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Joseph goes to the bed, puts his hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezes. ‘I know how difficult things have been. I mean, since—’
‘Please, Dad. You don’t have to say it.’
‘You know I love you.’
‘And you know I love you too.’
Joseph nods, turns away, closes the door behind him. As he heads back downstairs, he hears a single hard sob from Max’s room. Then silence.
FIFTEEN
Sunday morning at ten thirty a.m., Gabriel Roth drives past his brother’s place on Hocombe Hill without slowing but not without looking.
The houses along this stretch – mansions, most of them – hide behind a thick screen of trees, their canopied driveways allowing only the most fleeting of views. The architecture is eclectic: Modernist, Arts and Crafts, Gothic revival, Art Deco.
As Gabriel passes Thornecroft, the mock Tudor place his brother built after tearing down what preceded it, he sees many of its first-floor windows hanging open. Parked outside are three vehicles, including a white van that might belong to a maintenance company.
Someone is definitely home.
Further up the hill, Gabriel finds a parking spot on a grass verge shaded by elm trees. Reclining his seat, he pairs the hire car’s entertainment system to his phone and opens Spotify. The music he selects is ‘Plum Blossom in Three Movements’ by Huan Yi, a musician from the fourth century Eastern Jin Dynasty. This version is played not on a flute, as is traditional, but a seven-stringed guqin.
Gabriel breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. He closes his eyes and visualizes: pink plum blossom falling on to the surface of a slow-flowing river. He imagines floating downstream among the petals, the water cool and cleansing against his skin.
When he steps out of the car five minutes later, the world feels no better than before. He sees no beauty in the lines of the Mercedes, in the overhanging elms touched by summer sun. Walking up Thornecroft’s drive, he wonders if his appreciation for those things is lost for good. He crunches across the gravel, climbs the five steps of the front porch and presses the bell. As he waits, he studies the parked vehicles.
Stencilled on the side of the van isSNOW WHITE CLEANING AND GARDENING SERVICES. A white Tesla is parked beside it. A grey rain cover protects his brother’s wood-framed Morgan Plus 8.
An iron bolt draws back. One leaf of the huge entrance doors swings open. In the half-arch, peering out, stands Teri Platini. She’s small and sad-eyed; a thirty-year-old woman with all the confidence squeezed out of her.
As Gabriel watches, Teri’s heels lift from the floor then reconnect. She reminds him of a prey animal trying to make itself larger – and quickly abandoning the attempt.
Was she always like this? Really, it makes little difference; because however his brother’s women start out, this – invariably, inevitably – is how they end up.
Teri is barefoot, in pink jersey shorts and a ribbed vest. Her nails and make-up are flawless. She’ll have learned that lesson early – and the importance of not forgetting it.
‘Gabe,’ Teri says. When she smiles, she lowers her gaze and shifts her weight to one leg.
He glances at her jutted hip, inclines his head. The silence between them builds. Finally, Teri pulls the door wide.‘Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m forgetting my manners as usual. You want to come in?’
‘Thank you.’
He follows her along a marble-laid hall and into an orangery the size of a small church. Despite the summer sun blazing through the windows, the aircon is cool enough to raise goosebumps on Teri’s bare skin.
She indicates one of two bamboo sofas and sits opposite. As she draws her legs beneath her she flinches, eyes widening, and begins to stand.
Gabriel waves her back down. ‘Please,’ he says. ‘I don’t need refreshments. We can ignore all that. I just want to talk.’ He looks through the orangery’s windows at the expanse of perfectly manicured lawn rising towards an ancient oak, then back at Teri’s perfectly manicured nails.
It confuses him, all this wealth – at least, the ostentatious display of it. Gabriel is identical to his twin in many respects, but he’s uninterested in material possessions. Everything he owns fits into a single duffel bag.
‘You know today’s date?’ he asks.
Teri nods.
‘You know the date three days ago?’
She blinks five times in quick succession. ‘H … Happy birthday,’ she stammers. ‘I’m sorry, Gabe. I didn’t – w… wedidn’t – send a card.’
Hearing her panic, seeing it in her face, Gabriel feels even wearier. This time, it seems, his brother’s really gone to town. Teri reminds him of a Jenga tower in the final stages of a game. The merest touch or sharp exhalation and the entire edifice will come crashing down. ‘I didn’t need a birthday card,’ he tells her. ‘And besides, I was travelling – you wouldn’t have known where to send it.’ He looks around the orangery. There’s no fireplace in here, no mantelpiece. ‘Did Angus receive mine?’