Secret Smile

CHAPTER 3

Kerry met Brendan in the middle of the room, and he bent down to kiss her lingeringly on the lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, looking tiny beside his tall, bulky figure. She stood on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear, and he nodded and looked across at me with his head slightly to one side and a very small smile on his lips. He gave a nod and walked towards me with both arms outstretched. I didn't know quite what to do. I half-raised myself from my seat, so by the time he arrived at the table I was crouched awkwardly with the chair jammed behind my knees.

'Miranda,' he said. He put his hands firmly on my shoulders, making me sink a bit lower towards my chair, and stared me in the eyes. 'Oh, Miranda.'

He bent down to kiss me on the cheek, too near my mouth. By this time Kerry had managed to wrap her arm around Brendan's waist, so she bobbed towards me too, and for one awful second we were all a few inches from each other's faces and I could see the sweat in the divot above his upper lip and the small scar in Kerry's eyebrow where I'd hit her with a plastic spade when I was four and she was six. So close I could smell his soap and her perfume and something sour in the air between us. I pulled myself free and sank gratefully back on to my chair.

'So Kerry's told you?' By now he was sitting too, positioned between me and Kerry so that we were crammed around a small segment of the table, our knees touching. He put a hand over Kerry's as he spoke, and she looked up at him with her shining eyes.

'Yes. But I…'

'And it's really all right?'

'Why shouldn't I be?' I said and realized I'd answered a question that hadn't been asked. It made me sound tense, rattled, which I was, a bit. Anyone in the world would have been. I saw them exchange a glance. 'I mean, it's fine.'

'I know this must be hard for you.'

'It's not hard for me at all,' I said.

'That's very generous of you,' he said. 'Typically generous. I told Derek and Marcia you would be like this. I told them not to worry too much.'

'Mum and Dad?'

'Yes,' said Kerry. 'They met Bren a couple of days ago. They really liked him. Well, of course they did. Troy did too, and you know how hard he is to please.'

Brendan gave a modest smile. 'Sweet kid,' he said.

'And you told them…?' I didn't know how to finish the sentence. I suddenly remembered a phone call the night before last, when both my parents had talked to me, one after the other, and asked me how I was feeling at the moment. A small tic started up under my left eye.

'That you would understand because you were a big-hearted woman,' said Brendan.

I felt myself getting angry now at the thought of these people talking behind my back about the way they assumed I would react.

'The way that I remember it is…'

Brendan held up a hand – large and white, with hairy wrists. Hairy wrists, big ear lobes, thick neck. Memories bobbed to the surface and I pushed them back down again. 'Let's not go any further right now. Give it time.'

'Miranda,' said Kerry pleadingly. 'Bren just told them what we thought they needed to know.' I looked across at her and saw on her face the luminous happiness that I wasn't used to. I swallowed hard and stared at the menu.

'Shall we order, then?'

'Good idea. I think I'll have the daurade,' said Brendan, rolling his 'r's at the back of his throat.

I didn't feel like eating anything.

'I'll just have the steak and chips,' I said. 'Without the chips.'

'Still worried about your weight?'

'What?'

'You don't need to,' Brendan said. 'You look fine. Doesn't she, Kerry?'

'Yes. Miranda always looks lovely.' For a moment she looked sour, as if she'd said 'Miranda always looks lovely' too many times. 'I think I'd like the salmon and a green salad.'

'We'll have a bottle of the Chablis, I think,' said Brendan. 'Do you want a glass of red with your steak, Mirrie?'

That was another thing. I'd always liked the name 'Miranda' because it couldn't be shortened. Until I met Brendan. 'Mirrie'. It sounded like a misprint.

'White's fine,' I said.

'Sure?'

'Yes.' I gripped the table. 'Thanks.'

Kerry got up to go to the ladies, and he watched her weave her way through the tables with that small smile on his face. He ordered our meal before turning back to me.

'So

'Miranda.'

He just smiled, then laid a hand over mine.

'You two are very different,' he said.

'I know that.'

'No, I mean, you're different in ways you couldn't possibly know.'

'What?'

'Only I can make comparisons,' he said, still smiling at me fondly.

It took me a few seconds to understand. I pulled my hand away.

'Brendan, listen…'

'Hello, honey,' he said over my head, then stood up to pull back Kerry's chair for her, placing a hand on her head as she sat down again. The food arrived. My steak was fat and bloody, and slid around the plate when I tried to cut it. Brendan watched me hack at it, then lifted a finger to a waitress as she passed. He said something to her in French, which I didn't understand, and she brought me a different sort of knife.

'Brendan spent time in Paris,' said Kerry.

'Oh.'

'But you probably knew that?' She glanced up at me then looked away. I couldn't read her expression: was it suspicious, resentful, triumphant or simply curious?

'No, I didn't.' I knew very little about Brendan. He said he was between jobs. He'd mentioned something about a psychology course and about travelling around Europe for several months, but beyond that I could hardly think of a single detail of his life. I'd never been to his flat, never met his friends. He hadn't talked about his past and he had been vague about his plans. But then of course, there had been so little time. We had been approaching the stage when you start telling each other about your lives when I'd caught him finding out about my life in his own way.

