Letters From My Sister (20 page)

‘Come over here, Katie.’

‘You’re lucky I even let you in,’ I remind him. ‘You were behaving like an idiot outside.’

‘I know. But I can’t help it. I’m going crazy here.’ He beckons me towards him again.

‘I’m comfortable here, thanks. Sam, what do you want?’

He looks at me, something desperate in his eyes. ‘Nothing makes sense to me if you’re not around. I rattle around in that house of mine. I want you back. I’m sure we can make a go of things. We used to have fun together. Come on, what d’you say?’

‘Oh Sam, too much has happened. It wouldn’t work.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Why do you miss me?’

‘I just do.’

‘It’s because you’re scared of being on your own, isn’t it?’

He laughs, but I can tell he’s trying not to lose his cool. ‘Not true, I’m not scared of anything. I valued our relationship … clearly a lot more than you did.’

‘Sam, you finished it,’ I say, then realize he’s right. It was easy walking out of his life. I haven’t missed him.

‘I think you and me are worth fighting for.’

‘Why, Sam? You didn’t call me once when Mum was so ill.’ I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. ‘She could have died, Sam.’

He puts his head in his hands. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been preoccupied.’

I stare at him.

‘Katie, my job’s on the rocks, I could lose it. It’s not an excuse, but …’

‘I’m sorry about your job, but this is what it’s all about, getting through the hard times as well as having fun together. We were great when everything was going well, but we fell at the first hurdle when life threw us a challenge. What does that say about us?’ As I’m saying this I’m thinking of Mum and Dad, who have stayed together through the good and bad times because they are a team. Having Bells and me, and all the problems that came with us, brought them closer together.

Sam finally looks up at me. ‘I’m no good at dealing with stuff like that … illness, you know, I don’t know what to say. Your mum’s all right now, isn’t she? What can I do, Kitty, to make it up to you?’

‘You don’t need to do anything. It’s over,’ I say, more gently this time.

Sam tells me that if I don’t go back to him his life will fall apart, he can’t live without me. He wanted to call when Mum was in hospital but he didn’t know what to say. ‘My family, we never talk about things like that. My father, he used to tell me never to say sorry or be weak.’ He stops. ‘I’ll even marry you.’

‘Sam, stop this.’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ he says, gambling that this last pledge of commitment will work. ‘I’ll do anything. Katie? What’s wrong?’

I try to compose myself. ‘I don’t know how to say this, I wish I didn’t have to. I don’t love you anymore.’

‘I know I was angry, but I didn’t want us to split up,’ he says, choosing not to hear what I’ve said.

‘Look, it’s OK,’ I reassure him. ‘I don’t blame you.’

‘It’s not because of Mark, is it? Katie, you can do better than that. What’s he doing taking you to a bloody musical? You can’t be serious, picking him over me?’

Just as I’m feeling truly sorry for Sam, he goes and says something like that. ‘Let’s not do this, Sam. We both need to move on.’

‘Is it because of Bells? We were happy before she came along. I know I didn’t hit it off with her, but we can work on that.’

Has he listened to a word I have said? ‘No, we can’t. You can’t change who you are. I’ve changed, things change, that’s all. I’m tired, Sam. I’m calling you a cab.’ I walk over to the small table by the sofa and pick up the phone.

Sam snatches the phone from me, a glass lamp base on the table crashes to the floor. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ I shout, bending down to pick up the shattered pieces of glass. ‘Just go, please,’ I say tearfully. He bends down and I think he’s going to help me pick up the glass. Instead he tries to kiss me. I can smell stale alcohol on his breath. I pull away, furious now. ‘Go, Sam.’

There’s a knock on the door. I stand up and put the broken pieces of lamp on the table. ‘Katie,’ I hear Mark calling. I rush to open the door.

‘Look who it is,’ Sam says. ‘Your knight in shining fucking armour!’

Mark pushes past him. ‘I was worried.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine. He won’t leave.’

Mark turns to Sam. ‘I think you should go.’

‘I don’t give a fuck what you think.’

Mark opens the front door and stands there holding it.

Sam grabs his jacket and walks towards him. ‘All right, I’ll go,’ he mutters. Mark and I briefly exchange relieved looks, but then, as Sam is about to leave, he turns around and punches Mark in the face. Mark staggers backwards, his glasses falling to the ground.

‘Sam, stop it!’ I scream as he is about to have a second go at Mark. I plunge forward and grab his arm. Sam pulls away from me and proceeds to step on Mark’s glasses, grinding them into the ground. ‘No fucking contest.’

