Whiteout

  Kit left the room. No one had seen him go in, and no one saw him go out.

  He went quietly up the stairs. His father was not an untidy man, and rarely lost things: he would not have carelessly left his wallet in some unlikely place such as the boot cupboard. The only remaining possibility was the bedroom.

  Kit went inside and closed the door.

  His mother's presence was gradually disappearing. Last time he was here, her possessions were still scattered around: a leather writing case, a silver brush set that had belonged to her mother, a photograph of Stanley in an antique frame. Those had gone. But the curtains and the upholstery were the same, done in a bold blue-and-white fabric that was typical of his mother's dramatic taste.

  On either side of the bed were a pair of Victorian commode chests made of heavy mahogany, used as bedside tables. His father had always slept on the right of the big double bed. Kit opened the drawers on that side. He found a flashlight, presumably for power cuts, and a volume of Proust, presumably for insomnia. He checked the drawers on his mother's side of the bed, but they were empty.

  The suite was arranged as three rooms: first the bedroom, then the dressing room, then the bathroom. Kit went into the dressing room, a square space lined with closets, some painted white, some with mirrored doors. Outside it was twilight, but he could see well enough for what he needed to do, so he did not switch on the lights.

  He opened the door of his father's suit cupboard. There on a hanger was the jacket of the suit Stanley was wearing today. Kit reached into the inside pocket and drew out a large black leather wallet, old and worn. It contained a small wad of banknotes and a row of plastic cards. One was a smart card for the Kremlin.

  "Bingo," Kit said softly.

  The bedroom door opened.

  Kit had not closed the door to the dressing room, and he was able to look through the doorway and see his sister Miranda step into the bedroom, carrying an orange plastic laundry basket.

  Kit was in her line of sight, standing at the open door of the suit cupboard, but she did not immediately spot him in the twilight, and he quickly moved behind the dressing-room door. If he peeked around the side of the door, he could see her reflected in the big mirror on the bedroom wall.

  She switched the lights on and began to strip the bed. She and Olga were obviously doing some of Lori's chores. Kit decided he would just have to wait.

  He suffered a moment of self-dislike. Here he was, acting like an intruder in the house of his family. He was stealing from his father and hiding from his sister. How had it got like this?

  He knew the answer. His father had let him down. Just when he needed help, Stanley had said no. That was the cause of everything.

  Well, he would leave them all behind. He would not even tell them where he was going. He would make a new life in a different country. He would disappear into the small-town routine of Lucca, eating tomatoes and pasta, drinking Tuscan wine, playing pinochle for low stakes in the evenings. He would be like a background figure in a big painting, the passerby who does not look at the dying martyr. He would be at peace.

  Miranda began to make up the bed with fresh sheets, and at that moment Hugo came in.

  He had changed into a red pullover and green corduroy trousers, and he looked like a Christmas elf. He closed the door behind him. Kit frowned. Did Hugo have secrets to discuss with his wife's sister?

  Miranda said, "Hugo, what do you want?" She sounded wary.

  Hugo gave her a conspiratorial grin, but he said, "I just thought I'd give you a hand." He went to the opposite side of the bed and started tucking in the sheet.

  Kit was standing behind the dressing-room door with his father's wallet in one hand and a smart card for the Kremlin in the other, but he could not move without risking discovery.

  Miranda tossed a clean pillowcase across the bed. "Here," she said.

  Hugo stuffed a pillow into it. Together they arranged the bedcover. "It seems ages since we've seen you," Hugo said. "I miss you."

  "Don't talk rubbish," Miranda said coolly.

  Kit was puzzled but fascinated. What was going on here?

  Miranda smoothed the cover. Hugo came around the end of the bed. She picked up her laundry basket and held it in front of her like a shield. Hugo gave his impish grin and said, "How about a kiss, for old times' sake?"

  Kit was mystified. What old times was Hugo talking about? He had been married to Olga for nearly twenty years. Had he kissed Miranda when she was fourteen?

  "Stop that, right now," Miranda said firmly.

