Marijke sat at a long table in the Restaurant Sluizer, clutching her mobile under the tablecloth. She had explained her predicament to the head waiter, and he had kindly escorted her to a room that was usually reserved for private parties. He lit several candles and quickly cleared away a few of the surplus table settings, leaving her in solitary possession of a room that could have seated twenty. She skimmed the menu, even though she always ordered the same thing here.
Her phone rang just as the waiter brought her a glass of wine. 'Martin?'
'Hello, Marijke. Where are you?'
'Sluizer. In a private room.'
'What are you wearing?' he asked.
She glanced down; she was wearing slacks and a grey turtleneck. 'That red dress with the low back, open-toed heels, my earrings.' She actually was wearing the earrings. 'What are you having for dinner?'
'Mmm, I thought I'd go with the Seekh kabob of mutton starter, and then roast saddle of Oisin red deer with pickling spices for the mains. And a nice Merlot.'
'That sounds meaty. Where are you pretending to be?'
'The Cinnamon Club.'
'Isn't that the Indian restaurant that's in a library?'
'Yes.'
'I've never been there.'
'Neither have I, I'm experimenting.' Martin was ripping open boxes of frozen food as he spoke, his mobile clamped between head and shoulder. Chicken tikka masala and saag aloo. The Cinnamon Club didn't do take away. 'Are you having your usual sea bream?'
'Yes, indeed.' The waiter arrived and took her order. Marijke handed him her menu and stared at her own reflection in the restaurant window. In the soft light of the reflected candles she looked almost young. She smiled at herself.
'Did Theo call?' asked Martin.
'He did, yes. Just as I was going out, so we didn't talk long.'
'How is he?'
'He's fine. He may come and visit over the break. And he has a new girlfriend, I think,' said Marijke.
'Ah, that's news. Did he tell you much of anything?'
'Her name is Amrita. She's a foreign student, from Bangladesh. Her family has a tea-towel factory, or something like that. According to Theo, she's a looker and a genius. And she can cook, he says.'
'He sounds smitten. What sort of genius is she?' Martin pressed the buttons on the microwave and the food began to rotate.
'Maths. He explained but I'm afraid I didn't comprehend. You'll have to ask him yourself.'
Martin felt a sudden lightness, a temporary lifting of worry. 'That's excellent. They'll be able to talk about their work.' He and Marijke had met in a Russian class; they had always enjoyed being able to share the intricacies of translation, of one language melting into another. 'I was afraid he'd end up with a kindergarten teacher, one of those terribly cheerful women.'
'Mmm, don't marry him off yet.'
'Yeah, I know.' He poured himself more wine. 'That's the thing about living vicariously; it's so much faster than actual living. In a few minutes we'll be worrying about names for the children.'
She laughed. 'I have them all picked out. Jason, Alex and Daniel for the boys, and Rachel, Marion and Louise for the girls.'
'Six children?'
'Why not? We don't have to raise them.' Her food arrived. Martin removed his from the microwave. It looked rather colourless, and Martin wished himself at the Cinnamon Club in reality, not just imagination. Then he thought, That's silly. I wish we were eating together, anywhere.
'How's yours?' he asked her.
'Delightful. As always.'
When the table had been cleared and she was sipping her brandy, Marijke said, 'Diz-me coisas porcas.' ('Talk dirty to me.') 'In Portuguese? Kind mistress, that's going to require a dictionary or two.' He went to his office, grabbed their Portuguese-English dictionary, went to their bedroom. He took off his shoes and climbed into bed. Martin thought for a moment, riffling through the dictionary's pages for inspiration. 'Okay, here we go. Estamos a sair do restaurante. Estamos num taxi a descer a Vijzelstraat. Somos dois estranhos que partilham um taxi. Sentados tao afastados um do outro quanto possivel, cada um olhando pela sua janela. Vai ser uma longa viagem. Olho de relance para ti. Reparo nas tuas belas pernas, collants de seda e saltos altos. O vestido subiu-te ate as coxas, tera sido quando entraste no taxi, ou talvez o tenhas puxado para cima deliberadamente? Hmm, e dificil dizer ...' ('We're leaving the restaurant. We're in a taxi, driving down Vijzelstraat. We're strangers, sharing a cab. We're sitting as far apart as possible, each looking out of a window. It's going to be a long ride. I glance over at you. I notice your beautiful legs, silk stockings and high heels. Your dress has ridden up your thighs, maybe when you got into the taxi, or perhaps you deliberately pulled up your dress? Hmm, it's hard to tell ...') Marijke sat by herself at the long table, brandy in hand, mobile at her ear, her mind in the past and in a taxi meandering through the streets of Amsterdam. I want you. I want us, the way we were before.