‘Sam?’ I hear Mark saying quietly.

Sam turns. ‘Did that hurt?’

‘Not as much as this.’ Mark belts him in the stomach.

Sam holds himself steady and laughs. ‘You can do better than that, can’t you?’

‘That’s enough!’ I shout at them both, stepping between them. ‘Go home,’ I plead with Sam. ‘And Mark, leave it, OK?’

I watch Sam stagger down the steps. He looks so miserable and alone. I never wanted it to end this way.

*

Mark lies with his head on my lap and I rest the packet of frozen peas against his chin. ‘Next time we see Sam, we can pelt these little bullets at him,’ I say, remembering Mark’s pelting frozen peas line.

‘If this were a film, I would have pushed Sam against the door and punched him back twice as hard,’ Mark says dejectedly.

‘How’s the hand?’

‘Painful. I feel like a loser.’

‘You did hit him, though. Well done.’

‘Yeah, right. If you hadn’t stepped between us he would have mashed me to a pulp.’

I adjust the position of the peas. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come. How does it feel now?’

‘Not good. Carry on.’

‘It’s funny, but I was terrified of losing Sam. When Bells came to stay, I didn’t tell him about her until she’d arrived. I was so nervous he’d do a runner, that he wouldn’t want to know me.’

Mark sits up and turns to me. ‘I remember you telling me this when we first met. That’s stupid, Katie.’ His tone is uncomfortable.

‘I know. There’s no excuse.’ I can’t stand the idea of him thinking badly of me. ‘Bells wasn’t a part of my life at all then, not until she came to stay. I only saw her as this person with the potential to put Sam off. I know it sounds cruel, but that’s how I felt. I’ve had a lot of growing up to do. You know, he didn’t even call me to see how Mum was. I would have called him whatever had happened between us.’

‘What did you ever see in that man?’ Mark asks impatiently.

‘There is a good side to him, I promise. I know it was invisible tonight, but he’s got no one, Mark. No support from his family, he never talks about his parents. There’s this sadness, Mark, an emptiness. He has no real friends to confide in, only lads like Maguire. And he might lose his job. I know that would terrify him.’ I feel tearful again. I didn’t enjoy seeing Sam so unhappy. ‘He does have a good side,’ I stress once more. ‘At least he doesn’t pretend to be anything he isn’t. I could learn from him there. I mean, who was I trying to be? Perfect Katie with her perfect life?’

Mark’s tone softens. ‘You shouldn’t have to pretend to be anything. He shouldn’t have made you feel like that.’

‘It’s easy to blame Sam, but it wasn’t all his fault. My own insecurities were just as much to blame.’

Mark nods. ‘You wouldn’t put yourself through all that again, though, would you, with the next man you meet?’

‘Oh no. I’ve learned my lesson.’

‘Men aren’t worth it,’ he adds with his familiar wry smile.

‘Thanks for coming round tonight. No one’s done anything like that for me before, Mark. You’re a real mate. I owe you.’

‘Well, you could get me some new glasses?’

I look at Mark’s glasses, smashed to smithereens; the black frames now a wonky S-shape.

We laugh. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

It’s a Thursday, late afternoon, and Mark has asked me over for supper. I left the shop early this afternoon as Eve and the new assistant, Jackie, were able to manage without me. Jackie is bright and enthusiastic about her work. She also designs and makes knitwear. I’m going to sample some in the shop.

I sit on the stool behind the breakfast counter in Mark’s kitchen. There’s a pile of paperwork in front of me, his red pen scrawled across the sheets. Essays on
The Mayor of Casterbridge
with that dreaded underlined word at the end of the assignment: ‘Discuss’. I swivel round on my stool and play with the gadget that adjusts the height. ‘Weh-hey!’ I say, sinking closer to the floor. ‘I like these!’

He opens the fridge. ‘No bloody milk. What do you feel like eating tonight?’

‘Why don’t we go out?’ I suggest. Mark and I have never ‘gone out’ apart from that one evening when we watched the school play. Normally he cooks me supper but I’m getting a little bored of spaghetti bolognese.

‘Go out? Do you think our friendship has reached that stage?’ he asks.

‘I think we’re ready. Did I tell you, I’ve seen a flat I love?’

‘You’re moving?’ he asks, and then wonders why he’s surprised. ‘I forget you’re living with Emma and Jonnie sometimes.’

Emma and Jonnie haven’t met Mark yet. ‘You have mentionitis …’ Emma said to me the other day while we were shopping for her wedding dress.

