The Sister

dim windows high above us had all been designed for Vivi, that unattainable of gods. Also, in our shared silence, I thought of how at ease I was feeling with Arthur and how, in so many ways, we were similar—our love of the country and of churches, his genuine interest in Clive’s and my research.

We made our way home and he continued to ask questions about Vivi, and although they weren’t particularly probing, something made me wonder if I ought not to be answering them. Somehow I felt that if she knew about our walking along the brook and talking about her in the graveyard, and finding her graffiti in the church, she would have added them to the list of things that were very much not allowed.

“Right,” Arthur said, as we approached the house. “It’s about time you told me your family secret.” Although I could see he was smiling and I should have guessed he was teasing, I thought for an awful moment that he was going to question me about Maud’s drinking. “I want to know,” he continued authoritatively, “how you can tell a cannibal caterpillar? That look you were all talking about.”

“Oh, that,” I said, relieved, and I had to think for a moment how to put something I’d only ever known by instinct into words. “Well, they’re usually a lot less hairy than their brothers, and sort of…”

“Sort of?”

“Twitchy,” I decided finally.

“Thank you,” said Arthur, courteously holding open the front door for me.

As I said, that was only the second time Arthur had come down to try to make a baby for Vivi, and after our stroll to the church, I relaxed in his company. More than that, I began to enjoy it. Neither Maud nor Clive questioned why Arthur came, or how long he was staying, and for the next few months his visits melded calmly into the pattern of normal life. With Maud drinking more heavily each week, and Clive and I up to our necks in research, Arthur’s visits became, for me, a respite from the predictability of Bulburrow life. I thought of him when he wasn’t there, and looked forward to his arrival, counting the days until he broke the interminable cycle of routine. When he came, as well as our baby-making sessions, we’d walk and talk and I even felt him inch into some of the space that, until then, Vivien had always filled in my small circle of life. And, to tell you the truth, I believed, even though he never said it and I never asked, that he looked forward to seeing me too.

At the same time I increasingly despaired that my days had become embroiled in deceit. On the one hand I had the baby to keep secret from Maud, and on the other, I had Maud to keep secret from the rest of the world. My life took on the form of a treacherous board game, the people within it the counters. But I was playing on my own, for and against myself, discreetly moving the counters, making sure each one was winning while ensuring that none of them were aware that they were being played.

During the seventh month’s visit the trouble started.

Arthur and I had sex twice that day and I went to bed early. It was around ten o’clock in the evening when I woke up thirsty and went, sleepy-eyed, down to the kitchen to get a drink of water. I switched on the dim kitchen light and moved to the cupboard for a glass. As I bent to reach for one someone grabbed my hair, jerking me backwards. I yelped, doglike, as I was dragged away from the cupboard and onto the floor. I was still half asleep and slow.

“You little whore!” Maud shouted. “You fucking little whore! What do you think you’re doing? How dare you? You slut.” She was wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing all week—her green wool trousers, which were designed to have a stiff crease down the center, and a sloppy blue jumper of Clive’s, now heavily stained.

“Whore!” she shouted again, as she tried to rip out my hair and punched my head.

“No.” It was all I could manage to say. I tried to tuck my head between my legs.

“You’ve ruined my life and now you’ll ruin your sister’s too. Oh, no, you won’t!” she screamed. “I’ll kill you first! I’ll kill you!” She pulled me by my hair towards the Rayburn.

“No,” I said again, weakly, groaning at the pain in my scalp. But she didn’t mean it: her mind was distorted. It was the drink talking.

“Whore!” she yelled again. I’d curled up into a ball, burying my head into my body, but she was kicking me, I think as hard as she could, big, unrestrained swings aimed for my head and stomach, but instead striking my hands, forearms and shins as I protected myself. She was shouting throughout, but I didn’t hear any more of her words. I was focusing on the blows, each adding pain to the last, and ensuring that she didn’t break through my defenses to my head. It seemed to last forever and then, all of a sudden, the lights went out.

Maud stopped kicking.

“Look! I’ve something to show you!” I heard Clive’s urgent and unusually enthused voice. It was pitch-black. He was in the room and I heard him moving towards us.

“Everybody, look,” he continued. “Can you see it? Virginia? Maud?”

Neither of us spoke.

“Is it not glowing? Can you see it glowing?” Clive urged. I’d grown a little more accustomed to the light and could now make out the figures in the room. I was sitting up on the floor in front of the Rayburn, leaning on my right hand with both legs casually out to the side, as if I had been caught at story time. I congratulated myself on my quick recovery and repositioning. Maud had slunk at least fifteen feet away from me, near to the pantry door. She had her back to the wall and was relaxing heavily against it. Her hair was bedraggled, her face rouged with anger and, in the dimness, she looked little more than a wayward child.

It was then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I began to make out what she was holding. It was the heavy iron skillet, which she must have picked up from the stove just before Clive had walked in. She was holding it downwards in both hands, arms extended, resting it on her knees. I’ll tell you now, when I saw that skillet in her hands, I truly believed that had we not been interrupted she might well have carried out successfully her earlier death threats. Clive was in the middle of the room, by the table, thankfully between Maud and me. He was holding something at eye level, a test tube. He had his back turned slightly to me and directed himself at Maud.

“Maud,” he said gently, “can you see it?”

Maud said nothing. She wasn’t looking at him but at the skillet.

“I said, ‘Can you see it?’” he repeated vehemently, and when she didn’t answer he said, “Maud, I’d like you to concentrate on this for a minute.”

She didn’t move.

“Look up!” he demanded.

Maud lifted her head slowly, but as soon as she saw him, she dropped it again. She couldn’t look at him.

“What is it, Clive?” I asked, intrigued.

“Well, Ginny, my dear”—he turned to me—“I thought it was the Brimstone fluorescence, although it doesn’t seem to be working now,” and it was easy for us all to see that not a glimmer of hope radiated from the test tube. He’d failed, poor Clive. But—now here’s something that might surprise you—Clive should have been bitterly frustrated, angry, disappointed even; months and months of pedantic work and effort, all for no result. Instead, he said glibly, “Oh, well,” and then, “Shall I take that, Maud,” as he removed the skillet from her hands, “or are you about to cook us some steak?”

I would have laughed but I didn’t. It was rare for Clive to make a joke, although he’d probably thought she was about to do steak.

It was the most merciful coincidence that Clive appeared when he did, not a moment too soon, although quite what he was doing there at that time with his tube of nonfluorescing fluorescence I have not been able to fathom to this day. Inadvertently, he had saved me from the skillet in Maud’s grasp and yet he still seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Lights!” he barked, as if we’d just finished a rehearsal, and they flicked on, whipping away the secretive screen of half-light and flooding us with stark reality. There was Arthur at the entrance to the kitchen, stage- managing the switch. Arthur too? What was he doing in the room? I thought. And when had he arrived? I was confused. I can’t put my finger on why, but the whole episode had an air of performance.

I started to fumble around on the floor, pretending I’d been interrupted in looking for something I’d dropped. I needn’t have worried; nobody seemed to think it odd that I was down there. Then I saw Clive throw the