"I understand that I should not be saying this, I know she is your family, but I really cannot think of any woman in the world that I hate more than your sister."
"I'm not offended. I reckon I understand better than anybody why you'd hate her. I probably have more reason than you, Franny."
They had only recently begun dating. To put it simply, Iona was not Françoise's usual type. She wasn't occupied with her looks; tumbling red hair tossed aside in a ponytail, very little use of make up, and a permanent casual sense of style. Jeans all the time. Such a thick accent that it was sometimes hard to understand her, and unfamiliar words that had never cropped up in Françoise's girlhood English lessons. If she was to be summed up concisely, the word elegant would not make an appearance. Elegance was usually something that appealed to Françoise, but God knew she was open minded about lovers.
There was something sweet about Iona. She smiled generously, was confident and friendly. Perhaps she was too quick tempered, and perhaps she drank too much for Françoise's liking, but these things slipped her mind when they were talking together. Even that awful nickname 'Franny,' - it was so elderly, so unappealing! - was ignored, for the sake of continous conversation.
Françoise was less open minded about eating establishments, but being the giving woman she was, she had allowed Iona to bring her to a place she viewed as beneath her. The food wasn't stylish in the slightest. It was heavy and honest, and as unappealing as the wine list. Truly depressing, but just as she didn't like these pub type places, Iona wasn't always very keen on fancy restaurants. The food wasn't anything she could complain about, quite the opposite, but it was such an effort, and there was a falseness in the atmosphere. The conversations that could be overheard were as laughable as they were off putting.
"At least you do not have to work with her," Françoise continued, shaking her head as she thought of Alice Kirkland. That humourless, belligerent rat. "And let me tell you, I have tried to be kind to her. When she first began work, I would even say that I took the girl under my wing. Aren't I generous? And suddenly, one day, she has turned against me! She claims that I am an annoyance, I ruin her work, she does not want my so called assistance anymore! Well. A woman should always know where she is not wanted, no? But Alice is so ambitious. Sickeningly so."
Iona listened to this, snorting in amusement. As if she hadn't heard this tragic tale before. "At least you don't have to live with her," she pointed out. "You always forget about that, don't you?"
At this point in time, it wasn't financially possible for Iona to move out. Or for their other sister, Dilys, who sometimes got so annoyed with the pair of them that she too felt determined to leave. Alice, also, had no means of leaving the nest. Perhaps that was why she was always chasing promotions, but Iona had always had the feeling that Alice somehow liked the situation, despite all their squabbles. Alice liked to get uptight. She loved to assert her dominance over her elder sisters: tell them where these things should go and how they ought to be living, how they should spend her wages, what they should be doing with their lives. And she could scold them too, for domestic matters. Dilys had done her best to resist Alice, but eventually, it had just seemed easier to let her have her way.
Guiltily, all of this added to the appeal of Françoise Bonnefoy. It was fun for Iona to come home and say they had been on a date, and watch Alice's prissy face wrinkle with disdain.
"That woman," Alice would say, looking at the television with her hands tight in her lap, "is a scourge. She's bloody poison."
"Live with her! No, I can hardly imagine such a torture. I would rather spend hours disembowelling myself with a spoon than share my home with Alice for an hour." Françoise was prone to these exaggerations. She was a theatrical type. Always wearing scarlet lipstick and styling her hair like a glamour model or movie star. Even at her mediocre workplace, she was never seen without makeup, or stilettos, and was always dressing as if she had somewhere important to go.
Personally, Françoise thought this was partly why Alice hated her so. Whereas Alice was dour faced and not all that well liked, Françoise made the most out of her fellow employees. She was popular in the office. Even if a person had certain disagreeable opinions about her, they usually couldn't help but laugh when she told one of her amusing stories. Her hyperbole was funny. Her jokes were vulgar and cheeky. Her smiles were irresistible.
