Page 65 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

I tell Naya to meet me at a café for brunch, and then I make a disastrous attempt at hiding my injuries.

I don’t want her to see me and worry. I don’t want her to be struck by another injured family member.

Don’t want her to think I’ve turned into Leonard.

Don’t want her to know I did this because I was trying to message her and apologise (which I now realise I never ended up doing).

I cover my arm with a shawl even though it’s far too warm. Angle the chair so the table somewhat hides my leg. Position my body so I don’t look too rigid. Put a smile on my face so my anxiety is not immediately obvious.

It takes Naya less than one second to see through the charade.

‘Oh god,’ she says, reaching forward and grabbing at the shawl. Looking at my plastered leg and arm, jaw open. ‘What has happened?’

It’s been years since I’ve seen her without the children.

And she looks good . Handbag over one shoulder, she’s had her nails done, painted shellac and deep red in colour.

Her hair recently trimmed and skin smooth and moisturised.

She’s wearing her nice clothes – ironed, that’s how I know – and I suspect she’s plucked her eyebrows.

‘I fell down an escalator.’

‘Who falls down an escalator?’ Then immediately catches herself. ‘God, sorry, my brain thought you were Leonard and just went straight to frustration.’

‘I’m fine, really,’ I say, holding up my good arm to reassure her. ‘Pain is mostly gone and the casts come off later this week.’

She stumbles a little, after that. ‘When?’ Hands in the air. ‘How?’ Hands through her hair. Tries to get more words out. Fails.

Then she straightens, looks around at the café. Glances back outside to the road. ‘How did you get here?’

And then I point behind me, at the table in the corner. Dave is seated with a latte, toasted banana bread, and his laptop. Working through inventory for his dad. ‘I’ve been staying with him while I recover.’

That stuns her so much, she’s forced to sit to collect herself.

‘I know,’ I say, reading her expression.

Then Dave sees her looking and holds up a hand. Waves and smiles (he always did like her). Naya returns it. ‘Is it weird he’s over there by himself? Should he join us?’

‘No, best pretend you don’t see him.’

Then Naya holds up both hands, her head snapping back. ‘I have so many questions, but …’ She trails off, rising again. Turns towards the counter. ‘I need something for this.’

I think she’s going to come back with coffee, but she returns with a bottle of wine.

Later, once I’ve filled her in, she tells me she needs a moment to process it all. Just cannot seem to understand how I managed to fall.

‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ I say. ‘I was distracted.’

‘With what?’ she asks, and I’m not sure how to respond. Because I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want her feeling guilty.

‘Oh.’ She sits back. Perhaps does the maths in her head, with the timing. ‘After we fought.’ She looks away. ‘I’ve been wanting to apologise. I can’t believe how I sounded. I heard it, you know? That night, I was thinking about it and thought, That’s not me .’

She reaches out and grabs my hand. ‘I don’t want you feeling guilty for leaving.’

Looking down, I realise I’ve drained my first glass of wine already. ‘Thank you. But you were right about Mum. You and Leonard have been doing everything.’

She smiles, as if appreciative. As if thankful for the acknowledgement. Then tucks her hair behind her ears and I’m reminded of her appearance.

‘Whose wedding is tomorrow?’

‘Juliet and Bruno.’

‘Who?’

‘You know, Juliet and Bruno.’ She clocks my dubious expression and huffs. ‘I went to school with Juliet.’

‘And you’re invited to their wedding? How long has it been since you saw them?’

She bites her lip. ‘I was a bit surprised by the invitation but thought it’d be nice to go. See them.’

‘And you wanted a break from the kids.’

She folds immediately. ‘Of course I wanted a break from the kids. I’ve got enough children to start a band. You know, if they had any talent.’

After a moment, she looks over my injuries again – my leg, first, then my arm. Pushes her wine glass away, for a moment. ‘Why didn’t you call? You ring Dave, of all people. You don’t tell us? You don’t tell me ?’

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

She narrows her eyes. ‘You were calling me every second day until you came home for the anniversary. And then, nothing.’

‘I thought you didn’t want to speak to me.’

‘I didn’t. But, come on Charlie, this is big.’

I pour a second glass of wine. ‘You have four kids, Naya. I didn’t want to inconvenience you—’

‘Bullshit.’

And so the excuses continue. Because I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

‘I wanted to get better first.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘I wanted to find out how bad my injuries were before I called.’

‘Bullshit.’

I look away, ashamed. I crack a couple of knuckles. ‘You’ve spent years taking care of other people. And I knew that if I called, you’d both be here taking care of me. You, especially. And I didn’t want to put you in that position.’

