"Mum! Alan! We're off, " Caroline yells towards the back garden while shuffling Lawrence to the car, gravel crunching under foot. "I'll be back in a few hours."
Celia and Alan turn and wave. As they do, Caroline spots Gillian standing behind them.
"Oh – Hi, Gillian! I didn't know you were here! Where's your car?" Caroline smiles warmly at her step-sister. "It feels like ages since I've seen you."
"Hi, Caroline!" Gillian smiles back. "Yeah, yeah, it's been couple weeks since I've seen these two lovebirds, so I thought I'd better pop over and see him for myself. Make sure he remembers me and all."
Alan chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, don't worry. You're unforgettable."
"I'll walk back to the car with you," Gillian turns toward Caroline. "Mine's around the corner. I'm leaving now, too. Ta-ta!"
"Ta-ta, love", Celia replies.
"I'm just taking Lawrence to his rugby practice, then I thought I'd have some lunch at a little café in the city centre. Would you like to join me?", Caroline asks. Gillian senses a little bit of an edge in her voice.
"Um, yeah, okay. Sure. I'm in no rush. Sheep aren't going anywhere. Where's Kate?"
"She has choir rehearsal this afternoon. She's taken Grace with her. She'll meet up with Lawrence after his rugby and they'll all be back around 5 o'clock. So, this is mum's – THIS mum's – afternoon off." She lowers her voice. "And, do I need a drink!", she whispers
"Okay, good, sure. Just don't let me get too pissed. Remember the time we checked out wedding venues for me dad and your mum…."
Caroline rolls her eyes. "Ooh, I don't think THAT will be happening again."
"Shall I follow you?"
"No, let's take mine. I daresay Lawrence is dirtier than any of your sheep. LAWRENCE, feet off the seat!"
"So, what's up, Caroline?" They have settled into a table overlooking the street, and Caroline has just taken a huge gulp of cabernet. It's a warm autumn day – gentle breeze, brilliant blue sky – but a storm cloud is clearly hovering over Caroline.
"Ooh, WHERE do I begin? Where do I even begin?"
Caroline pauses, takes a deep breath, then leans in closer. The storm cloud darkens.
"Well, you remember that book John started writing last year? The one about Alison Waterhouse, the flaccid, over-ripe fruit of a woman, and her mother, who meets up again after 60 years with her teenage love, the father of Lizzie Cunningham, the sheep farmer with the body of a 16-year-old boy and more suiters than she knows what to do with?"
"Oi, how could I ever forget THAT ... Judith coming round the farm looking for him that night, all that trouble with Robbie..." Gillian rolls her eyes.
"Precisely. Well, I thought he'd dropped it after that – but apparently not! He finished the book, and his publisher has picked him up again."
"Oh, good lord!"
"AND, he sent me a copy in advance of publication. He wrote me a note saying he didn't want me to be 'caught off-guard'. It came in yesterday's post." The storm cloud grows.
"What's it … what's it… Well, is it still about us, our family?"
"Yep. I was up half the night reading it," Caroline says, tightening her jaw. "It starts off with the story we all know – your dad, my mum, Facebook, you, me, etcetera. It's the manuscript Judith found, essentially. But the stuff he wrote AFTER that takes some VERY weird turns."
"Go on." Gillian edges forward.
"You just won't believe some of the, the, the drivel he's written. Listen to this: The day after Alison Waterhouse marries her 'dusky Negress', she – the Negress – goes out to buy some milk and is run down in the street and killed! By an out-of-control television soap opera writer, no less." Caroline tightens her jaw. "A day after her bloody wedding!"
"Blimey" Gillian gasps. "What about the baby? What about … Grace?"
"Flora. She's called Flora in the novel. Flora Grace. She's delivered in hospital by caesarian just before her mother dies," Caroline sputters, her voice a little too loud now. "Ripped out of her. Never even sees her baby. It's, it's, brutal! It's, it's, it's absolutely horrifying!"
The waiter glances over. She's getting louder. Gillian reaches out and pats Caroline's arm, stroking it gently with her thumb.
"Well," Gillian offers, "well, it sounds like he feels - felt - feels rather threatened by Kate, doesn't it?"
"Threatened, jealous, spiteful, vengeful." Caroline takes another big swallow of cabernet, slamming the glass down hard on the table, startling the people at the next table over.
"I mean, I know it's partly remorse … He's told me a million times that he's sorry for the mistakes he's made and that he just wants things to 'get back to normal', whatever THAT means. But this, this, cruel, macabre, twist is simply inexcusable."
Gillian covers Caroline's hands with hers, hoping to quiet her down, hoping to avoid broken glass.
"So, back to the story line," Gillian asks. "So, he starts out sticking to things that really happened, with the names changed, of course. Lizzie … Alison... But then he starts making things up?"
"Yep! The story line goes completely off track."
"What was he thinking, do you suppose?" Gillian asks, lowering her voice.