Iona knew that Françoise talked a tad too much, but she was entertaining, and easy on the eye. Her flirtations never went unnoticed. And there were plenty of flirtations throughout dinner; Iona was drowned with blandishments, she felt Françoise's honeyed words pour through her body, and she saw those lavender eyes suggesting what shouldn't be said in company.
As they were leaving the sad excuse for a restaurant and emerging into the dimmed street, Françoise stopped Iona, insisting that she just paused for a moment. She was under a streetlight and flicking through the items in her handbag. Designer, naturally. Her red lips curved when she found what she was looking for.
"For you, chère," she said, handing a small, expensive looking box over.
Chère, poule, bichette, belle, caille. There was an endearment for every day of the year. An endearment for every person in the country.
Inside the box was a silver charm bracelet. A bracelet wouldn't get in the way too much, and Iona could easily take it off - unlike certain necklaces that always proved fussy. Although it had been bought with this thought in mind, Françoise hoped she wore it often.
Iona had become accustomed to being at Françoise's home by now. It was well decorated, stylish, but always smelt surprisingly homely. Never dirty, never in a mess when Iona was there. She enjoyed visiting. Why would a person not like seeing their girlfriend? The relationship inflamed Iona's time with Alice, but this seemed like a small price to pay when she was sat on Françoise's couch, glass of drink on one side and the nubile Françoise on the other, murmuring to her as her fingertips found their way beneath the buttons of her plain, cheap shirt. Besides this, seeing Alice so angry over their contact was almost satisfactory.
Whereas Alice simply bristled at work, not speaking or snapping at Françoise, at home she was more vocal. She would coldly demand to know how Iona could even bear spend time with that snobby French so-and-so she had chosen to associate with.
It was a popular topic in their household. Dilys did her best to be somewhere else when it often came up.
Iona would come home from meeting Françoise. And when she and Alice were eventually drawn together, perhaps happening to be in the kitchen at the same time, or Alice was reading in a book in the living room while Iona flicked through the TV channels, Alice would narrow her eyes at a target in the room and ask, "Did you enjoy seeing her?" Her voice was always so indignant. How dare you?
This would lead into tight conversation. Firstly down the path of Françoise ("Not only is she vain, self-centred and snobbish, she's also argumentative and callous underneath that 'charming' exterior. I can't wait to say I told you so!") and then down the path of their own relationship ("You're always trying to be better than the rest of us, aren't you Alice? But that's what you think. You think you're better than the rest of us, just 'cause you're mam's favourite.").
Alice and Iona had never gotten on well. Call it sibling rivalry, but finding a peaceful moment for them to share sometimes seemed difficult. Iona was easygoing and bordering on disorganised, and Alice was her tyrant, apparently obsessed with order and control. Living together was painful enough. Iona and Dilys would sometimes be up late together, and talk about how fantastic their own homes would be. Iona was more passionate about this issue, but she could coax ideas out of Dilys if she persisted long enough. If she pressed her in the right places, and encouraged those sighing thoughts in her mind.
The arguments had in the household were hurtful to all of them, but left Iona in a worst state. Alice could deal with her anger. Who gave a damn about her sister and that woman? When they had finished, she would shake her head, venom in her eyes, and go to bed. Her sister, on the other hand, was left furious. It suffocated her mind. Françoise got on her mind - she got her thrills out of infuriating Alice, but it wasn't her who had to deal with the stresses of the arguments. Iona would stay up late, scowling, her florid cheeks burning with frustration.
"I am sure you will like Pot-au-Feu," Françoise said, holding Iona's hips as the red head looked down at the pot on the stove curiously. "It is a dish for the rich and poor alike. And you do like food fit for peasants, do you not?"
Iona nudged Françoise with her elbow gently. The bracelet she had been given slid slightly down her wrist. "You're one of those high maintenance women, aren't you? Nothing pleases you," she muttered, any resentment for her girlfriend's snobbish ways mellowing when she felt those kisses on her neck. It was true, however. Money was not a concern for Françoise, and in Iona's eyes, her frivolous way with it was mildly repulsive.
