Goodnight, Beautiful: A Novel (34 page)

It doesn’t mean anything
, I tell myself as I transfer my lacerated thumb to my mouth without checking the wound first.

I’m not Nova, I don’t read signs into everything, so this, it really doesn’t mean anything.

“
So, do you have a best friend, Leo?” Mum asked.

“
Yes,” he replied.

“
Who is it?
”

He hit the “pause” button on his controller so he could look at Mum without losing the game. She smiled back at him as if she didn’t know the answer to that question.

Leo frowned at her. She was a silly mum sometimes.

He turned back to his controller, took the game off “pause” and tried to make Darth Sidious kill Master Windu.

“
You, of course,” he said.

Leo, age 6 years and 9 months

C
ordy is pacing the floorboards of my guest bedroom, wearing her knee-length, granddad-style flannel nightshirt and knee-length socks, while talking on her mobile. Her hair is combed around her head and wrapped under a blue satin scarf. She looks rather stylish for someone who is about to climb into bed.

She has her small silver mobile on speakerphone and one of her four-year-old twins, at a guess Ria, is crying loudly; the other one, Randle, is fervently banging something metallic. Over the noise of the two of them, Jack, Cordy’s husband, is trying to conduct a conversation about Ria’s missing blanket.

“You’ve really looked everywhere?” says Cordy, pausing in front of the mirror to pout at herself. I sit in bed, watching her.

“Yes!” Jack shouts in frustration.

“I’m really going to miss our house, J,” she says, sadly.

“What?” he replies, thinking he’s misheard.

“I’m really going to miss our house,” she repeats louder.

“What do you mean? Why?” he asks.

“Well, when you give up your job at the airline, we won’t be able to afford it, we’ll have to get something smaller.”

“Why am I going to give up my job?”

“We always agreed, the children have to know both their parents. It’s not their fault their parents were stupid enough to take
on all this debt, and if you’re falling apart after, what,
four
hours alone with them, you obviously don’t know them and they don’t know you. So, less debt, more time with the children.”

Save the crying and banging, there is silence from Jack’s end of the line. And then the sound of rummaging and things being overturned, his footsteps running from room to room.

“Found it!” Jack says triumphantly, and Ria magically stops crying.

“Thought you might,” Cordy says. “Kiss the children for me.”

Cordy snaps shut her phone and climbs onto the bed, not coming under the covers with me. Mum and Dad are in my bedroom for a couple of nights, while they decide how long they’re staying, and Aunt Mer is on the sofa bed downstairs in the living room; Cordy and I are bunking in together here. Keith is at the hospital and, as always, gives me half-hourly updates on Leo’s condition.

I thought I’d be overwhelmed by them all being here, but a sense of calm order has descended since they arrived. Mum and Aunt Mer have been cleaning but have been careful not to disturb anything that Leo has left lying around, as if they know I’ll want him to pick them up when he returns. Other than that, my house has been given their treatment. This would have upset me at one point, but I’ve accepted that this is their way of coping—Mum spent the afternoon cooking and freezing stuff, as well—they can’t do anything to help at the hospital so they’re taking their frustrations out on the dust and furniture and floors. Dad has been placidly following Mum’s orders to go do the shopping and have my car cleaned and take away the recycling and cut the lawn. Now there is a quiet in the house and I feel so much better. Less alone.

Keith doesn’t make me feel alone, it’s just that my family have
always been the emergency unit. Parachuting in at times of crisis to clean and cook the bad thing into submission. This time is no different.

I have left the curtains open so, now Cordy has finished her call, I switch off the lamp and let moonlight illuminate the room.

“Where’s Malvolio?” she asks out of the blue.

Is this a game, like those
Where’s Waldo?
books that I tried to get Leo to read when he was five and he’d had to break the news to me—gently—that he didn’t care where Waldo was because anyone who wore a hat like that should stay lost. Forever.

Where’s Malvolio?
“Erm, in London?” I ask.

“Don’t be facetious,” she says.

“Don’t talk to me as though I’m younger than you,” I reply.

My sister is lit a shade of blue by the moonlight, it falls in gentle streaks on her hair, the right side of her face. She looks magical, as though she is some illuminated angel visiting earth, only visible to the human eye by the light of the fat moon—she would not appreciate me telling her that, though.

She shifts herself under the covers, nudging me aside so she can go top to toe with me, but instead of lying down, she props herself up with pillows.

“No one else is going to say this, even though they’re all thinking it, so I have to,” she begins. “Where is Mal? Why isn’t he here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I reply. I honestly don’t know. I’ve never known, never understood why he decided to do what he did, so I don’t know why he isn’t here, why he isn’t a part of my life anymore. Just that he isn’t.

“But he’s family. He’s always the one you called first about anything, how come you haven’t now? Why isn’t he here with the rest of us?”

Everyone in our family noticed that Mal and I didn’t see each other anymore, but Cordy has been the only one to bring it up in front of me. The last time, it had been the Christmas when Leo was eleven months old. We were gathered in Mum and Dad’s living room after lunch, had finished opening presents when Cordy said, “Why aren’t you talking to Malvolio?”

Everyone—Aunt Mer, Mum and Dad—squeezed into my parents’ living room stopped watching television or fiddling with their presents and stared at me. There was no such thing as subtlety in our family once something had been voiced: that’s what a lifetime of living out traumatic moments in front of the neighbors did.

“Who said I’m not talking to Mal?” I asked, stoically not looking at Leo, asleep in his cot beside the sofa.