  Hugo grasped the laundry basket and pushed. The backs of Miranda's legs came up against the edge of the bed. Involuntarily, she sat down. She released the basket and used her hands to balance herself. Hugo tossed the basket aside, bent over her, and pushed her back, kneeling on the bed with his legs either side of her. Kit was flabbergasted. He had guessed that Hugo might be something of a Lothario, just from his generally flirtatious manner with attractive women; but he had never imagined him with Miranda.

  Hugo pushed up her loose, pleated skirt. She had heavy hips and thighs. She was wearing lacy black knickers and a garter belt, and for Kit this was the most astonishing revelation yet.

  "Get off me now," she said.

  Kit did not know what to do. This was none of his business, so he was not inclined to interfere; but he could hardly stand here and watch. Even if he turned away, he could not help hearing what was going on. Could he sneak past them while they were wrestling? No, the room was too small. He remembered the panel at the back of the closet that led to the attic, but he could not get to the closet without risking being seen. In the end he just stood paralyzed, looking on.

  "Just a quickie," Hugo said. "No one will know."

  Miranda drew back her right arm and swung at Hugo's face, hitting him square on the cheek with a mighty slap. Then she lifted her knee sharply, making contact somewhere in the area of his groin. She twisted, threw him off, and jumped to her feet.

  Hugo remained lying on the bed. "That hurt!" he protested.

  "Good," she said. "Now listen to me. Never do anything like that again."

  He zipped his fly and stood up. "Why not? What will you do--tell Ned?"

  "I ought to tell him, but I haven't got the courage. I slept with you once, when I was lonely and depressed, and I've regretted it bitterly ever since."

  So that was it, Kit thought--Miranda slept with Olga's husband. He was shocked. He was not surprised by Hugo's behavior--shagging the wife's sister on the side was the kind of cozy setup many men would like. But Miranda was prissily moral about such things. Kit would have said that she would not sleep with anyone's husband, let alone her sister's.

  Miranda went on: "It was the most shameful thing I've done in my life, and I don't want Ned to find out about it, ever."

  "So what are you threatening to do? Tell Olga?"

  "She would divorce you and never speak to me again. It would explode this family."

  It might not be that bad, Kit thought; but Miranda was always anxious about keeping the family together.

  "That leaves you a bit helpless, doesn't it?" Hugo said, looking pleased. "Since we can't be enemies, why don't you just kiss me nicely and be friends?"

  Miranda's voice went cold. "Because you disgust me."

  "Ah, well." Hugo sounded resigned, but unashamed. "Hate me, then. I still adore you." He gave his most charming smile and left the room, limping slightly.

  As the door slammed, Miranda said, "You fucking bastard."

  Kit had never heard her swear like that.

  She picked up her laundry basket; then, instead of going out as he expected, she turned toward him. She must have fresh towels for the bathroom, he realized. There was no time to move. In three steps she reached the entrance to the dressing room and turned on the lights.

  Kit was just able to slip the smart card into his trousers pocket. An instant later she saw him. She gave a squeal of shock. "Kit! What are you doing there? You gave me a fright!" S
he went white, and added, "You must have heard everything."

  "Sorry." He shrugged. "I didn't want to."

  Her complexion changed from pale to flushed. "You won't tell, will you?"

  "Of course not."

  "I'm serious, Kit. You must never tell. It would be awful. It could ruin two marriages."

  "I know, I know."

  She saw the wallet in his hand. "What are you up to?"

  He hesitated, then he was inspired. "I needed cash." He showed her the banknotes in the wallet.

  "Oh, Kit!" She was distressed, not judgmental. "Why do you always want easy money?"

  He bit back an indignant retort. She believed his cover story, that was the main thing. He said nothing and tried to look ashamed.

  She went on: "Olga always says you'd rather steal a shilling than earn an honest pound."

  "All right, don't rub it in."

  "You mustn't pilfer from Daddy's wallet--it's awful!"

  "I'm a bit desperate."

