percent mortgages to enable first-time buyers to purchase the properties his company was going to build. Then it was over.
“Brilliant,” said Bryony. “He managed to stick to the brief for a change. Now, tell me, what books are you reading?”
“I’m reading Feminism in Eighteenth-Century England by Katherine Rogers,” said Ali. “It’s for my coursework. I’m trying to keep up with the background reading so that I don’t have so much ground to cover when I go back next year.”
“What I meant was what books have you recommended the children should read?”
“Oh, sorry. I’ve left Jake to his own devices. Izzy is reading To Kill a Mockingbird , and I’ve introduced the twins to the joys of Horrid Henry .”
“Can you write that in the daybook so in the future I don’t need to ask?”
Bryony got out another bunch of papers from her bag. “Private and Confidential,” it read on the front: “Project Odysseus.” Bryony began to skim-read the document. Ali caught a glimpse of its content. A Ukrainian company wanted to buy a British counterpart. Interesting, thought Ali, who wanted to ask more questions. But Bryony’s phone rang and their conversation was over.
The traffic was beginning to unravel. Ali could see the twins in the rearview mirror. They were tightly strapped in their car seats, but they each had an arm stretched toward the other so that their short, stubby fingers were entwined. When they saw her watching, they each put their index finger to their lips at exactly the same time, warning her not to say anything. Their connection was both spooky and touching. She was pretty sure that Alfie was on the left and Hector was on the right. Clutch and accelerator. Or was it accelerator and clutch? She quickly looked down at her feet for reassurance. Even if she couldn’t tell the twins apart yet, she needed to be certain about the pedals of the car.
From the back of the car, Ali could hear them muttering words to each other in their strange secret language. “Nakakatawa sya,” one of them said seriously. The other nodded. “Alam ko.” The words sounded ancient, like an impenetrable lost language rescued from the depths of the Amazon. Ali repeated them under her breath, and they giggled uncontrollably. They didn’t seem upset about going back to school after the holidays, a relief to Ali, who was taken aback by the intensity of all their reactions.
They were due to review how to deal with what Bryony called “the language issue” at the end of the week. Ali had little concrete to report other than the fact that it seemed surprising they needed to use it when they seemed to communicate subliminally anyway. She wanted to say to Bryony that perhaps drawing attention to it might exacerbate the problem. She knew she wouldn’t dare. She already understood that for Bryony, identifying problems was halfway to solving them. She lived her life by lists. How else could she be so organized?
• • •
Ali managed to persuade the car back into a more controlled rhythm as she headed down a wider street, grateful for the bus in front that meant she didn’t have to pick up speed. The road ahead looked vaguely familiar. But it might have just been the generic nature of the shops. Starbucks. Habitat. Marks & Spencer. The kind of shops you found in places occupied by people in upper tax brackets. Not a Costcutter or a Sue Ryder in sight. She relaxed enough for the blood to return to her hands and began to pick up the threads of Bryony’s conversation.
Ali knew from the ringtone (a song by the Black Eyed Peas downloaded by Jake) that Bryony was speaking on her private line. She also knew from the way Bryony had chewed her lower lip and stared at the screen until the chorus of “Where Is the Love?” began that she was in two minds about whether to take the call.
“Maybe it’s a good idea to go organic, Dad,” she heard Bryony say in an even tone. “You’re always complaining that the
“Brilliant,” said Bryony. “He managed to stick to the brief for a change. Now, tell me, what books are you reading?”
“I’m reading Feminism in Eighteenth-Century England by Katherine Rogers,” said Ali. “It’s for my coursework. I’m trying to keep up with the background reading so that I don’t have so much ground to cover when I go back next year.”
“What I meant was what books have you recommended the children should read?”
“Oh, sorry. I’ve left Jake to his own devices. Izzy is reading To Kill a Mockingbird , and I’ve introduced the twins to the joys of Horrid Henry .”
“Can you write that in the daybook so in the future I don’t need to ask?”
Bryony got out another bunch of papers from her bag. “Private and Confidential,” it read on the front: “Project Odysseus.” Bryony began to skim-read the document. Ali caught a glimpse of its content. A Ukrainian company wanted to buy a British counterpart. Interesting, thought Ali, who wanted to ask more questions. But Bryony’s phone rang and their conversation was over.
The traffic was beginning to unravel. Ali could see the twins in the rearview mirror. They were tightly strapped in their car seats, but they each had an arm stretched toward the other so that their short, stubby fingers were entwined. When they saw her watching, they each put their index finger to their lips at exactly the same time, warning her not to say anything. Their connection was both spooky and touching. She was pretty sure that Alfie was on the left and Hector was on the right. Clutch and accelerator. Or was it accelerator and clutch? She quickly looked down at her feet for reassurance. Even if she couldn’t tell the twins apart yet, she needed to be certain about the pedals of the car.
From the back of the car, Ali could hear them muttering words to each other in their strange secret language. “Nakakatawa sya,” one of them said seriously. The other nodded. “Alam ko.” The words sounded ancient, like an impenetrable lost language rescued from the depths of the Amazon. Ali repeated them under her breath, and they giggled uncontrollably. They didn’t seem upset about going back to school after the holidays, a relief to Ali, who was taken aback by the intensity of all their reactions.
They were due to review how to deal with what Bryony called “the language issue” at the end of the week. Ali had little concrete to report other than the fact that it seemed surprising they needed to use it when they seemed to communicate subliminally anyway. She wanted to say to Bryony that perhaps drawing attention to it might exacerbate the problem. She knew she wouldn’t dare. She already understood that for Bryony, identifying problems was halfway to solving them. She lived her life by lists. How else could she be so organized?
• • •
Ali managed to persuade the car back into a more controlled rhythm as she headed down a wider street, grateful for the bus in front that meant she didn’t have to pick up speed. The road ahead looked vaguely familiar. But it might have just been the generic nature of the shops. Starbucks. Habitat. Marks & Spencer. The kind of shops you found in places occupied by people in upper tax brackets. Not a Costcutter or a Sue Ryder in sight. She relaxed enough for the blood to return to her hands and began to pick up the threads of Bryony’s conversation.
Ali knew from the ringtone (a song by the Black Eyed Peas downloaded by Jake) that Bryony was speaking on her private line. She also knew from the way Bryony had chewed her lower lip and stared at the screen until the chorus of “Where Is the Love?” began that she was in two minds about whether to take the call.
“Maybe it’s a good idea to go organic, Dad,” she heard Bryony say in an even tone. “You’re always complaining that the
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