'Marijke? Are you crying?'
'No. No, go on ...' Talk as long as you can, until the batteries run down, until dawn, until I see you again, my love.
POSTMAN'S PARK
THE NEXT DAY was strangely mild, the kind of day that induces people to say, 'Global warming,' and smile ruefully. Robert woke up early to the sound of church bells and thought, Today is the perfect day to picnic in Postman's Park.
He gathered his courage, went upstairs and invited the twins. By noon he had assembled sandwiches, bottled water, apples and a bottle of Pinot Blanc into an ancient picnic basket borrowed from Jessica and James. He decided they should take the bus, partially to accommodate Valentina's tube phobia and partly because he thought the twins ought to get to know the bus system. By the time they arrived at the unassuming gates of the park all three of them were hungry, and the twins were quite lost.
Robert carried the picnic basket into the park and set it on a bench. 'Voila,' he said. 'Postman's Park.' He had not told them what to expect; they had imagined something like St James's or Regent's Park, and so they stood and looked about, perplexed. The park occupied a narrow space between a church and some nondescript buildings. It was neat, shady and devoid of people. There was a diminutive fountain, eight wooden benches, a scattering of trees and ferns, a low, shed-like structure at one end and some old tablet-style gravestones leaning against the buildings.
'It's a cemetery?' asked Julia.
'It was an old churchyard, yes.'
Valentina looked quizzical but said nothing. The park was sort of drab and she couldn't see why Robert had been so intent on bringing them here.
'Why is it called Postman's Park? I don't see any postmen. Or postpersons,' said Julia.
'The old Post Office was nearby. The postmen used to eat their lunch here.'
Valentina wandered over to a sign on the church wall. GUILD AND WARD CHURCH OF ST BOTOLPH-WITHOUT-ALDERSGATE. She looked at Robert, who smiled and shrugged. She took a few steps towards the shed at the back of the park.
'Warmer,' he said. Julia was there and Valentina hurried to join her. The shed building was covered in beautiful white tiles, which were lettered with blue inscriptions:
Elizabeth Boxall, aged 17 of Bethnal Green who died of injuries received in trying to Save a Child from a runaway horse, June 20, 1888.
Frederick Alfred Croft, Inspector. Aged 31 Saved a Lunatic Woman from suicide at Woolwich Arsenal Station. But was Himself run over by the Train. Jan. 11. 1878
The twins wandered back and forth, reading the plaques. There seemed to be hundreds of them.
David Selves, aged 12 of Woolwich supported his drowning playfellow and sank with him clasped in his arms September 12, 1886
'You're kind of sick, you know that?' Julia told Robert. He looked slightly hurt.
'They're memorials to ordinary people who sacrificed themselves for others. I think they're beautiful.' He turned to Valentina, who nodded.
'They're nice,' she said. She wondered why Julia was being so mean. Usually this was exactly the sort of thin
g they both found interesting. There was something very strange about the plaques; the stories were extremely abbreviated, hinting at mayhem, but they were decorated with flowers and leaves, crowns, anchors. The ornamentation belied the words: drowned, burned, crushed, collapsed.
Sarah Smith, Pantomime Artiste at Prince's Theatre died of terrible injuries received when attempting in her inflammable dress to extinguish the flames which had enveloped her companion. January 24, 1863
All these ordinary catastrophes crowded in on Valentina. She went back to sit on the bench. Just to be sure, she got out her inhaler and took two puffs. Julia and Robert watched her.
'She has asthma?' Robert asked.
