Constance by Patrick McGrath

them came emotions I had no intention of dealing with that night, in that house, and if I could manage it, not ever.
    Sidney came to the kitchen but I told him to leave me alone. I wasn’t ready to talk to him. I woke in the morning, in bed, in my coat, shivering with cold, and Sidney woke with me. Daddy had told him about our conversation. That he wasn’t my father, this had never occurred to Sidney, but he understood at once why I’d been treated with such coldness all my life. I think he understood.
    —I don’t want to talk about it, I said. You have to let me deal with this by myself. The best thing you can do is leave me alone.
    —Are you coming back with us?
    —I want to see Iris. I’ll get the train.
    We lay there in silence. Neither of us wished to leave the warmth of the bed. Through the gap in the drapes I could see the lowering gray sky outside. There was more snow on the way.
    —Your father said you didn’t want to know the circumstances.
    —Did you hear what I said? And he’s not my father.
    —He was very upset.
    What was he trying to do, effect a reconciliation? Fat chance.
    —You’re making me angry, I said.
    He climbed out of bed and rapidly got dressed. He paused atthe door and said he didn’t think I should blame my sister. Then he left the bedroom. The effect of his words was to awaken the anger I’d intended to suppress. My family had lied to me all my life, this was how I saw it, so why should I care that the old man was upset?
I
was upset,
I, Constance!
I heard Sidney in the corridor with Howard. He wanted to get in bed with me again but Sidney told him he couldn’t.
    —Why not?
    —She’s upset.
    Later I packed the boy’s suitcase while Sidney gave him breakfast in the kitchen. I came down to see them off. I’d scraped my hair back off my forehead in a tight knot and I’d never before felt so distant or so very severe as I did then. Daddy looked exhausted. He hadn’t slept. I was indifferent to him. I had a splinter of ice in my heart that morning, oh yes. I knew he was suffering. He’d handled it badly, and doubtless he was asking himself how you handle such a thing well. How do you break the silence of almost thirty years in a sensitive manner?
    —When’s Iris coming?
    He’d just said good-bye to Sidney and Howard. I was with him in the kitchen. I was making fresh coffee. I didn’t trouble to tell him when Iris was coming. Let him rot in hell.
    I took the truck to the station. When I saw my sister on the platform I felt a brief pang of the old protective affection but I hated that she knew. A cold fury had raged inside me ever since Daddy told me. I’d thought: How could it not be Iris’s fault that she’d kept it from me? She must have acquiesced in some notion of the old man’s that it was for my own good. Then through perverse loyalty to him, or just sheer laziness, or carelessness, she’d failed me. Wasn’t Iris more than a sister to me?Wasn’t she my best friend? Hadn’t I been a mother to her after Harriet died? But here she was, striding down the platform with a bag slung over her shoulder. She was in a dirty old fur coat she’d picked up secondhand in the city, it was flapping open, also velvet trousers tucked into a pair of ridiculous cowboy boots. She had a cigarette between her teeth and she was grinning.
    —Hello, captain.
    —Give me one of those.
    She handed over the pack and clicked her lighter. Driving back to the house not once did I look at her. I’d decided the old man could tell her what had happened. When she was getting out of the truck she asked me if I was okay.
    —What do you mean?
    —I feel sad here too.
    —You feel sad for Daddy?
    —I guess so.
    We went into the house. The old man emerged from the sitting room, carefully closing the door behind him. The long, flinty face grew soft, or as soft as flint gets. Here was Iris, home at last. How impatient he must be, I thought, to get her to himself and give her the bad news. And ask her