Page 88 of People In Love
He has taken his eyes from hers, now.
Of course you were gonna stay home, he says. He is holding his body unusually still, and Nora does not react. Doesn’t bite back. He is hurting; she has hurt him.
I know you said we’d missed our chance, she says, but –
To get out of here, Bren says. That’s all. I was giving you a way out, if you needed one. But you’ve said you don’t, so that’s fine. I can get my flight out whenever I want to, now, right.
Right, Nora says.
Because I candothat, Bren says. I can do what I want, when I want, I can be free as a fucking bird and it’s a good thing, he says, and his voice has gone unnaturally high, if heat had a sound, it would be his voice right now, hot and hurting andalight, and again he says don’tlookat me like that, Nora, don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me.
I’m not!
It’s not like I’m in love with you, for Christ’s sake. You’ve always hung on to me like some kind of lovesick schoolgirl, but I was just being a friend, all right? I just wanted to give you a way out of this boring-arse life in the suburbs. That’s all. Don’t kid yourself.
Bren, Nora says, her voice breaking, because his has, too.
Photographs, framed.
A world map pinned to his ceiling.
His hurt leaching into hers, or hers into his, as they stand there in a room cluttered with their past, airless despite the open window.
Shall we get to this lunch, then, Bren asks, and he leaves without waiting for her so that Nora is left alone, staring at herself, now, in the mirror. His white shirt, crumpled, on the floor.
_
You’re back, Robin says, when Nora comes through the garden gate. He is sandwiched between both mothers at the table, and seems drained; has probably spent the last ten minutes being insulted by Freya, or fawned over by Josie; most likely both.
We’re back, Nora nods, forcing a smile.
Bren, who’d beaten her to the table, says nothing. Pours himself a glass of Pimm’s, then lifts one of the chairs and points it towards the sun so it’s not facing the rest of them. Sits down, takes a drink. Nora lowers herself into the only empty seat, warm despite the spring breeze lifting her hair.
You look very dapper, pet, Josie says to Bren. New shirt?
Very old shirt, Bren says.
I like it, Robin says. Rather Jeff Goldblum.
Bren scoffs into his glass and Nora reddens; leans over for some bread, to hide it. Freya, who is dishing out tomato salad with a serving spoon, says really, Bren? You’re going to sulk like you used to at Christmas, when your father made you wear a tie?
And despite all that’s just happened in Bren’s bedroom, despite how terrible and guilty and muddled she feels, Nora feels a zap of panic shoot through her. At how wrong it is that Freya would use Jon’s name like that, in front of everyone. Bren seems to tense up, too. Downs the rest of his drink.
So why, Robin asks the table at large, is a smart shirt necessary for eating roast lamb?
His words sound forced, like he knows something is happening here, but is trying to keep things cordial. Nora feels a rush of affection for him; showing up as himself, no matter what’s going on at home. She’ll show him, soon enough. Another zap through her, at the thought: this time a thrill.
It’s a very nice roast lamb, is all, Freya says.
Now that Nora’s seen to it, Josie says, and Freya makes a faux noise of outrage, says was that a joke, Josephine? Very good, very sly! See, all you needed was a bit of grog in you and you’re blimmin’ Lucille Ball! Well, cheers, everyone. Here’s to all of us getting together, like this. Making an effort, she adds, in Bren’s direction.
They all clink glasses, aside from Bren, who raises his above his head. Nora leans across the table to touch Robin’s, who is searching her face due to Bren’s mood. She wants to tell him to ignore it, she’ll explain later. To just get through the meal. To avoid the pesto, which is inedible; they’ll laugh about that, later, she’s sure.
So, Robin, Bren says, raising his voice. How’re the wedding plans coming along?
Nora drops her knife. Robin, who had just started talking to Josie, turns his head.
Not long till the twenty-second, is it, Bren says. Invites need to go out soon, don’t they?