I finally managed to insert a mouthful of steak into my mouth and chewed it vigorously. Brendan inserted a finger and thumb delicately into his own mouth and extracted a thin bone, laying it carefully on the side of his plate then swilling back the rest of his mouthful with white wine. I looked away.

'So,' I said to Kerry. 'How did you two meet?'

'Oh,' she said, and glanced up at Brendan sideways. 'By accident, really.'

'Don't call it accident. Fate,' said Brendan.

'I was in the park after work one evening and it started to rain and this man

'That would be me

Kerry giggled happily. 'Yes. Bren. He said he knew my face. "Aren't you Kerry Cotton?" he said.'

'I recognized her from your photograph of course. Then there she was in front of me in the rain.'

'He told me he knew you – I mean, he didn't tell me about, you know – he just said he knew you. Then he offered to share his umbrella

'Like the gentleman I am,' said Brendan. 'You know me, Mirrie.'

'We carried on walking together, even though it was belting down with rain. We got wetter and wetter, and our shoes were squelching with water.'

'But we kept on walking through the rain,' said Brendan and put his hand on her hair and stroked it. 'Didn't we?'

'We were soaked through, so I invited him to come and get dry at mine…'

'I towelled her hair for her,' said Brendan.

'That's enough,' I said, lifting up my hand, pretending to laugh. 'We'll stop with the getting dry, shall we?'

'I can't tell you how relieved I am that you know,' said Kerry. 'When I discovered about you two, well, for a bit I thought it would ruin everything. I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don't you?' She looked remarkably pretty: soft and slim and radiant. There was a small pain in my chest.

'You deserve to be happy,' I said, turning my back on Brendan and speaking only to her.

'I am happy,' she said. 'We've only known each other for a few days, ten to be precise, and it's not been long since the two of you – well, you know… So perhaps I shouldn't say this, but I can't remember being so happy.'

'That's good,' I said. Ten days, I thought.

We ate our meal, drank our wine. Glasses chinked. I smiled and nodded, and said yes and no in the right places, and all the time I was thinking. Trying not to think. Not to remember: the way his tummy bulged slightly over his boxer shorts; the black hair on his shoulders…

Finally I looked down at my watch and gave a fake start of surprise at the time it was, though it was only just gone nine-thirty, and told them I had to get back – early start tomorrow; long drive, no time for coffee, so sorry… We had to go through the whole rigmarole of saying goodbye, with Kerry hugging me hard and Brendan kissing me too close to my mouth and I resisting the urge to wipe the dampness away with the back of my hand, and everyone saying how we must meet again very soon, oh yes, how lovely I'd been, how kind, how good.

He walked me to the door of the restaurant.

'It's been raining,' he said.

I ignored him.

'It's an incredible coincidence,' I said.

'What?'

'I break off with you and a few days later you meet my sister in the street and you start going out. It's hard to believe.'

'There's no such thing as coincidence,' said Brendan. 'Maybe it's not surprising that I'd fall in love with someone who looked like you.'

I looked over Brendan's shoulder at Kerry, still sitting at the table. She caught my eye and gave me a nervous smile and glanced away. When I spoke to Brendan I smiled, so that our conversation would seem friendly to Kerry.

'Brendan,' I asked, 'is this some kind of weird joke?'

He looked puzzled and a bit hurt.

'Joke?'

'If you're playing with my sister as some way of getting at me.'

'That sounds pretty self-centred,' said Brendan, 'if you don't mind my saying so.'

'Just don't hurt her,' I said. 'She deserves to be happy.'

'Trust me. I know how to make her happy.'

I couldn't bear to be with him another second. I walked home through the damp streets, breathing in deeply, letting the air cool my face. Had he really fallen in love with Kerry? Did it really matter how they had met? I walked faster, till my legs ached with the effort.

I often think of positions in families, the difference it makes to you. Would I have been someone else if I'd been the oldest? What about Kerry, if she'd been in the middle, instead of me? Would she have been more confident and extrovert, more like me – or, at least, more like the me the family assumed I was? And Troy, the baby of the family, who came along nine years after me? If he hadn't been all on his own, the obvious mistake, what would that have meant for him? Or if he'd had brothers who could teach him how to kick a football and use his fists and play violent computer games, instead of sisters who petted and ignored him?

But we were stuck with what we'd been given. Kerry had come first and had to lead the way, although she hated being a leader. And I was second, impatient to grow up and chafing to be first, always trying to overtake her, push her out of my way. And Troy was third and the only boy – very much the last, but almost the first as well, thin-shouldered, wide-eyed, dreamy, strange.

I let myself into the flat. It was true that I had an early start tomorrow, but for a while I couldn't get to sleep. I lay in bed, shifting to different positions, turning the pillow to find a cooler spot. There was no photograph of Kerry in my flat, of course there wasn't. But then I hadn't believed Brendan's story anyway, so what did it matter? He tracked down Kerry because she was my sister. Considered from a certain angle, it might seem romantic.