"Well, I think he thought that, if he diverted into fiction, it might not be as libelous. But it so clearly reflects his fears and anger and insecurity. I mean, for God's sake, killing off Kate the day after our wedding? How transparent is THAT? And, ooh, I haven't told you this one yet. You will love this. You and Robbie get married – "
"We what?"
"Oh, yes. You and Robbie get married – and, during your vows, Robbie vomits into a bucket!"
"Good lord." Gillian feels a little physically ill herself.
"Presumably he's working out a little anger at Robbie with that one. I, of course, show up at your wedding covered in shit."
"Wha - ?"
"Yep. Cow shit. Head to toe. Slipped while fixing a puncture en route. Apparently killing off my new wife wasn't quite enough punishment for me."
"Bloody hell …." Gillian stares into space, taking it all in.
"You know, I honestly don't know what's worse – that he turned our lives into a novel to begin with – names concealed, whatever – or that he's turned them into such … such fiction!"
"Does he … he hasn't, has he written anything risqué, or owt?" Gillian asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Oh yes. OH YES. You – I mean Lizzie Cunningham – take a tumble in the back seat of the Land Rover with a cheesemonger named Ollie. And then you – Lizzie - find yourself in bed with Matthew Waterhouse yet again."
Gillian's face goes pale.
"But, poor Alison Waterhouse … there's nothing for her, ever again. I mean, he disposes of her wife just hours after her wedding, so it's not like Alison will be, um, seeing any action in the boudoir from this point on, is it? Strangely, he has Kate lingering about as a ghost for a few chapters, but apparently ghosts can't have sex. How mean-spirited is THAT?"
This time Gillian intercepts the wine glass, softening the impact.
"He also makes up this weird, weird story line about Kate's old friend from university, Greg, the one she … well, Grace's biological father." She grimaces.
"Oh?"
"John was still hanging around the house quite a bit after Kate and I bought him out, before the baby was born, and one day he apparently asked Kate about the biological father, so she told him a little about Greg. Well, he must have made quite an impression on him, because he's written him into the novel. He – Greg – apparently moves in with me to help take care of the baby after Kate is killed off by the out-of-control television writer."
"Moves in – as in, he's your lover?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. And, you know, that's one of the things that's a little weird. In his book, John – Matthew Cunningham – starts coming round and spending time with Greg while I'm at work."
They both raise their eyebrows.
"Do you think … is John … is he implying that Matthew Cunningham, he's attracted to …," Gillian's question trails off as she mulls it over.
"Well, I have to admit that that certainly occurred to me as I was reading it. The characters don't DO anything 'gay' in those chapters," she punctuates with air quotes. "But it did make me wonder if, on some subconscious level, that's what John was suggesting without even realizing it. Why else would he be coming round to visit Greg so much and keeping it secret from me/Alison?"
"Maybe, uh, maybe ... Maybe he wants to believe that you are still, uh, still attracted to men? Maybe he, John, uh, Matthew, never really believed you're a lesbian and is creating a situation to see if you – Alison – are attracted to him?"
"I suppose it's possible. He has written Greg as a half-assed twit … so, would he be suggesting that I - Alison - might be attracted to someone like that? If so, what does that say about the people I actually HAVE been attracted to in my life, including John himself?"
They are silent for a few moments, thinking, absorbing. Gillian finally breaks the silence.
"What does Kate think about it?", she asks.
Caroline sighs deeply. "Well. You know, Kate is so kind and gentle. Whenever I'm upset she always says the right thing, puts things in perspective … calms me down. But, she does have lines she won't cross – believe me, I know. I learned that the hard way." Caroline floats back a moment, remembering when Kate dumped her for not having the courage to book a double room for them at Holdsworth House, remembering how miserable she was for months after that. Until last Christmas.
"And THIS is most definitely a line. She never wanted John stopping round as it was. Now she's ready to chop off his bollocks."
"Yeah … yeah, of course" Gillian looks a little confused, trying to imagine Kate angry. "So, what you going to do?"
"I don't know. I'm not wild about the idea of this showing up in Waterstones in a few months. I suppose I should talk to my solicitor about it and see what my options are. If we even have any options – any legal options. I haven't told my mum yet, or Alan. Or the boys. What do you think? I mean, you're part of the story, too. How do you feel about this?"
"It honestly doesn't bother me much. Unless it stirs up Robbie again. Things are kind of nice between us right now."
Caroline looks directly into her eyes, probing. Then a slight smile.
"Good. That's good."
"And, how are things with Kate?"
Caroline's face softens and the storm cloud moves away. Gillian detects a slight blush creeping up.
"They're, they're, um, they're good. Really good. Really good. Yeah."
"Caroline, changing topics for a minute …. Can I, may I ask you something?"
"Sure." Caroline straightened up in her seat.
"So, you were married to John for 18, 19 years." She paused. "So, you must have, er, you mustn't have NOT liked men. Er, sleeping with men. Aye? So, how's it compare, being with a woman?"
"Ooh, that's a topic for another day!" Far in the future, Caroline thinks. End of conversation. "Shall we get the check?"