and watch as she
continues drying her hair, pausing to take occasional sips of her gin and tonic.
‘Do you think we should have stayed
with her? Julia, I mean,’ she says.
‘No.’
‘I feel bad for her, knocking around
inside that massive house, all alone.’
‘They have lots of friends. If
she’s on her own, it’s because she must want to be.’
She swirls the drink in her glass, then
asks: ‘How come they don’t have kids?’
‘Lots of people don’t have kids,
Lauren.’
‘True. But how long are they
married?’
‘I dunno. Six, maybe seven years.
Why?’
‘You’d think they’d have
kids, that’s all. So what’s the deal? Can they not have them? Is that
it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not
the kind of thing you can ask.’
‘He’s your brother.’
How to explain to her that there are many
things Luke and I can’t discuss? ‘I just don’t think Luke was ever
really interested in children of his own.’
‘What about you?’ Lauren asks.
She has stopped drying her hair, and is sitting very still. ‘Do you want
kids?’
Outside, the light has faded. From my place
on the bed, I can see purple clouds drawing in, the night sky coming on. I hear noises
from the streets beyond and try to tune into them, the music the city makes, its own
distinctive beat, but there is something wrong with my hearing – as ifa bubble of air has caught inside my inner ear from the
flight. The room has grown dim around us, making it hard to see her expression. But I
can sense its concentrated intensity.
‘Not yet,’ I say softly, my
heart beating slowly.
The words hang between us. If she senses my
evasion, she doesn’t comment on it. There is so much that we haven’t talked
about yet. I think of the commitment we have made to each other and feel a tingle of
fear along my spine. The alcohol has gone straight to my head. I hadn’t expected
such a confusion of emotions. Lauren leans closer to me. Her towel lies to one side,
discarded, along with her empty glass. I feel her gaze dwelling on me, and a small smile
drifts onto her face. I need to focus, I tell myself. I need to find out what has
happened to my brother. She moves closer, lifting her body, and I can feel her breath on
my neck, the glance and brush of her hair against my face.
After we make love, she falls asleep. I feel
the weight of her head resting on my arm, but I can’t close my eyes. Thoughts
whirr in my head, words echoing along the corridors of my mind. I think of Luke’s
study, the box of photographs and remember what Julia asked me: what did happen back
then … in Kenya?
Gently, so as not to wake her, I slip my arm
out from under Lauren’s head and dress quietly in the dark. In the corridor
outside, I make the call. Katie’s voice sounds strange – there’s a rasp to
it that I don’t remember, as if she’s been chain-smoking Turkish cigarettes
since we last met.
‘Can you meet me?’ I ask, and
she says sure, although there’s frost in her voice.
‘Where?’
‘Grogan’s,’ I tell her.
‘Half an hour.’
I’m there before her, squeezing into
a corner beneath a wall crowded with dubious artwork. The place is heaving with people
and I feel lucky to have snatched a small space on a bench, hooking a stool with my foot
for Katie. Despite the smoking ban, Grogan’s reeks of cigarettes and stale
alcohol, as if it’s seeped into the upholstery and is trapped there for ever. The
bartender’s hair falls long and limp down her back, past her hips. I’m kind
of entranced by it, so much so that I don’t even notice Katie until she’s
standing right in front of me.
‘Hello, you,’ she says, a smile
pulling at the corners of her mouth.
‘Hey,’ I say, getting to my
feet. We lean towards each other, kissing on the cheek, then draw apart, the air between
us awkward and stiff.
‘I’ll get us a drink,’ she
says, dumping her
continues drying her hair, pausing to take occasional sips of her gin and tonic.
‘Do you think we should have stayed
with her? Julia, I mean,’ she says.
‘No.’
‘I feel bad for her, knocking around
inside that massive house, all alone.’
‘They have lots of friends. If
she’s on her own, it’s because she must want to be.’
She swirls the drink in her glass, then
asks: ‘How come they don’t have kids?’
‘Lots of people don’t have kids,
Lauren.’
‘True. But how long are they
married?’
‘I dunno. Six, maybe seven years.
Why?’
‘You’d think they’d have
kids, that’s all. So what’s the deal? Can they not have them? Is that
it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not
the kind of thing you can ask.’
‘He’s your brother.’
How to explain to her that there are many
things Luke and I can’t discuss? ‘I just don’t think Luke was ever
really interested in children of his own.’
‘What about you?’ Lauren asks.
She has stopped drying her hair, and is sitting very still. ‘Do you want
kids?’
Outside, the light has faded. From my place
on the bed, I can see purple clouds drawing in, the night sky coming on. I hear noises
from the streets beyond and try to tune into them, the music the city makes, its own
distinctive beat, but there is something wrong with my hearing – as ifa bubble of air has caught inside my inner ear from the
flight. The room has grown dim around us, making it hard to see her expression. But I
can sense its concentrated intensity.
‘Not yet,’ I say softly, my
heart beating slowly.
The words hang between us. If she senses my
evasion, she doesn’t comment on it. There is so much that we haven’t talked
about yet. I think of the commitment we have made to each other and feel a tingle of
fear along my spine. The alcohol has gone straight to my head. I hadn’t expected
such a confusion of emotions. Lauren leans closer to me. Her towel lies to one side,
discarded, along with her empty glass. I feel her gaze dwelling on me, and a small smile
drifts onto her face. I need to focus, I tell myself. I need to find out what has
happened to my brother. She moves closer, lifting her body, and I can feel her breath on
my neck, the glance and brush of her hair against my face.
After we make love, she falls asleep. I feel
the weight of her head resting on my arm, but I can’t close my eyes. Thoughts
whirr in my head, words echoing along the corridors of my mind. I think of Luke’s
study, the box of photographs and remember what Julia asked me: what did happen back
then … in Kenya?
Gently, so as not to wake her, I slip my arm
out from under Lauren’s head and dress quietly in the dark. In the corridor
outside, I make the call. Katie’s voice sounds strange – there’s a rasp to
it that I don’t remember, as if she’s been chain-smoking Turkish cigarettes
since we last met.
‘Can you meet me?’ I ask, and
she says sure, although there’s frost in her voice.
‘Where?’
‘Grogan’s,’ I tell her.
‘Half an hour.’
I’m there before her, squeezing into
a corner beneath a wall crowded with dubious artwork. The place is heaving with people
and I feel lucky to have snatched a small space on a bench, hooking a stool with my foot
for Katie. Despite the smoking ban, Grogan’s reeks of cigarettes and stale
alcohol, as if it’s seeped into the upholstery and is trapped there for ever. The
bartender’s hair falls long and limp down her back, past her hips. I’m kind
of entranced by it, so much so that I don’t even notice Katie until she’s
standing right in front of me.
‘Hello, you,’ she says, a smile
pulling at the corners of her mouth.
‘Hey,’ I say, getting to my
feet. We lean towards each other, kissing on the cheek, then draw apart, the air between
us awkward and stiff.
‘I’ll get us a drink,’ she
says, dumping her
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