  "I'll give you money!" She put down the laundry basket. There were two pockets in the front of her skirt. She reached into one and pulled out a crumple of notes. She extracted two fifties, smoothed them out, and gave them to Kit. "Just ask me--I'll never turn you down."

  "Thanks, Mandy," he said, using her childhood name.

  "But you must never steal from Daddy."

  "Okay."

  "And, for pity's sake, don't ever tell anyone about me and Hugo."

  "I promise," he said.

  5 P.M.

  TONI had been sleeping heavily for an hour when her alarm clock woke her.

  She found that she was lying on the bed fully dressed. She had been too tired even to take off her jacket and shoes. But the nap had refreshed her. She was used to odd hours, from working night shifts in the police force, and she could fall asleep anywhere and wake up instantly.

  She lived on one floor of a subdivided Victorian house. She had a bedroom, a living room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. Inverburn was a ferry port, but she could not see the sea. She was not very fond of her home: it was the place to which she had fled when she broke up with Frank, and it had no happy memories. She had been here two years, but she still regarded it as temporary.

  She got up. She stripped off the business suit she had been wearing for two days and a night, and dumped it in the dry-cleaning basket. With a robe on over her underwear, she moved rapidly around the flat, packing a case for five nights at a health spa. She had planned to pack last night and leave at midday today, so she had some catching up to do.

  She could hardly wait to get to the spa. It was just what she needed. Her woes would be massaged away; she would sweat out toxins in the sauna; she would have her nails painted and her hair cut and her eyelashes curled. Best of all, she would play games and tell stories with a group of old friends, and forget her troubles.

  Her mother should be at Bella's place by now. Mother was an intelligent woman who was losing her mind. She had been a high school math teacher, and had always been able to help Toni with her studies, even when Toni was in the final year of her engineering degree. Now she could not check her change in a shop. Toni loved her intensely and was deeply saddened by her decline.

  Bella was a bit slapdash. She cleaned the house when the mood took her, cooked when she felt hungry, and sometimes forgot to send her children to school. Her husband, Bernie, was a hairdresser, but worked infrequently because of some vague chest ailment. "The doctor's signed me off for another four weeks," he would usually say in response to the routine inquiry "How are you?"

  Toni hoped Mother would be all right at Bella's place. Bella was an amiable slattern, and Mother never seemed to mind her ways. Mother had always been happy to visit the windy Glasgow council estate and eat undercooked fries with her grandchildren. But she was now in the early stages of senility. Would she be as philosophical as ever about Bella's haphazard housekeeping? Would Bella be able to cope with Mother's increasing waywardness?

  Once when Toni had let slip an irritated remark about Bella, Mother had said crisply, "She doesn't try as hard as you, that's why she's happier." Mother's conversation had become tactless, but her remarks could be painfully accurate.

  After Toni had packed, she washed her hair then took a bath to soak away two days of tension. She fell asleep in the tub. She woke with a start, but only a minute or so had passed--the water was still hot. She got out and dried herself vigorously.

  Looking in the full-length mirror, she thought, I've got everything I had twenty years ago--it's all just three inches lower. One of the good things about Frank, at least in the early days, had been the pleasure he took in her body. "You've got great tits," he would say. She thought they were too large for her frame, but he worshipped them. "I've never seen a pussy this color," he once told her as he lay between her legs. "It's like a ginger biscuit." She wondered how long it would be before someone else marveled at the color of her pubic hair.

  She dressed in tan jeans and a dark green sweater. As she was closing her suitcase, the phone rang. It was her sister. "Hi, Bella," said Toni. "How's Mother?"

  "She's not here."

  "What? You were supposed to pick her up at one o'clock!"

  "I know, but Bernie had the car and I couldn't get away."

  "And you still haven't left?" Toni looked at her watch. It was half past five. She pictured Mother at the home, sitting in the lobby in her coat and hat, with her suitcase beside the chair, hour after hour, and she felt cross. "What are you thinking of?"

  "The thing is, the weather's turned bad."

  "It's snowing all over Scotland, but not heavily."