The Pot-au-Feu cooked slowly, but they didn't pay much attention. It was worth the wait. It was rich and filling, served with gherkins, mustard, a baguette, and wine. It had to be said that Iona never left Françoise feeling hungry.
While they ate, Iona couldn't help but tell Françoise about the recent arguments with her sister. It was dreadful to live with her, she hated it and felt trapped, she wanted some independence or freedom from her. Was this not a good she to be finding her feet? But her job was such an issue.
"You understand that if I moved in, Alice would be forced to leave," Françoise suggested thoughtfully, eyes meeting Iona's. It wasn't a certain plan, but she had a feeling that Alice would leave either due to the thought of it alone, or eventually after Françoise drained her. She smiled to think of it.
It was an appealing idea, of course, but there was an offended furrow to Iona's brows. "Are you saying you want to move in with me, or are you saying you want to drive my sister out?"
There was a substantial difference, but Françoise only laughed cheerfully. As always.
Speaking brightly, Françoise said, "Must you be so profound, ma fifille? I am only seeking a solution to the issues you have with your sister. It is a shame to hear all of the time of how she digs at your patience. Your best interests are always deeply engraved in my heart and mind."
Perhaps deeply enough that she didn't have to think about them, Iona thought to herself. Did Françoise really want to live with her? Or was this all an amusement, a snide smirk at the thought of Alice taking refuge with her parents while she searched for a new home, or for people to live with? Iona navigated their conversation away from these ideas, telling Françoise that she had read the books she had lent her, and that she'd like the recipe for the dish they had just eaten. She recalled something from the art museum where Françoise had taken her. No matter what Françoise's intentions were, it had to be said that she was ingrained in Iona's life. Like the small bird on the elephant's back.
The office hierarchy shifted and rocked, and there was always room for change. A single promotion on offer, both Françoise and Alice eligible for the work. Naturally, Iona was between the duelling pair.
"Cherié, let me read this to you. Okay? You are listening, hm?"
Iona nodded reluctantly.
A direct consequence of this battle was the agitation it had caused. Françoise had taken to picking out arguments, making rude little comments that her friends would laugh at if they had been there to witness them. She was apologetic when Iona lost her temper and returned to her usual self: kiss after kiss after kiss, a gesture the next evening, her hands silencing Iona with a gentle grip and her fingers making her sound soon after with brushes and strokes.
"I believe that I would be perfect for this work due to my good interpersonal skills with both customers and employees. For high quality work to be done, it is essential to have a pleasant working environment and a motivating boss. Not only would I support the team, I would also direct and enthuse them," Françoise recited, glancing to Iona. "What is the matter? You are frowning."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist." Iona looked over at Françoise's notes, and shook her head. "They know you're easy to get on with - you've worked with them for years, haven't you? My advice is to change your stance. More work, less play, I'd say."
Françoise hesitated, looking down at her notes uncertainly. However, she nodded soon. "Alright. This once, I will trust you." She laughed gently. "You need this job as much as I do, no? If Alice gets promoted, it will be so much harder to work with her! And for you to live with her, poor thing. If she gets into a higher position than me...Her grubby little hands are addicted to power. She will see it as my subjugation. Our subjugation."
Of course, upon getting the promotion, Françoise had been overjoyed. She could walk around the office with a bright lipped, smug smile. She had told Iona gleefully, kissing her so many times; if it hadn't been for her help, she doubted she would have got it.
It was easy to tell that it had been a close call. Both Alice and Françoise had been eyeing each other for days, two birds of prey hungry and looking for food. Despite her natural confidence in herself, Françoise had not been certain she had got the job.
Françoise could say what she liked about Alice, and Alice could say what she liked about Françoise. But they would both confess that they were worthy rivals. Never aloud, but they knew it. And they hated it. It felt degrading.
Her girlfriend's promotion had repercussions on Iona. A drop of water causes ripples on a pond, but it was as if a stone had been skipped across the sibling's relationship, causing ripple after ripple after ripple.
