Page 16 of The Family Across the Street
‘No,’ he says shortly. ‘No.’
‘Why don’t you just say what you want to say? I won’t say anything. Just tell me what you want to say.’ She tries to conceal the rage that is inside her as she speaks. Rage will not help. She wonders if she could rush at him right now, and if she did, would she get to him before he shot her, and if he shot her, would he shoot them too? She believes him to be capable of this, even though yesterday she would never have thought it possible. Before today she was a different person. Before today she thought that her love could save him; today she knows that for all these years she’s been wasting her time.
‘Stop doing that,’ he says and she realises that she is still twisting the ring.
She can hear the children in the kitchen, packets being opened and something spilled on the floor. She closes her eyes and wishes they would just run but they won’t. She is their world, their whole world. They don’t know how to exist without her yet.
She picks up the stuffed monkey that Sophie carries everywhere with her when she’s home. It started off a rich, soft brown but it’s faded now, the face grey, one eye a little wonky where it has fallen off and she has sewn it back on, not quite in the right place.
‘I don’t think you deserve these children,’ he says. ‘Some women shouldn’t be mothers. Some women are too selfish.’
‘Some men shouldn’t be fathers,’ she says softly and then instantly curses her stupid words.
She glances over at the bookcase where her wedding photo stands. She and her new husband look impossibly happy. From the slight creasing of their eyes, it’s obvious they were standing in the sun when the photo was taken. ‘Let’s turn around,’ the photographer said when he noticed, and she and John laughed as he picked up her long train, helping her turn. It had looked beautiful going down the aisle of the church with the white lace roses on the end but was impractical for the reception. She put this picture on display even though she has better ones because of the way he is looking at her, because of the palpable feeling of love that exists in the image. Now, she looks away from it, feeling sympathy for her younger self, for everything she did not know then.
He is standing by the window that looks out onto the garden and the pool. Katherine can see it’s shimmering in the sun, perfectly blue and inviting. It’s too small for proper laps but she and the children would have spent the afternoon there, waiting for the oppressive heat to pass. He turns away from the window and looks at her and then down at the watch he has on his wrist, silver with a white face and an engraving on the back: With all my love, Katherine.
‘I don’t care about your opinion on fathers. I really don’t care at all,’ he says softly. ‘They have two minutes left and then I will shoot you.’
She has no idea what to say to this, so she just keeps quiet, remembering her joy at finding out she was pregnant and the frisson of fear upon learning that it was twins. She had no idea how she would cope. The utter exhaustion of the early weeks is a surreal memory now, and what she mostly feels is joy that they have each other, that there are two people in the world who will forever be joined. Friendships break, marriages end, even sibling relationships and parent and child bonds can fail, but it must be different with twins. Even when they fight, there is something that she can see between them, some connection that she feels can never be broken. One whole wall of the family room is covered in framed photographs of the twins at every age from scrunched-faced newborns until now. Sophie loves to hear the story of their birth, of the night they arrived.
Katherine had woken from a deep sleep – unusual because she had barely slept in the last month of her pregnancy. She was huge and waddled when she walked, her knees and back struggling with the weight. The twins moved all night, kicking and shoving for space. The night they arrived she had opened her eyes in the dark and moved her hand next to her leg to feel the soaked sheets. She knew what it was but fear had paralysed her as she contemplated the possibility that it could be blood. ‘John, John,’ she said, hearing her voice catch in her throat as if she was in a bad dream, screaming for help. He sat up instantly. ‘They’re coming,’ he said.
‘I don’t… I don’t know,’ she replied. He turned on the light and helped her sit up, throwing back the duvet so she could see that the liquid on the bed was clear.
‘Right,’ he said. Completely in charge, he helped her up and into the shower so she could clean up before they left for the hospital. The contractions only began when she was in a bed in her hospital room, and she knew it was because she had been afraid to begin until the doctors were close by. ‘You were born as the sun rose and light filled the room, and the doctor said that summer babies were the cleverest babies of all.’ Katherine always ends the story with these words.
Once upon a time John had sat with her and listened. Once he had enjoyed hearing the story as much as she enjoyed telling it.
‘I will love and protect you forever,’ he had whispered to them both as they lay cocooned in their clear bassinettes in their hospital room. She had been relieved to hear the words, to know that she and John were in this together. But now… now, her mind goes back to last night’s argument with him.
‘I’m not going to accept this behaviour, John, I’m just not.’ She was walking around the kitchen, putting dishes away and then wiping the counter, scraping crumbs into her hands. She always cleaned like this when they argued, feeling the need to control something, anything.
‘And what are you going to do for money without me? How are you going to take care of these kids?’ He was leaning up against the sink, his arms folded, watching her, just watching her work.
‘I’ll figure it out.’ She threw the crumbs in the garbage and dusted off her hands.
‘You are so ready to toss me on the trash heap, Katherine, so ready to just get rid of me.’
She turned to look at him, reading the despair on his face. ‘You’re the one who wants to be with someone else.’ Her anger rose at her own words and she picked up her cloth again, wiping down already clean surfaces.
‘That’s crap and you know it. Just let me explain – I can explain if you just stop talking, stop bloody cleaning and listen.’ He slammed his hand on the countertop.
‘I know what I read. There can’t really be any other explanation.’ Without another word she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there with his explanation on his lips and no one to listen to what he had to say.
How has her life come to this? She cannot even begin to unravel the threads that have led her here to this day.
He is watching her closely now. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks.
She shakes her head. Whatever she says now will be the wrong thing. She can sense that.
The children come back into the room; Sophie’s face edged with chocolate. ‘I made her eat a banana,’ says George, and Katherine nods, swiping at tears that arrive because her little boy sounds, all of a sudden, decades older.
‘You always do what Mum says, don’t you, George?’ he sneers at the child.
George doesn’t reply, knowing even at five years old when to keep quiet.
He looks at George and gestures with the gun. ‘I’ll tell you what my father told me, Georgie boy, something someone needed to tell you one day, and maybe today’s the day and maybe you’ll listen because you’ll always remember me saying it. If you get the chance to grow up and go out into the big, wide world… big if… but if you do, you need to remember: never trust a woman. Don’t ever trust a woman.’
