Touching Earth Lightly (10 page)

Chloe kept brushing; it was one of those activities that needn’t ever finish if she didn’t want it to, and it made soothing noise in her head that stopped her thinking. Then she found herself in the middle of her room, pulling every last hair from the brush bristles. She put the puff of hair in the bin and sat on the end of her bed staring at the brush. Maybe
she didn’t have the energy to go down today, to face all those people, to make all those hullos. Rachel probably felt like this when she got up this morning, but then that momentum of being-in-love-with-Isaac would have picked her up and carried her here, because it was new with them, still, and anything done
with Isaac
was worth doing. Chloe remembered that elation of being picked out right at the start, a solitary being with no family around her, shining in her own self that suddenly seemed so defined and so wonderful, reflected in Theo’s eyes.

She stood up abruptly, and caught her own eye in the wardrobe mirror. Yuk. It was these
clothes
. She looked like a dying moth, flap flap, flutter flutter, everything pale and wan. The faded print on the long skirt—that could even be
floral
. Almost shuddering, she shed the layers, and put on jeans so rarely worn they almost creaked when she bent, and a close-fitting top.
Now I look like a sex bomb
, she sneered at herself in the mirror, and softened the top a little with a blue cotton blouse tucked into the jeans, and tied her hair back into a thick plait. Farm girl, she thought, pulling on her boots. Bushwalker, charity car-washer, eater of wholemeal. She debated whether to take out the stud in her nostril, but decided that would be going too far.

She went to the window again. Rachel down there like a delicate smiling
toy
, Isaac’s hand on her thigh under the table—
what is wrong with this picture? What exactly is the problem here?

She looked again in the mirror. ‘God, it’ll do! It’ll do just
fine
!’ Suddenly she was all jittery energy, slimlined and sparky and focused. She was downstairs and in the kitchen and carrying the bowl of pasta to the table, smiling and saying hello to Carl, Jube, Maurice.

‘And this is Chloe,’ Isaac said to Rachel. ‘Chloe, I want you to meet Rachel.’

‘Hi, Rachel,’ said Chloe, careful not to overdo the smiling or the casual tone.

‘Hullo, Chloe.’ Chloe hated the prettiness of her own name, suddenly, hearing it in that mouth.
We
aren’t
precious treasured daughters together, she thought fiercely, with our pretty names. Why do they
call
girls these things, these decorative, sappy things? I mean
, Chloe;
I mean
, Tinkerbell
!

It was easier, though, to have the introductions out of the way. Chloe could just sit back in her family, invisible, watching. She felt weirdly as if they were being showcased; she found herself stealthily monitoring Rachel’s reactions, which were faultless: polite, understated, faintly ironic at times. She had a nice, intelligent smile. She was perfectly
likeable
, Chloe heard a voice in her head insisting. And Isaac did seem to like her, and there was a certain
thing
between them that Chloe assumed was sexual, despite their eyes not meeting; it was to do with points of contact being maintained—shoulders, knees, hands—

‘What’s Janey up to today?’ said Maurice on Chloe’s left.

‘Tidying up. Making covers to disguise her pillows as cushions. Homemaking.’
Washing pee off the walls
, she added gloomily to herself.

‘Enjoying her independence? Well, she always has, hasn’t she? Been a bit of a lone wolf, in terms of her own family.’

‘She likes having her own place, that’s for sure. And they’re kind of another family there—I mean, the landlady’s lending her the sewing machine today, and there are these other tenants, all really old, like kind of grandparents.’ Chloe smiled; it was nice to have some good news of Janey, even temporarily.

‘Settling.’ Maurice paused in his eating and looked at Chloe. ‘Settling like a dragonfly, maybe.’

Chloe held up her crossed fingers and said nothing.

Late the next evening, Chloe opened the door to Janey, who was tremulous and pale, and wearing large dark cotton-knit everything, sleeves to her fingertips, pants like bags, black
sandshoes. She held up a photo of a little dark-haired boy in overalls, pushing a wooden cart full of blocks.

‘Oh, Eddie!’ Chloe snatched it, devoured it as Janey edged in, keeping her back towards Joy and Pete at the dining table. ‘Look at him! He’s just a doll. He’s just you through and through!’

‘You think? You really think he’s good-looking? I can’t tell!’

‘Of course he is. Can I show everyone? Like, Mum and Dad?’

‘Ooh, all right.’

They went through to the dining room. Joy was scowling over her tax at the one end of the table and Pete was reading for school at the other. ‘Ah, the man in your life!’ Joy said, when she saw the photo. ‘Lovely. Lovely eyes—yours, of course—’ She checked. ‘Doesn’t he look—he looks
steadfast
, is what it is,’ she finished, almost to herself.

Janey hovered, looking worried. ‘He’s walking really well already, they say, and starting to talk.’ She hung over Joy’s shoulder and stared at the photo. Watching her, Chloe suddenly felt the cruelty of this, this contract to salt Janey’s wounds every few months.
Without these photos, she might have a chance
. Chloe looked at the anger-burnished thought, and wondered what a person did with a thought like that, a thought she couldn’t speak.

Dane came from the kitchen. ‘What’s this? Oh, Janey’s boy!’ He had a good look over Joy’s head, smoothing his beard consideringly. ‘Solid little bloke, eh?’

Joy handed the photo back to Janey. ‘You should be a very proud mum,’ she said seriously. Chloe felt proud herself—or was it relieved?—that
her
mother always said the right thing.

‘Oh, I’m not—I don’t really do anything for him. I just admire him. He looks—he looks so—’ Janey’s face crumpled and she covered it and sobbed.

