Page 19 of People In Love
What’re you playing at, Brenavin, Freya asks, when she sitsacross from him, pulling her knees into a lotus position atop her chair. Bren says he isn’t playing at anything, and she stares him down.
What, he says.
Why would you come back for this party, of all things?
That’s the second time someone’s asked me that, Bren says. Clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered.
Oh, don’t be a martyr.
Why weren’tyouthere, anyway? Are we not a fan of Robert?
Freya, who is swallowing a mouthful of tea, spits out aha! My pointexactly! so that half of it spatters down her front.
What point is that, Bren says, as she dabs herself dry, and she says youknowhis name is Robin.
Isn’t that what I said?
And I adore the man, as it goes. Intelligent, bold dresser, more of a feminist than Nora, I think, sometimes. I simply don’t approve of traditions that force women into societally approved boxes, so an engagement party went against my principles, is all.
Bren lifts his chin at her.
I did wonder about that, he says. I’d never pictured it, for her, either. The whole marriage thing.
Hm, is all Freya says, as she reaches for a biscuit.
I always thought she was a free spirit, like you.
Don’t do that, Brenavin. Don’t try to get me on side.
What side would that be?
The side that suddenly roots for you, when you show up twelve years too late, Freya says. After abandoning everyone the second things got tricky.
She gives a crunch of her biscuit, in finale. And unlike Nora the night before, Freya does not seem to regret her words. They glare at each other over the table, steam risingfrom their mugs, until Bren says that actually, Freya? Things had been tricky for a very long time.
Dismissive sound, then, from her.
So how long are you staying, she asks, after another glug of her tea, letting the awkwardness slide on by. Are you planning on seeing Nora again? Spending any time with your mother? Or just vamoosing, when it suits you?
I don’t know, Bren says. I’ve not thought about it.
Course you haven’t, Freya says. He sighs, blows his fringe out of his face. He is about to say well, thanks for the biscuits, if nothing else, see you around, when Freya says the past doesn’t need digging up, Bren. That’s why it’s the past.
He tries to meet her gaze, at this, but the steam from her cup has clouded her glasses.
I’m not here to dig anything up, he says. It’s just a major moment in her life, isn’t it? I couldn’t ignore it. Because contrary to what you might think of me, Freya, Nora and Ihavekept in touch. We’re still friends. In spite of … everything.
She is looking at him with both of her beady, honey-gold eyes. He’s always thought she is birdlike, in a very different way to his own mother. Josie is frail and fluttering; Freya, by contrast, is a hawk, sharp and watchful, talons poised.
Digging up the past isn’t my style, anyway, he adds. I prefer to leave it behind.
Three ticks of the flamingo clock, then, before Freya gives her high, cackling laugh. Well, she says, raising her cup to him. At least you’re self-aware.
She takes another mouthful, says ah, milk! and springs up from her chair, before sloshing some into their mugs. So we’re agreed, then, she says. The past stays in the past?
She doesn’t look at him as she says this.
Little niggle, which he can’t quite place, so he lets it go, says sure.