'Yeah. But I think at the moment she's trying to fend off a panic attack.' Julia frowned. 'Why did you bring us here?'
'This was one of Elspeth's favourite spots. If she was around to give you the grand tour she would have brought you here herself.' They began walking towards Valentina. 'Shall we have lunch?' Robert unpacked the sandwiches and distributed food and drink to the twins. They sat in a row on the bench and ate quietly.
'Are you okay?' Robert asked Valentina.
She glanced at Julia and said, 'I'm fine. Thanks for bringing lunch, this is good.' Say something nice, Julia.
'Yeah, really good. What are we eating?'
'Prawn-mayonnaise sandwiches.'
The twins inspected the insides of their sandwiches. 'It tastes like shrimp,' said Julia.
'You would call it a shrimp-salad sandwich. Though I've never understood where the salad idea comes into it.'
Julia smiled. 'We've been trying to teach ourselves British. Logic does not apply.'
Valentina said, 'Have you ever been to America?'
'Yes,' Robert replied. 'Elspeth and I went to New York a few years ago. And the Grand Canyon.'
The twins were puzzled. 'Why didn't you come to see us?' Julia asked.
'We talked about that. But in the end she decided not to. There were some things she never told me. Perhaps if she'd known she was going to die ...' Robert shrugged. 'She was reticent about her past.'
The twins looked at each other and silently agreed that Valentina would ask for the favour. 'But you have her papers, right? So you know everything now, right?' Valentina put down her sandwich and tried to seem casual.
'I do have her papers. I haven't read them.'
'What? How could you not read them?' Julia could not suppress her indignation.
Hush, Julia. I'll do it. 'Aren't you curious?'
'I'm afraid,' Robert said.
'Oh.' Valentina glanced at Julia, who looked about ready to run home and read Elspeth's papers whether Robert liked it or not. 'Well, we were wondering, um, if you would mind ... If we could read them? I mean, we're living in her place with all her stuff, and we don't know her, and, you know, we're interested. In her.'
Robert was shaking his head before Valentina finished speaking. 'I'm sorry. I know she was your relation, and ordinarily I would gladly hand over the lot. But Elspeth told me you weren't to have them. I'm sorry.'
'But she's dead,' Julia said.
They sat in silence. Valentina was sitting next to Robert, and without Julia seeing she reached down and took his hand. Robert laced his fingers with hers. Valentina said, 'It's okay. Pretend we didn't say anything about it. We're sorry.' Julia rolled her eyes. Her bruise was smaller today, she had covered it with make-up, but Valentina felt bad just looking at her. She wondered if Robert had noticed.
'It's not my decision,' he said. 'And not knowing what's in there, I can't tell you why it would be better if you don't read her papers. But Elspeth did care about you, and I don't think she would have been so adamant about this if it wasn't important.'
'All right, all right,' said Julia. 'Never mind.'
Clouds had appeared in the narrow sky above the park and scattered drops of rain began to fall. Robert said, 'Perhaps we'd better pack up.' The picnic had been a failure, not at all the urban idyll he had imagined that morning. They filed out of the park, each dejected in various degrees. But on the bus Valentina sat next to Robert and Julia sat in front of them, and he offered her his hand. Valentina placed her hand in his and they rode in surprised and contented silence back to Highgate.
SQUIRRELS IN HUMAN FORM
MARTIN DREAMT HE WAS on the underground. It was a Circle-line train, the sort of carriage where all the seats face the aisle. At first he was the only passenger, but soon people began to get on, and he found himself staring at his knees to avoid looking at the crotch of the man crowded against him. He wasn't sure what station he was supposed to get off at; since it was the Circle line they would all come round again and again, so he stayed where he was, trying to remember where he was going.
Martin heard peculiar noises coming from the seats directly across from him - crunching, ripping, chewing sounds, which increased in volume as the train went on. Martin began to be anxious - the sounds worked on his nerves like grinding teeth. Something rolled up against his foot. He looked down. It was a walnut.
The train stopped at Monument and quite a few people got off. Now he could see across the aisle. Two young women sat together. They wore scuffed white trainers and medical scrubs, and each had a shopping bag resting on her lap. Both women had protruding eyes and pronounced overbites. They wore wary expressions, as though prepared to defend their bags against thieves. Both women delved in the bags with shovel-like hands, scooping out walnuts and ripping them open with their huge teeth.