“Well, not him!” Cordy went on. “I asked him the other week and he said, ‘Who said I’m not talking to Nova?’ and then changed the subject. But we haven’t seen the two of you in the same room at the same time since before Leo was born.”

“It’s not that we’re not speaking,” I said, choosing my words very carefully, “we’ve just got different, busy lives. He’s married, I’ve got a child and the café, we just don’t have as much time for each other.”

“Since
when
?!” Cordy screeched. “All you ever have is time for each other. Most of us never get a look-in! Is it his wife? Is she the jealous type? Did she put the mockers on your friendship? Did she catch you at it?”

I don’t know why, but my naughty little sister had the audacity to be surprised when the flat of Mum’s hand connected with the back of her head.

Twenty-seven she may have been, but not too old to be reminded she was talking about Aunt Mer’s son and his wife. In
front
of her.

“Ow!” she said, rubbing the sore spot.
What did you do that for?!
she wanted to add, but never would. Neither of us would talk back to our parents or Aunt Mer.

Mum had changed the subject by asking Cordy to come and help her with the mince pies, basically so she could tell her off in the kitchen. That was the last time they discussed it in my hearing. Cordy had effectively stopped anyone else asking the question and, as the years stretched out before and behind us like a long, windy road, I was grateful for that. I didn’t have to explain, and I’m sure Cordy—who idolized Mal—wouldn’t have asked him. Now, she clearly feels it is time to revisit this.

I stare at my sister; she stares at me. A battle of wills is starting. Who’s going to give in first and speak? She thinks that if she can wait me out, I may give her the answer she requires. Unfortunately for her, I have had Leo for seven years—even when he was tiny he was the model of stubbornness—and I have had to hone my skills in waiting him out to get him to do what I want. I’ve spent hours sometimes, sitting on the stairs, waiting for him to agree to put on his coat so we can go to the park. This is small fry. But I know the best way to deal with a stubborn child isn’t always to wait them out, but to deal with them on your level. I will not “lose” this by speaking first if I am careful about what I say.

“
Min niem
,” I state.

Cordy instantly twists her lips into a displeased pout. Leo did that sometimes.
Does.
Leo
does
that sometimes. My sister wants to tell me off for being facetious again but she can’t. The pout, the frown, make Cordy the little girl who used to glower at me when I wouldn’t let her play with my toys until Mal would tell me off and make me share. He would always share with Cordy—his food, his toys, his time, even when he was really
young. She was a baby, as far as he was concerned, and needed looking after.

“What?” I say to her. “Me talking in English didn’t make it clear that I don’t know, I thought trying in Ghanaian might.”

She shakes her head and suddenly looks distressed. “What happened to you and Mal?” she asks sadly. “We haven’t seen the two of you together in so long. You didn’t go to Victoria’s wedding—”

“Because Leo got chicken pox a week before,” I clarify.

“But you refused to be a bridesmaid and were going to do the catering so you could hide. Mal didn’t come to Leo’s christening because of suddenly going on holiday. At my wedding you … I don’t know, there isn’t one picture of the two of you together. No one can remember seeing you together. He didn’t come to the twins’ christening ’cause he was away. Same with your wedding. We don’t spend Christmas together anymore. When I speak to him, it’s clear he hasn’t spoken to you in ages. I don’t know, it’s like you’re two strangers.”

I stare at her, wondering what I’m supposed to say. She picks up her mobile and starts opening and shutting it.

“You know what I found out recently?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, Cordelia, I don’t know what you found out recently.”

“After Jack asked Dad for his permission to marry me, and Dad said yes and everything, Mal went to have a word with him. Jack, I mean. Mal drove all the way to the airport and waited for Jack’s flight to come in and then sat him down and told him I was his little sister and that if he ever even thought of hurting me, he’d better change his identity and leave the country. He was very pleasant about it apparently, but very definite. My big brother.” Cordy lays aside her mobile phone and draws her
knees up to her chest, hooking her nightshirt over her knees and hugging her arms around them. “I always hoped you and him would get together, so he’d properly be my big brother. I always thought you’d marry him.”

My subtle family—Aunt Mer included—had all thought, and therefore hinted at, that until he got engaged to Stephanie.

“I always thought I’d marry Keith,” I say.

“Really?” she asks, surprised.

“Ever since I met him, I thought I’d marry him.”

“Why?”

“Because no one has ever loved me like he has. He’s always been very clear about his feelings for me. And when someone is so clear and open about how they feel for you, it’s easy to let yourself go and to love him back.”

“You split up a million times.”

“And we always got back together. Like I say, no one has ever loved me like he does.”

“Not even Mal?”

“No one has ever loved me like Keith does.”

Cordy nods, and starts to rock slightly, summoning up her courage. She fixes me with a determined gaze as she continues to rock gently. She is building up her courage. “Mal … Is he …” She pauses. She was going to ask, was set on asking, but now she isn’t sure if she can. I know she has wanted to ask over the years; so have Mum and Dad. Every time Leo throws his head to the side and laughs, every time he rubs at the spot behind his right ear, every time he looks at them with his big, awestruck brown eyes, listening to what they’re saying,
every
time he does something that is obviously inherited from Mal, they have wanted to ask. Is Mal Leo’s father? But they never have. They have always held their tongues because of what it would mean about me,
about him and what we had done to his wife. They would have to think badly of us—even for a few moments—and my family would never want to do that. Better to stick to what I said when I told them I was five months pregnant—the father isn’t around but I’m really happy and I’m more than capable of looking after myself.