He looked at me properly then. His eyes were definitely not very friendly.
‘I’m usually in Europe,’ he said. ‘Except when I’m in New York. London is in Europe, you know.’
‘Are you in New York a lot?’ I asked him. ‘How exciting. You must be doing well…’
‘Didn’t my last letter arrive?’
So that was the way things were going to be. ‘That depends what was in it,’ I stalled. ‘The post is terrible, of course. But your father is always pleased to hear.’ The truth was, I passed them on to Chris unread. He carried them round in his pocket; after a week or so, they disappeared. I never asked; he never told me. I really don’t know if he opened them.
A terrible silence fell. Isaac sulked, heavily, staring at the carpet, presenting that lid of sad polished skin. Somewhere in the background, a tiny thud and an elaborate sigh as the champagne cork eased.
‘Have you seen your sister?’ I asked. ‘I sent her orchids for her birthday. Well, not just orchids. Mainly orchids.’
‘Didn’t you get my message in Madrid?’
‘I was never going to Madrid, I went to Malaga… alone. Is something wrong?’
‘It’s because of Susy I’ve come to see you!’
‘You used to be so fond of each other as children.’ (I was trying to remember whether this was true. They had certainly fought over toys and books, but they were also a trades union of two, complaining about the employers. ‘We used to get cooked breakfast at home,’ Isaac had told me, accusingly, the week they arrived, when I was very young, but still not stupid, and Susy had nodded in bleak corroboration. I knew I had to sort them out right from the start. ‘There are eggs in the fridge if you know how to cook.’ And a dark look passed between the two of them; this is what the chapel is going to have to deal with. They were less than ten at the time. Children stick together when their parents break up… And what if their father abandons them? They had probably grown closer with us away.)
‘We aren’t children any more,’ he said. ‘We haven’t always been such good friends. There was a period when Susy objected to my lifestyle. She wouldn’t let me into her house, she and her cabal. You know about them? She wouldn’t see me, so I couldn’t help her.’
Just at that moment Chris came back, preceding the barman with an icebucket.
The ritual of pouring and waiting for the froth to settle seemed to take much longer than usual. We sat in silence, waiting to begin, watching the dextrous movements of the barman. At last he was gone. We clutched our glasses.
‘How is your sister?’ Chris asked Isaac. His voice sounded hearty, unnaturally loud.
‘Alex just asked me that. You’re not going to like the answer.’
‘No sign of her getting married?’ Chris asked. He wasn’t listening to what Isaac was saying. I tried to semaphore a warning look. It was a question about some distant relative, vaguely improper about one’s daughters. Not that I could judge the proprieties; not that I knew how to behave to daughters.
‘Why don’t you ask about me getting married?’ said Isaac, and the years seemed to slip away, we were back with sibling rivalry, his voice an amalgam of pride and resentment and something else I did not understand, a kind of excitement; come on, attack me.
‘Are you about to get married?’ Chris asked blankly, with an apologetic smile. I tried to erase the thought which flashed: but surely he’s too old to get married.
‘You don’t know anything at all about me.’
This was awful. He was an angry small boy, disguised as a middle-aged man. Neither Chris nor I could speak. I gulped my champagne; wind in the gullet.
Chris put his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I can guess how you feel —’
‘— I doubt it —’
‘— what’s done is done —’
‘— thanks very much —’
‘— but tell me why you’ve come to see me. Us. We can have a good evening together.’ Chris’s hand was kneading Isaac’s arm, which stayed inert on the cushion of the seat. I looked beyond them and out of the window; the longing I felt was almost muscular, as if my gaze could have carried me with it far out across the unwounded snow.
‘I must have thought it would be nice to see my father. You know how funny kids are about that. Every ten years or so, we like to touch base.’
‘Of course it’s — good to see you.’
‘You would have died without trying to see me. Us. Of course Susy’s got Jesus to keep her warm. She’s become a religious loony, you know,’ he said, with malicious emphasis. The glass of champagne was easing his tongue. He knew we were both allergic to religion. ‘Replaced her family with the Heavenly Family.’
Chris was reeling from the blow. I think he had expected a veneer of politeness which might slowly wear through as the evening progressed. But this was immediate; knives at two paces. He filled up his own glass, splattering a little, not offering any to Isaac or me. ‘She wasn’t even confirmed.’ He was bewildered. ‘Isaac, you’re having us on.’
‘That’s why she had to be born again. The house was a headquarters for some kind of cult. Plymouth Brethers, or Sisters, or Mormons, or worse.’
‘Do you mean your sister is living with people?’
‘Precisely. Was, at any rate.’ There was suddenly a sense of near-complicity. Isaac filled up his own glass, and mine. Then he seemed to regret being on our side. ‘She must have been lonely, don’t you think. She was only seventeen when you went away. That’s not the best age to be abandoned.’
‘She was just off to college,’ I put in, knowing how weak it sounded. ‘We didn’t abandon her. I wrote. Your father made sure she had plenty of money…’
‘Which she spends on nutters, and abortions!’
‘— We kept in close touch after her abortion.’ I heard my voice, shrill, hollow.
‘Which abortion?’ he asked, triumphant. ‘You are just a teensy bit out of touch.’
Chris was looking very old. He hadn’t said a word for some time. His second glass was already empty. ‘You’re saying your sister had another abortion.’ His tone was dull. He reached for the bottle. The napkin flopped on to the floor, a defeated square of white.
‘Susy had two abortions. At least, those are the ones I know about. Then she decided to sort herself out. Joining a cult seemed like a good solution. And they had a lot to say about abortion, these guys. She got very keen on the sacredness of life. She thought everyone should rear their Mongol. But she seems to have changed her mind, because… Maybe I should give you this a step at a time.’
(Who was he, this quick-tongued, spiteful man? What was so changed about his style? His tone was monotonous, downbeat, falling intonations that indicated life was a joke, he had it sewn up, this was how things were, you had to stay one step ahead of the bastards, you had to make the bastards pay. We were the bastards. We sat and paid. He had all the power of his terrible knowledge.)
‘Shall I get another bottle?’ Chris asked.
‘I think we should go and eat,’ I said. I was feeling faint, my thoughts spun wildly. Besides, the night might break his spell.
‘Are there any decent restaurants here?’
(He never used to be a gourmet.)
‘Yes,’ said Chris, trying to rally. ‘But we’re a bit early…’
Isaac jumped in. ‘We could have another bottle…’
‘No,’ I said. I had beaten him before, I had saved Chris before, I would save him again. ‘I’ll have to eat or I’m going to fall over.’
We walked through the streets. Clear sky, bright stars. It felt intensely cold, though it was early summer.
‘It’s hard to believe it gets colder than this,’ I said to the air ahead of me, for I was leading the way; my limbs still functioned normally. I glimpsed the men following in single file in the glass of the expensive shop windows, mechanical dummies on blind manoeuvres.