Page 72 of We All Live Here
Gene frowns at her. “You both come here every day and nobody says anything?”
“Gene, we really don’t need—”
“Since he left you?” He turns to Marja. “Hang on, you’re telling me you’ve never even said sorry?”
“Sorry?” Marja’s voice is halting.
“For breaking up a family? For sleeping with my daughter’s husband? You literally come here every day and don’t say a word to my daughter? Jesus! How English can you all get?”
“Actually,” says Philippa, stepping forward, “she’s Dutch. And she doesn’t owe anyone an apology. Things happen. It’s just life.”
Gene swivels round and looks at her incredulously. “And who the fuck are you?”
Philippa lifts her chin, coloring. “I’m Philippa Graham.”
“And what business is this of yours, Philippa Graham? Or are you just here because you enjoy the drama?”
Philippa’s eyes widen. “That’s a horrible thing to say. I’m just…looking out for my friend.” She looks down at Marja’s belly. “And her unborn child.”
“Ohhh,” says Gene, his face softening. “That’s nice. You’re looking out for the unborn child. Right. Looking out for the children.”
With this affirmation of her benevolence, Philippa’s equanimity is restored. She nods primly. Gene smiles. Lila lets out a small breath. He starts to write on the paper she has proffered. “So, Philippa Graham,” he says, still looking down at the paper as he writes, “have you been looking out for theactualchildren involved here as well as the unborn? Dan and Lila’s children? The ones whose lives were upended? The ones who are still struggling with what happened to their family? How much have you been looking out for those children, huh?”
Philippa’s jaw drops.
“Got it. I thought so.” He thrusts the paper at her. “Why don’t you skedaddle off over there, lady, and leave us to it, given this is clearly afamilymatter?”
There is a brief silence. Philippa glances at Lila and then at Marja. Everyone else has now drifted away, clustered into little murmuring groups across the playground, pretending not to be watching what is going on.
“Are you okay, Marja?” Philippa says pointedly, touching Marja’s elbow.
“I’m fine,” Marja says quietly.
Philippa waits another beat before she leaves, as if showing that she is not intimidated by this man, intergalactic battle captain or no. They wait until Philippa has moved ten, twenty feet away, looking repeatedly over her shoulder as she goes. And then Gene stands between the two women. “So you guys don’t speak. Never have. How’s that working out for you both, huh?”
“Gene,” says Lila. “Please don’t do this. I really don’t need you to get invo—”
“I’m sorry, Lila.”
Marja’s heavily accented voice cuts across them. Lila turns and stares at her. Marja’s mouth is compressed into a thin line, and she is clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I really am.” For the first time Lila notices how tired she looks, how pale. Lila wants to say something in reply but nothing will come out. She just stares at the woman who’s suddenly utterly unlike the glowing, calculating nemesis who has existed in her head for so long. Marja looks at her feet. “And I’m very sorry about your children.”
Lila cannot speak. Their eyes lock, and Lila thinks,My God, she actually does look sorry.
Then Gene claps his hands together. “There—that wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh, look! There’s my girl! Violet baby! Vi! Look who came to meet you! It’s your old pal Gene!”
At this point Lila has to take a step out of the school playground. It is too much: the stares of the other mothers, the odd discomfort she feels at Gene having made Marja apologize, the hideous, hideous visibility of it all. She is dimly aware of the other mothers filing past her onto the pavement, the snatches of conversation aboutStar Squadron Zero, and she cannot identify what she feels: sadness? Anger? Grief? Relief?
She is interrupted by Violet, tugging at her sleeve. “Mum! You still haven’t done the costumes! Mrs. Tugendhat needs to talk to you.”
“Oh, Violet, not now, lovey.”
“No, now! She said you were meant to bring them this week!”
She looks across the playground. Gene is standing talking to Mrs. Tugendhat, who, she can tell even from here, was aStar Squadron Zerofan. Her plump hand is pressed to her chest and she sports the kind of animated expression some people wear when overwhelmed by actual conversation with an actual famous person. Gene is smiling, his shoulders thrown back, his battered leather jacket standing out among the puffy coats and brightly colored Boden jackets.
“Mum.” Violet’s voice is urgent. “They’re starting dress rehearsals in two weeks. We have to know that everything fits.”
“I know, love. I know. I promise I’ll sort it.”
