneck jumper I hadn't seen her wear for years. She lifted her head when she saw me. Her face was all folds and creases.

'Have you told her?'

'What?' I said. 'Told me what? What's going on?'

'He's called it off.'

'What do you mean?'

'He wasn't there when Kerry woke and he phoned her at eight o'clock. He said…' For a moment the dull monotone of her voice cracked. She shook her head as if to clear it, then continued. 'He said he'd done his best to help us all, but it was no good. He said he was tired of carrying all of us and he could do no more.'

I sank on to the step beneath my mother.

'Oh, poor Kerry.'

'He said,' she went on, 'that he'd found the opportunity of happiness with someone else and he knew we'd understand that he had to take it. He had to think of himself for once.'

'Someone else?' I spoke dully as this new information had been a physical blow to my head. It felt like that. My mother looked at me suspiciously.

'Didn't you know?' I didn't reply. I just looked at her, baffled.

'She's your friend, after all,' she continued.

'No,' I said. 'Oh no.'

'So,' said my mother. 'There we are.'

'Laura,' I said.

I went up to Kerry's bedroom. The lights were off so that the room was dim. She was sitting on the bed, very upright, still in her pyjamas. I sat beside her and stroked her thin, soft hair and she turned her glassy gaze on me.

'Stupid of me,' she said in a brittle voice. 'I thought he loved me.'

'Kerry.'

'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

'Listen

'He just loved you.'

'No.'

'And then your friend.'

'Kerry,' I said. 'He's not a good man. He's not. There's something wrong with him. You're better off without him and I know you'll find…'

'Don't you dare say I'll find someone better,' she whispered, her eyes burning.

'All right.'

'Everything's ruined,' she said softly. 'It was ruined already, when Troy killed himself. Brendan's just knocked over the last few stones. There's nothing left.'

I thought of Brendan trampling over my family, grinding his boots over all our hopes. I put my arm around my elder sister, her bony body that smelt of sweat and powder and flowers. Her red velvet dress hung in the corner of the room. I hugged her to me and kissed the top of her head. I felt her eyelashes prickling against my skin, and I felt tears on my cheek but couldn't work out if they were mine or hers.

Some things, when you look back on them, seem like a dream. But this wasn't a dream, although later I remembered it like a moment snatched out of time and haunting my memory for ever.

I woke and, although it was still dawn, a soft light filled the room. Climbing out of bed, I opened the curtains on to a world of snow. Large flakes were still falling, floating and spinning down on the other side of the glass. I hastily pulled on warm clothes and opened the front door on to the unmarked street. Snow lay thickly on the cars, dustbin lids, low garden walls, its pristine thickness occasionally blemished by cats' paw prints, the claw marks of small birds. It weighed down the trees and as I walked small flurries fell at my feet with a muted thump; flakes caught in my lashes and melted on my cheek. The world was monochrome, like an old photograph, and foreshortened. There was no horizon, just the steady flicker of falling flakes. There was no sound, save for the slight creak of my shoes against the snow. Everything was muffled, mysterious, beautiful. I felt entirely alone.

It was still not fully light, and there was nobody on the Heath. No footprints, and as I walked mine were swiftly covered too. The ponds were frozen and covered in snow; the paths were discernible only because they were a smoother white than their surroundings.

I walked up the hill and stood there for a while. What was I thinking? I don't know. I just wrapped myself in my coat, turning up the collar and watching the snow fall all about me. Soon enough, there would be crowds here – walking, throwing snowballs, building snowmen, tobogganing down the hill with squeals of pleasure. But for now it was just me. I put out my tongue and let a flake catch on it. I tipped back my head and was blinded by the falling snow.

As I made my way back down the hill, I saw there were people now, like vertical smudges on a white canvas. And then I saw a figure, walking slowly along the path that crossed mine. As I drew closer I could make out that it was a woman. She had on a thick coat, a large hat pulled down over her eyes, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Nevertheless something about her remained familiar to me. I stopped where I was, with a tightness about my heart. Perhaps she felt my eyes on her, for she stopped too, and looked up. She turned her head towards me and then she took off her hat and put a hand to her eyes, to see better. Flakes fell on to her dark hair. For a few moments, she didn't move, and neither did I.

I wanted to call out her name: 'Laura! Laura!' I wanted to cover the distance between us so I could see her face properly. And she too seemed to be drawn towards me. She took an uncertain half step, her hat still dangling from her mittened hand. But she halted and still I didn't move.

Then Laura put on her hat and once more started walking along the path, away from me. I watched her as she became a shadowy figure. I watched until, like a lonely ghost, she faded into white.

Somehow, days passed. Weeks passed. Whatever you do, time always goes by. Then something happened.

I was dreaming that I was falling, falling through the air, and then I woke with a start that made my heart pound. The phone was ringing. I stretched out my hand instinctively, though I was still stupid with sleep. I half noticed, as I fumbled with the receiver, that it was dark outside.

I mumbled into the receiver and someone started singing into my ear. For a moment, I thought if this was part of my dream, a dream within a dream, then the words resolved. 'Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you

1 sat up in bed and clutched the phone. Behind the relentlessly cheery tune there was another noise: a rabble of voices; music and loud laughter.

'Happy birthday, dearest Miranda…'

'Don't,' I mumbled.

'Happy birthday to you!'

I twisted my head round to see the green glow of the numbers on the clock. 12.01 clicked into 12.02.

'I wanted to be the first to say it. You didn't think I'd forget, did you? I could never forget.'

'I don't want…'

'March the eighth. Did you know that was International Women's Day?'

'I'm going to put the phone down now, Brendan.'

'You're always in my thoughts. Not an hour goes by. And I'm always in your thoughts, aren't I?'

'You're drunk.'

'Just merry. And on my own now.'

'But Laura…?'

'On my own and thinking of you. Just thinking of you.'

'Fuck off,' I said.

I put the phone down, but not in time to miss him saying. 'Sleep well, Miranda. Sweet dreams.'