Selfish People. Lucy English

was quiet but the rest of the house was not. The children were now running up and down the hall. The people were leaving and Rachel went to see them off. Upstairs somebody was banging radiator pipes. The noise reverberated right through the house.

      Rachel came back. ‘Family,’ she said.

      ‘Rachel? Rachel?’ called a voice. ‘Where did you put the doodah?’

      Down the stairs came Bee, Rachel’s mother, in bright green slacks, a gin and tonic in one hand, a cigarette in the other. ‘Do introduce me to your friend.’

      ‘It’s Leah. You’ve met before.’

      ‘How sweet of you to call.’

      ‘It seems like a most inconvenient moment,’ said Leah, acutely aware of her rampaging children who now burst into the kitchen making all sorts of unreasonable requests. She attempted order.

      ‘They’re adorable,’ said Bee, backing away. She put her glass by the sink and began opening cupboards. ‘What shall we have for lunch?’

      ‘Anything you like. You’re cooking it,’ said Rachel.

      Leah made the children a drink. ‘We won’t stay long.’

      ‘It’s all right,’ said Rachel. Bee had found some courgettes and potatoes and was looking at them as if they were aliens.

      ‘What about baked potatoes?’ said Rachel.

      ‘Of course.’ Rachel never wore make-up but Bee wore orangy foundation and today her lips were crimson. Upstairs the banging was becoming deafening.

      ‘Daddy’s mending the radiators.’

      ‘I’ll see how it’s going,’ said Bee.

      ‘They’ve been here since Thursday. Mummy’s doing all the cooking. We usually have lunch around six.’ Leah had to smile, but Rachel wasn’t smiling. She had dark circles under her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s OK. They look after Oliver as well.’

      Oliver, Ben and Tom were blowing bubbles into their mugs and giggling. Oliver was fair haired, he had a chubby face and a turned-up nose. Only in certain lights did he look like Rachel.

      ‘Ian died,’ he said suddenly to Ben, who looked blank: he had forgotten who Ian was. Rachel listened with her hand on her face.

      ‘Did he get shot?’ asked Ben.

      ‘He just got sick and died. Mummy was crying. Weren’t you?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Rachel, still watching them.

      ‘When next door’s cat died they buried it in the garden,’ said Ben, blowing bubbles. Leah could have kicked him. ‘It’s not the same,’ she said.

      ‘Why?’ said Tom who probably hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about.

      ‘There’s some chocolates in the front room,’ said Rachel. ‘You can have one each.’ The children disappeared instantly.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Leah.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rachel.

      ‘How’s Oliver?’

      ‘He asks questions. He’s funny about going to sleep …’ She didn’t say any more. Ian was not Oliver’s father.

      I remember sitting on Brandon Hill and you told me about this person you’d just met. You were hesitant. You liked him, but … you described him and what he wore, dreadful trainers, and his friends who got drunk all the time … and the stars above Brandon Hill were bright and clear. It was back in the spring …

      Hugh came into the kitchen carrying a radiator. ‘That’s the one in the spare room done. This is from Oliver’s room. Got any enamel paint and I’ll fix the rust stains?’

      ‘In the cupboard,’ said Rachel. Hugh was smallish, like Rachel. He had gold-rimmed glasses which made him look like a bank manager.

      ‘This is Leah. She didn’t know Ian had died.’

      ‘Well … yes …’ He stopped for a moment by the cupboard. ‘I’d better find this paint, then. What’s for lunch?’

      ‘Ask Mum.’

      Bee appeared. ‘Hugh’s made such a mess up there, I don’t know. Where’s your dustpan, darling?’

      ‘Under the sink.’ Rachel was looking more weary every minute.

      ‘Doesn’t seem to be there, darling.’

      ‘Can’t find this paint.’

      Rachel sighed. She found the dustpan and the paint and followed her father upstairs.

      ‘It was very good of you to come,’ said Bee.

      ‘I hadn’t seen her for ages.’

      ‘He was a nice boy.’ And she raised her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘It’s very upsetting. We did have our hopes.’ She meant marriage. Rachel had often complained about this. Bee turned on the oven and fiddled with the timer. ‘Oh dear, I much prefer microwaves.’

      Rachel and Leah sat together again in the kitchen. The rest of the house had become quiet.

      ‘You’re exhausted. When it’s all over perhaps you can have a holiday.’

      ‘I was on holiday. Then the hospital rang and I had to come back. I was fucking angry about it …’

      Leah laughed. Rachel was always fucking angry about something. They used to see more of each other, but recently with her working and not getting on with Al …

      Rachel gazed beyond the flowers. She had a habit of drifting into a private space and in these moments there was little point in talking to her. Leah waited. Rachel picked a petal off a white chrysanthemum.

      ‘How do you get on with his friends?’ asked Leah.

      Rachel considered this. ‘At first I thought they were right wasters. It’s so competitive. They brag about who gets the most wrecked. But when he was ill … they came to see him. The more sick he became he didn’t want to see them. I suppose it reminded him of what he used to be. He wanted to see me. He thought I could save him. He thought if I loved him more I would save him …’ She stopped and Leah thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t, she slipped back to her private world as if she would find answers and comfort there. ‘He had no belief. He thought death was the end. He was so fucking scared … he didn’t want to talk about death. He wanted to get better. His friends are the same. They’re so thrown but they don’t want to talk about it.’ She smiled. ‘They wrote poems to read at his funeral.’

      ‘Poems?’ And Leah remembered. ‘Do you know Declan and Bailey? They live on the other side of the Wells Road.’

      ‘They’re Ian’s friends.’

      ‘I didn’t know you knew them.’ And they both laughed.

      ‘Declan’s a terrible drunk but I like him, but I don’t know Bailey all that well.’

      ‘Oh I do,’ said Leah, feeling all excited now.

      ‘Oh do you?’ said Rachel with all her old sarcasm.

      ‘I was round there the other week. I had such a weird time. Declan said his friend was dying and later Bailey told me about the poems.’

      ‘The funeral was yesterday.’ Rachel was not laughing now. Leah understood all she had said about competitive wrecking.

      ‘Bailey teaches basketball at the Project. That’s how I know him. What do you think of him?’

      Rachel frowned. She was very critical of men. ‘He’s scattered. He’s all over the place.’

      ‘There’s a lot of him,’ said Leah, thinking.

      Rachel was becoming more