Pete looked up in alarm. Chloe put her arms around Janey, who smelled of warm cotton. The photo went over to Pete and back to Joy. Dane fetched a box of tissues from the kitchen bench.

‘He looks so
happy
!’ Janey finally got out. ‘And I do
want
him to be happy!’

‘Of course you do,’ said Joy, stroking Janey’s black locks. ‘And so he is. You made the right decision, Janey, you know you did.’

‘I
don’t
know I did!’ said Janey, and sank to the table, sobbing.

Catching Chloe’s full eyes, Joy said, ‘She did.’ Dumbly Chloe nodded. ‘Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,’ Joy went on to Janey, ‘but most of the time you know, for sure, it was the very best thing you could have done for him. Don’t you?’

Janey nodded and sobbed. Then she struggled up and said, ‘Sometimes I think, if I did what all those counsellors said, and really
tried
—sometimes I think—I would like to, you know—have him with me?’ The last words came out as a whisper.

‘And living where? In that little room?’ said Joy gently, through Janey’s gasps and shudderings.

‘And you guys—you could help—’

Joy smiled. ‘You feel like this every time, remember, Janey? And think about it—Maxine and Terry love him too. They’ve made a life for him; they’re a family together. And look at that lovely smile. Look at him. That’s a happy boy. The thing kids want is stability—every day the same pattern so that they can get the hang of things. To switch back to living with you would be really scary for a child that age, hey?’

Janey nodded and took a fresh handful of tissues, peering over them at the photograph. Chloe dried her own eyes as her mother’s voice began to clear away the outburst feelings. Pete listened, cheek in hand, as if to a fairy story. Dane was back in the kitchen, quietly stacking the dishwasher.

‘Chloe’s the luckiest person in the world, having you,’ said Janey to Joy.

‘We-ell. You can have a few leftover bits she’s not using,’ she answered. ‘Can’t she, Clo?’

Chloe patted Janey, waiting for her to laugh, or at least smile. Instead she sighed. ‘You can’t keep on looking after me, can you?’

‘What do you mean!’ said Chloe staunchly.

Janey ignored her, searched Joy’s face. ‘Every time it’s the same, like you say. I get a photo and everything falls apart, and you guys put it all back together again for me. I can’t work out a way of doing that for myself. Why can’t I?’

‘Maybe there isn’t a way, yet.’

‘But what if there isn’t ever?’ Chloe felt fright run down Janey’s back. ‘What if I can
never
? And Cole minding me when I go off the deep end—what, is she going to do that for the rest of her
life
?’ Her voice went deep with holding back sobs, ‘I don’t think so.’

Chloe felt excluded, talked about as if she wasn’t there. This was some kind of knot between her mother and Janey; something bigger and more complicated than the simple promise Chloe had made, back when the pattern of Janey’s hormones was first making itself obvious. Had it been silly, childish, to offer her help? Was it something she and Janey ought to grow out of? Ought Janey to be trying to cast her off? This seemed to be what, or part of what, Janey and Joy were wrestling about. Chloe stood to one side, wondering who made all these rules, and how Janey and Joy knew about them.

Joy was in front of Janey, her arms out as if she were herding Janey’s tears back inside. ‘I can’t speak for Chloe, Janey, but you know you’re always welcome here; we know you, we love you, and most of the time we can help you.’

‘Oh, how
can
you,’ growled Janey. Her face was deep red and almost unrecognisable so twisted. ‘How can you know, and still … and still …’

‘Go on, finish it, Janey,’ said Joy, laughing gently.

‘And still …
love
.’ Janey ground out the word on a congested breath. And with it something snapped in her, and she went forward into Joy’s arms like a child crying who had
broken some vital bone and couldn’t understand why the pain wouldn’t stop.

Janey had to huddle to be hugged by Joy, and Joy had to stand tall and reach up around her. Joy looked like a fine, finished person fitted around something shaggy and unmade. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said, in a voice that was utterly convincing; Chloe felt her own fears melt and a stronger part of herself stand taller. If only she were always as sure as that herself, so that Janey only needed to lean on her, not the whole family. She had the feeling she was failing everyone, to some degree.

Pete flitted past into the kitchen. Chloe saw his and Dane’s hands collide, both reaching for the electric jug. Dane smiled and reached instead for the tin of drinking chocolate and the mugs. Chloe touched Janey’s ropy head once, then went to the kitchen to put biscuits on a plate.

On her way up to bed, Chloe met Nick at his door.

‘Janey gone?’ he muttered.

‘Yeah.’ Chloe went past him.

‘What was it all about?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Right. I didn’t want to come down and—’

‘Yeah, we could practically
hear
you not wanting to come down,’ Chloe said, pausing at her door.

‘Well, I wouldn’t have been any use to her. I don’t know about all that stuff.’

Chloe stared up at him. ‘What
stuff
?’

‘You know, people …
crying
… having
kids
.’ Chloe gave an exaggerated blink. ‘What? What you looking at me like that for?’ An embarrassed smile curved Nick’s lips downwards.

‘Oh, like
I
know—like Pete—knows such a
bundle
!’ Her voice cracked and tears were suddenly in her eyes again. In disgust at him, at herself, she went into her room.

‘Well, you sort of do—both of you’ve got more experience with her than—’ He was at her door, stopping uncertainly when he saw her, head in hands, sitting on the bed.

She looked up savagely. ‘It never occurs to you that we might just be
winging
it?’ she said, and hiccupped. ‘Look, if you don’t know about people crying, why don’t you—just—bug off and stew, in your own
ignorance?
’ she finished indistinctly.