  "Well, Bernie doesn't want me to drive sixty miles in the dark."

  "You wouldn't have had to drive in the dark if you'd picked her up when you promised!"

  "Oh, dear, you're getting angry, I knew this would happen."

  "I'm not angry--" Toni paused. Her sister had caught her before with this trick. In a moment they would be talking about Toni managing her anger, instead of Bella breaking a promise. "Never mind how I feel," Toni said. "What about Mother? Don't you think she must be disappointed?"

  "Of course, but I can't help the weather."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "There isn't anything I can do."

  "So you're going to leave her in the home over Christmas?"

  "Unless you have her. You're only ten miles away."

  "Bella, I'm booked into a spa! Seven friends are expecting me to join them for five days. I've paid four hundred pounds deposit and I'm looking forward to a rest."

  "That sounds a bit selfish."

  "Just a minute. I've had Mother the last three Christmases, but I'm selfish?"

  "You don't know how hard it is with three children and a husband too ill to work. You've got plenty of money and only yourself to worry about."

  And I'm not stupid enough to marry a layabout and have three children by him, Toni thought, but she did not say it. There was no point in arguing with Bella. Her way of life was its own punishment. "So you're asking me to cancel my holiday, drive to the home, pick up Mother, and look after her over Christmas."

  "It's up to you," Bella said in a tone of elevated piety. "You must do what your conscience tells you."

  "Thanks for that helpful advice." Toni's conscience said she should be with their mother, and Bella knew that. Toni could not let Mother spend Christmas in an institution, alone in her room, or eating tasteless turkey and lukewarm sprouts in the canteen, or receiving a cheap present in gaudy wrapping from the home's caretaker dressed as Santa Claus. Toni did not even need to think about it. "All right, I'll go and fetch her now."

  "I'm just sorry you couldn't do it more graciously," said her sister.

  "Oh, fuck off, Bella," said Toni, and she hung up the phone.

  Feeling depressed, she called the spa and canceled her reservation. Then she asked to speak to one of her party. After a delay, it was Charlie who came to the phone. He had a Lancashire accent. "Where are y
ou?" he said. "We're all in the Jacuzzi--you're missing the fun!"

  "I can't come," she said miserably, and she explained.

  Charlie was outraged. "It's not fair on you," he said. "You need a break."

  "I know, but I can't bear to think of her on her own in that place when others are with their families."

  "Plus you've had a few problems at work today."

  "Yes. It's very sad, but I think Oxenford Medical has come through it all right--provided nothing else happens."

  "I saw you on the telly."

  "How did I look?"

  "Gorgeous--but I fancied your boss."

  "Me, too, but he's got three grown-up children he doesn't want to upset, so I think he's a lost cause."

  "By heck, you have had a bad day."

  "I'm sorry to let you all down."

  "It won't be the same without you."

  "I'll have to hang up, Charlie--I'd better fetch Mother as soon as possible. Happy Christmas." She cradled the handset and sat staring at the phone. "What a miserable life," she said aloud. "What a miserable bloody life."

  6 P.M.

  CRAIG'S relationship with Sophie was advancing very slowly.

  He had spent all afternoon with her. He had beaten her at table tennis and lost at pool. They had agreed about music--they both liked guitar bands better than drum-and-bass. They both read horror fiction, though she loved Stephen King and he preferred Anne Rice. He told her about his parents' marriage, which was stormy but passionate, and she told him about Ned and Jennifer's divorce, which was rancorous.

  But she gave him no encouragement. She did not casually touch his arm, or look intently at his face when he talked to her, or bring into the conversation romantic topics such as dating and necking. Instead, she talked of a world that excluded him, a world of nightclubs--how did she get in, at fourteen?--and friends who took drugs and boys who had motorcycles.

  As dinner approached, he began to feel desperate. He did not want to spend five days pursuing her for the sake of one kiss at the end. His idea was to win her over on the first day and spend the holiday really getting to know her. Clearly this was not her timetable. He needed a shortcut to her heart.