Alice had learnt that Iona had helped Françoise with her promotion, and she was filled with contempt for her. How dare she? Did Iona have such a hatred for her that she had to spitefully ruin her career? Was this what her affair with that pernicious, saccharine, lewd witch had been about all along?
This came up one day. Alice couldn't hold it any longer, being around Iona so often. "I can't believe you helped her," she began quietly, both of them knowing who 'her' was. "She is using you. Do you think that she would have helped you get a promotion? You should see how she looks at me Iona, and if you think she loves you, then you're more stupid that you look." There was a pause, but Alice was growing crosser by the second. "She is using you to antagonise me! You are her weapon. You are not her lover, you are her tool. If she'd met another sibling before you, they would have done. Dilys could be her bloody girlfriend!"
Dilys promptly left the room. She preferred not to be involved with these things. Especially not when they were so emotionally charged, and when Alice looked like she might break something soon.
"Shut your face," Iona snapped roughly. She got sick of hearing this. And she got sick of how it bothered her, and how she would sometimes look at Françoise and these words would spring to mind. Françoise said that she loved her, she said it in two languages and in a variety of tones. But why were they always so preoccupied with Alice if that was the case? Her sister was like a bad aftertaste. "A bad worker blames his tools, Alice. You didn't get the job? You must be a shoddy worker. If self pity is easier to deal with, you can live in your denial. Go ahead and piss off."
Alice released a derisive snort, like a dragon huffing smoke from its nostrils. "Fine. I'm a shoddy worker. You're a shoddy sister and you have a shoddy girlfriend. I'm so pleased," she concluded in a sardonic tone, pressing her fist to her chair as she stood.
These thoughts grew on Iona. Although she was spending the same amount of time with Françoise, perhaps more, she couldn't shake the feeling of being used.
The way Alice commanded language was startling at times. She utilised it magnificently, always knowing which words would strike the hardest. Always knowing which words would creep in your ears as you tried to sleep, which words would crawl down your spine and slither in your stomach, blooming with a nauseous feeling when they were ripe.
Iona's feelings surfaced over a telephone call. She refused to let Alice have this hold over her. She already controlled everything that she could; Françoise had to be out of bounds. Unstoppable.
"Françoise? I need to speak to you. Alright?"
A sighing voice came through. "Hm? Yes. Do go on, chère." She sounded as if she was doing something else. There was a distracted quality to her voice that had only ever been noticeable when they had gone shopping together.
"You've been using me. I don't want to be played with by you." Iona waited for an indignant argument from Françoise. It never came. "You're obsessed with making gains over Alice, we talk about her all the time, and I'm sick of it! This relationship is about us, remember? Do you think of me or my sister more in your spare time?"
"You, of course, ma belle," came that same sighing voice. There was no passion, no argument. "It is such a tragedy that you feel like this. We must set about mending it."
Iona blinked, mouth ajar for a moment, wondering if they were engaged in the same conversation. "Have you got your bleeding head screwed on right?" she demanded, offended by Françoise's lack of care towards this sensitive matter. "Are you joking? You don't care at all that I think you're using me? God, do my feelings matter to you at all? Did they ever?" Her voice heightened with each unanswered question, and she gripped the phone tighter and tighter. It wasn't hard to image that stung red face of hers brimming with fury.
A final sigh squeezed through the telephone. "Please calm yourself. You are right; my head is not quite 'screwed on' properly, as you say." There was a hesitation, and what sounded like a quiet sniff. "A dear friend of mine is very sick. I am sorry if I have neglected you in any way because of this. I just cannot get her off my mind. I hope you can forgive my mistakes."
An awkward quiet descended upon them.
"Can I see you, Franny?"
"I would appreciate it."
Françoise looked radiant in the pale light that eased itself through the curtains. She was a beautiful woman, even without her uniform makeup. Soft pink lips, untouched by the red that she insisted on, were pursed as the French woman slept. Her hair was tousled from sleep but still silky to touch and shining healthily. Perhaps Iona only noticed this now that they saw each other less.