She is silent for a few moments. ‘I’ve been trying this new thing where I let Mum do things by herself. It’s been very freeing – should’ve started sooner. I’ve told Leonard he shouldn’t fix her place anymore. If something is broken, we’ll get someone in.’

‘ We’ll ?’

She realises her mistake. Smiles. ‘ Mum will get someone in.’

‘You were treating her like she’s a relic.’

‘And you were treating her like she didn’t exist.’

Silence.

‘I’ll call her when these casts are off. Tell her what’s happened.’ Then, I point at Naya. ‘Don’t tell her before I get the chance. I know you’re itching to do it.’

‘You’re going to visit home more often, right?’ she asks.

And suddenly, I’m thinking about Mum. About the anniversary and the fight, and the fact that Raphael didn’t recognise me. About Dad, and how I can no longer remember what he smelt like – how he sounded.

‘My biggest regret is that I wasn’t there when he died.

Which seems odd, because you were there and it affected you as well.

But I just wish I could’ve been there for his final hours, and every time someone brings him up, I feel that again.

’ I roll my shoulders back. ‘I feel Dad in every room of that house, and I felt like Mum was just waiting for an opportunity to bring him up in conversation. When Mum said she was organising something for the twentieth anniversary, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. ’

Naya doesn’t argue. ‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous when you left home.’

‘You could’ve left, if you wanted to.’

‘I couldn’t,’ she says. ‘You know I couldn’t. If you’d seen Mum. If you’d heard her that day, you wouldn’t ever have left.’

I nod. ‘Dad’s death forced your hand, and that’s not fair on you. I’m going to visit more, I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

I do my best to keep the next question delicate. ‘What were you like, before his death? Mum mentioned it, and you wouldn’t tell me. About how you changed when he died.’

‘We all changed.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I moved across the country with someone I didn’t really know because of that day. And we know how Dad’s death affected Mum. But you? Maybe I was too young.’

‘Or you just forgot,’ Naya says. ‘It’s been a long time – I wouldn’t expect you to remember who I was before his death.’

I nod again, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

Finally, after a moment of silence, Naya leans in. ‘I didn’t want children,’ she whispers, almost like she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t want children,’ she repeats. ‘And I know I was sixteen, so I could’ve just been thinking that because I was a child, but I remember being adamant that I was never going to be the kind of person who settled down young.

I wanted to travel. Explore. Work. I never saw myself getting married before thirty.

I certainly didn’t see myself with four kids. ’

She straightens and continues. ‘But then Dad died, and things changed. I had a mother who couldn’t get out of bed and a sister who needed to go to school.

Suddenly I felt much older. I felt this heightened level of responsibility.

And all the things I thought I wanted? I think I realised it might be a lonely life,’ she says.

‘Something about being around Mum after it happened, and taking care of you. What I’d hoped to be doing when I got older just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

’ She shrugs. ‘I guess my priorities changed.’

She takes one final sip of her wine. ‘I couldn’t imagine anything different now, to be honest. Sometimes when it’s quiet, late at night or perhaps in the morning when the kids haven’t yet woken, I think of Mum.

Her face when I ran into their bedroom. The sounds that came out of her mouth – it was more horrifying than seeing Dad’s body next to her.

And I guess, since then, I’ve felt this great need to keep people close to me.

Like perhaps they could disappear at any moment, and so I can’t possibly leave them. ’

I reach forward and clasp Naya’s hand, because she’s crying again, and I want to reassure her. This is the best – and one of the only ways – that I know how.

Naya offers a smile. ‘I’ve spent most of my life taking care of other people. And it was necessary at first, but then it wasn’t and I kept going. I never learnt to stop.’

Then, she catches eyes with Dave. ‘Am I really supposed to pretend I don’t see him? It’s weird.’

I lower my voice. ‘He’s got a daughter, almost eighteen. I found the paperwork when he hurt his hand.’

‘Oh.’ Naya sits back. ‘Well, fuck.’

‘And he doesn’t see her.’

‘ Ever ?’

I shake my head. ‘Has never met her.’

Her eyes widen, and then she picks at her fingers. ‘That’s why you left?’

‘One of the reasons.’

She nods. Then smiles. ‘What about how he eats his food?’

‘That was another.’ And together, we glance behind us at Dave. Watch as he eats his banana bread. Watch as some of it falls out of his open mouth as he chews. Naya laughs.

‘This is all your fault, if you think about it. You kept telling me I barely knew him and I wanted to prove you wrong.’

She is horrified. Juts a finger into the table. ‘You didn’t know him. The man has secret offspring.’

And then we’re laughing again.