‘Mention what?’ I threw her a funny look.

‘Mentionitis. You talk about him all the time. When are you going to introduce us?’

Even Mum detected a change in me when I last called. ‘Has it got something to do with Mark?’

‘No, he’s a friend, Mum.’

‘Blah blah blah,’ she said, followed by a sniff of boredom. ‘Love comes along when you least expect it. You have to take a chance, Katie. If you like this man, tell him. If not, move on. You have to go out at every opportunity too, never turn an invitation down, because you never know who you might meet. When I first met your father …’

‘Katie?’ I hear him say now. ‘You do that a lot, you know.’

‘Sorry? What?’

‘Retreat into your own world. What were you thinking about?’

‘Um, my new place.’

‘Where is it?’ Mark asks me.

‘Chiswick. Close to the shop.’

He leans against the counter. He’s wearing the new pair of glasses that we bought together, almost exactly the same model as the broken ones. I also persuaded him to buy a pale blue round-necked jumper without holes in the elbow. ‘Has the wife dragged you out shopping?’ said the man in Marks & Spencer, rolling his eyes when I told Mark to try on yet another style.

‘Calling Katie? Where is Katie?’ Mark prods me again. ‘Sounds perfect. When are you moving?’

‘Just before Christmas.’ I found a small two-bedroom flat to rent; I had to have a spare room for Bells.

‘Shit, that’s less than a month away.’

‘I know. Emma and Jonnie are throwing me a Christmas-stroke-leaving party in two weeks, Bells is coming down to stay so you’d better be around too.’

‘I’ll try and fit it in,’ he says, and I throw his red marker pen at him.

‘And Jess, is she around?’

‘I’ll ask her.’

‘Why don’t you live together?’

‘What, besides the fact she lives in Edinburgh? Right,’ he says, clearly keen to move on. ‘Tea? Or maybe you need something stronger?’

‘Tea would be great.’

‘You put the kettle on, I’ll get the milk and the marshmallow biscuits.’ He picks up his house keys off the counter and walks out of the room.

Mark’s mobile starts to vibrate against the table. ‘Can you get that for me?’ he calls, before the front door shuts.

I pick up the phone tentatively. I don’t like taking calls for other people. ‘Hello, Mark’s phone,’ I say in my best secretarial voice.

‘Who’s that?’ a voice says abruptly. Is this Jess?

‘It’s just Katie.’

‘Just Katie, this is Sasha Fox. Is Mark there?’

‘Not right this minute.’ She is terrifying.

‘It’s his agent, can you get him to call me back,’ she says, more as a demand than a question, and hangs up.

I put the phone down and decide to have a snoop round Mark’s flat. I wonder if she has news on the book? She must have. I feel nervous for Mark. Along the corridor, past the bathroom, and then three steps down and I’m in his bedroom.

It’s a large airy room with a big double bed and a smooth carved oak headboard. It doesn’t smell stale or of boy’s socks, I’m pleased to note. Mark has shutters instead of curtains and there’s a newspaper lying across the white duvet. He’s reading
Life of Pi
, and next to the book on his bedside table is a silver-framed photograph. Jess is sitting on a boat wearing denim shorts and a spotted bikini, and Mark stands next to her proudly holding a barracuda. She’s annoyingly pretty. Why can’t she have a gap in her front teeth or unfortunate facial hair? I feel like Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction
. What’s wrong with me? I press my fingers to my temples. Perhaps I’m coming down with something? I don’t think I’ve been quite myself lately.

I hear a door shut and run back up the stairs, tripping on the last step. I head for the bathroom, slam the door shut and flush the chain. Then I open the door casually and walk back to the kitchen.

‘Who was it?’ Mark asks, clutching the bottle of milk.

‘Your agent.’

‘Really? Ms Sucha Fox?’ He grins nervously then sits down on the stool next to me, crunching his knuckles.

‘Stop it,’ I say, wincing. ‘That gives you arthritis.’

‘Sorry.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘What did she say?’

‘You’ve got to call her back.’

‘Did she sound in a good mood?’

‘She was a bit abrupt,’ I confess.

‘She’s always abrupt.’

‘Go on,’ I say, pushing the phone towards him.

‘What if it’s bad news? Rejections from every publisher she has approached, saying I’m a useless crap writer?’ He sits forward and puts his head in his hands. ‘Katie, I’ve worked so hard on this book. I’ve had scripts rejected before, I don’t know why I carry on, it’s awful. It makes you feel like a fool, a failure, less than an insect. If it’s a no, I’ll be miserable.’ He stands up, paces the room and then sits down again. ‘I’m feeling a bit nervous actually.’