Their relationship - could they call it a relationship anymore? - was vague. One of them would call the other at what seemed like random. They saw each other rarely.
They would meet at Françoise's place. She would insist on cooking with patriotic sentiment, but Iona had learnt enough from her now to know how to help. They would talk for a while over French cuisine and wine.
Françoise disclosed that Alice didn't bother her all that much at work anymore. She rarely saw her, and when she did, she didn't have the time to think of her. It was a relief.
The last time they had had any notable contact had been when Françoise had taken some time off. Her friend had died. Françoise was temporarily ruined by the loss, constantly lamenting over the tragedy of halted young life. It was dreadful. She could never get that youthful, hopeful face off her mind, and was pained even more when it became blurred in her memory.
Iona had come to her aid at this time, doing so with a refreshed vigour. Françoise was pained and she had to look after her. She would hold Françoise as she sobbed against her, cook for her despite the uncharacteristic lack of interest in food, make sure that she was sleeping. It was startling to see Françoise so apathetic. She would stay in bed for much longer than necessary, didn't bother with her appearance, and seemed disinterested in everything offered. For weeks after the death, even when she returned to work, she didn't read the newspapers or watch the news, despite her usual eagerness for current affairs. It didn't matter. She did ease herself back into the habit, but only did so so as not to be ignorant.
And then one day it stopped. Françoise got up, showered, dressed, made herself presentable, and announced that she was needed in work. It occurred to her that if she didn't get back soon, her position might be challenged. She didn't have time for lipstick that morning, have become accustomed to late mornings that seeped into the afternoon.
And when she had come back to work, looking less pristine than her usual self, everybody at the office had known. Who knew how these things spread? A card had been signed to welcome her back and apologise for her loss, but one little signature was missing. And in her state of misery, Françoise had felt so bitter about it.
She made sure to get a triumph out of this inconsiderate gesture. When she saw Alice struggle with her work, she would make a passing comment. She would mention to influential staff about how tired Alice looked, about how she brought tension to the office due to her bad social skills.
And eventually, she'd got the bitch moved. Her job and income wasn't altered, but it was a victorious feeling to have her work changed, to have Alice working in a different building, away from her completely.
Good.
Iona's relationship changed with Alice also. They still squabbled, but now that Alice didn't have Françoise in her life at work, she was less hostile and more willing to cooperate. She never had to question how Iona's company had been because she hardly saw Françoise Bonnefoy.
They would have cautious, brief conversations. It turned out they had things in common, alarmingly.
That wasn't to say they got on flawlessly. But their living arrangement was easier. Alice was still controlling, but Iona found it less offensive. Sometimes she would make a joke and Alice would snort agreeably. Sometimes Alice would lend Iona things; books, if she wanted them, socks, hair ties, her watch.
"Alice was right," Iona murmured, looking over Françoise as she slept. "You did get what you wanted, didn't you Franny? You won."
Of course, no reply came. Françoise was a deep sleeper, hated to be awoken and liked to sleep late. Iona doubted she'd be emotional when she found her gone.
"I had Alice in mind too. It'd be wrong to lie."
They had slipped into a habit of meeting and promising each other everything. After dinner, one of them would start the touches. They would talk in between kisses, and everything seemed to be solved when Françoise's dress was hung over the back of the couch; she didn't like it to be thrown, and Iona had learnt to respect this. Things seemed much better when Iona could admire a red mark she had created on the slender neck of her lover, and when she could feel teasing fingers against her hip.
Of course, nothing had changed by the morning. Red marks remained on Françoise's body, and that was that.
Iona stood from the bed and began collecting her clothes. She began getting dressed, taking in the details of Françoise and her home. This would probably be the last time she was here with her.
"You did teach me a lot. Tried to make me cultured, or whatever you had in mind," she continued. "You know, living with Alice isn't that bad anymore. You never thought I'd say that, did you?" She smiled a little, shaking her head. "You'd hate to hear me say that."
Before she left, Iona removed the bracelet Françoise had given her. She had begun wearing it less and less, and it seemed right to return it.