‘I can tell,’ I say, longing to hug him for his insecurity. Instead I pat his leg. ‘Come on, stop being a drama queen.’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘Look, your agent must believe in you. She would have e-mailed you if it was bad news,’ I suggest.

‘Good point. Although she didn’t before.’

‘Do you want me to go?’ Please say no. I am dying to hear what Ms Sucha Fox has to say.

‘No, stay,’ he urges, taking the phone. ‘Forget the tea, can you get me a proper drink? Right, wish me luck,’ he says, punching in the number and walking out of the room.

*

Making vodka tonics in his kitchen, I rehearse ways to console Mark. ‘It’s their loss,’ or, ‘Did you know J. K. Rowling had masses of rejections, and look at her now!’ No, that’s lame. ‘Did you know Virginia Woolf, Beatrix Potter, Honoré de Balzac and many other famous writers all had books self-published at some stage in their career? It’s the latest trend. That could be an option.’ I read that in a weekend magazine. Mark stands in front of me looking as if he’s been given a parking ticket. He slams the mobile on to the table. I wait for him to say something. When he says nothing I tell him I’m sorry and promptly hand him a neat vodka.

‘What for?’ He takes a large gulp of vodka. ‘I’ve got a deal! You’re right, I can’t be bothered to cook supper. We are going out to fucking celebrate!’

‘No! Oh my God!’ I shriek, moving forward to hug him.

He picks me up off the ground. ‘I am going to be published, Katie, can you believe it?’

‘Hurray!’ I shout, wrapping my arms around him and laughing at the same time. He puts me down and then opens the fridge. ‘We need a drink. No champagne, bugger.’

‘I’ll get some, my treat.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ he repeats incredulously, circling the kitchen as if he is drunk. ‘Ms Fox better not get run over by a bus or the publishers burn down or go bust or …’

I smile at him. ‘Quiet! Back in a sec.’

I find myself skipping along the road like an excited toddler.

‘You look like a cat who’s stolen the cream, and eaten it too,’ the man at the off-licence says.

‘My friend’s got a book deal.’

‘Wow,’ he says, taking my money. ‘Tell him, many congratulations.’

Aren’t people nice? I love life, I think to myself. Why do people say the British are chippy, that they don’t like people fulfilling their dreams? There’s not a chip in sight today.

*

When I return, I hear Mark talking in the kitchen. I stand there quietly and listen before joining him. ‘We can celebrate when you get back … you don’t have to do that, Jess. What am I doing tonight? Well, I think I’ll have a few celebratory drinks.’ I notice he doesn’t say who with. He’s listening to her and now he laughs. There’s another long pause. His voice turns softer. ‘I know, I wish you were here too.’

Of course she is the first person he wants to ring with the news. This has to be one of the biggest, proudest moments in his life and he ought to be with her, not me. Why do I feel like second-best? It only takes one phone call from Jess and – bam! Back to being Katie the good friend, someone to have a laugh with.

‘Love you too,’ I hear him say.

That’s it, enough dreaming, Katie. Don’t feel disappointed. Mark and I have a great friendship, we get on well, but that’s as far as it goes. End of story, as Sam would say.

I need to go into the kitchen, have one drink and then go home. I need to accept this for what it is. I don’t want to be second-best; I won’t let myself feel like this. I clutch the bottle of champagne and brace myself as I walk back into the kitchen.

*

‘Why do you have to go now?’ Mark asks after one glass of champagne together. ‘Come on, have another.’ He refills my glass.

I push my glass aside. ‘Sorry, Mark, I think I might be coming down with something,’ I say vaguely. ‘Emma had this twenty-four-hour sick bug.’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, clearly unconvinced.

‘I think I need to lie down.’

Mark touches my forehead. ‘You feel fine.’ He lifts my chin and holds my face up to his. ‘I don’t want you to go. Let’s go out.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I put my hand over his and gently remove it. I kiss him on the cheek. ‘Well done, Mark. I’m so proud of you.’ I pick up my bag.

He follows me to the door and then I feel him clutching at my hand. ‘Why are you really going?’

‘What?’ I say, unable to turn round and face him.

‘I’m trying to figure out if I’ve done something wrong, said something, in the space of ten minutes?’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Then stay.’

‘I can’t. ’Bye, Mark.’ I kiss him on the cheek one more time.