'Wotchalookin' at?' said one to Martin. He could hear walnuts rolling all over the floor. No one else seemed to notice. Martin shook his head, unable to speak. To his horror, the women got up and seated themselves on either side of him. The one who had spoken before leaned over and put her mouth to his ear.
'We're squirrels in human form,' she whispered. 'And so are you.'
BREATHE
'WE'VE GOT TO get you to a doctor,' said Julia. Valentina nodded and wheezed.
But this was easier said than done. The twins were blissfully unaware of the intricacies of the NHS. Robert tried not to sound exasperated as he filled them in.
'You can't just show up and expect them to attend to your problem,' he told Valentina when the twins accosted him outside his door. He stood holding a sheaf of letters and waved them about for emphasis as he talked. 'You have to find out which GPs are accepting new patients and ring them to make an appointment to register. And then you fill out a pile of forms and give them your history. And then, and only then, are you allowed to make an appointment.' Valentina started to say something and coughed instead.
Julia shook her finger at Robert as though he had personally invented the National Health Service. 'No way,' she said. 'The Mouse needs a doctor right now.'
'Go over to Whittington Hospital, then, to A & E.' And that was what they ended up doing. Robert came with them.
Whittington Hospital was a sprawling thing located just down Highgate Hill, on the other side of Waterlow Park. They walked there. The spring wind was damp and stiff, and by the time they arrived Valentina was breathing in deep, stomach-clenching gasps.
After some questions and some waiting, Valentina was whisked away by a young Pakistani nurse. Julia and Robert could hear the nurse making low-pitched sounds of reassurance as she hustled Valentina through the double doors that separated the waiting room from the A & E department proper. They settled down to do the forms with the middle-aged, basset-jowled white man who sat at the intake desk.
'Allergies?'
'Tetracycline, mould, soy,' said Julia.
'Existing conditions?'
'Well,' said Julia, 'she has situs inversus.' The intake man, who had seemed utterly bored with them, now looked up at Julia and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. 'We are mirror twins, and she's mostly reversed inside. Her heart's over here,' Julia laid her hand on her chest, just to the right of her sternum, 'and her liver and kidneys and whatnot are all backwards of mine.' The man considered this, and then began typing
rapidly.
'I didn't know that,' said Robert.
'Well, now you do,' said Julia irritably. 'It's not like it matters or anything, unless you're Valentina's doctor.'
'I meant the bit about you being mirror-image twins. I thought you were identical twins. That is, wouldn't mirror twins be more ... opposite?'
Julia shrugged. 'We're pretty symmetrical, so it doesn't show that much in our faces. You can notice it better if you look at the way our hair parts, or our moles, or if you saw a pair of X-rays, then you could really see it, because she's so opposite. She has an asymmetric non-flail mitral-valve prolapse,' she added, to the intake man.
'What does that mean?' asked Robert.
'There's a valve that isn't formed right,' replied Julia. 'That's why I'm so worried about her breathing like that. It might put a strain on her heart, and then we'd be in big trouble.'
'I can't believe you've been in London for almost three months without getting her a doctor!' Robert was feeling extremely anxious, suddenly, and he spoke sharply.
She retorted, 'We were going to do it and we've just been putting it off 'cause we weren't sure how to find one. It's not like we haven't been thinking about it.' Julia knew that this was an inadequate reason, and it made her cross. She finished the paperwork and they went back to their seats in the waiting room.
The diagnosis was bronchitis. They took a cab up the hill, Valentina huddling in Julia's arms, coughing. In the front hall, back at Vautravers, the twins began to walk upstairs, and Robert tried to follow them. 'No,' said Julia. 'We're all right. Thanks.' She turned away brusquely.
Robert said, 'But she needs--'
'I take care of her. That's my job.' Julia watched Valentina slowly ascending the stairs, pausing on each step.
'I could get the prescription,' Robert offered.
Julia considered. It would be helpful; Boots was a bus ride away. 'Okay. Here.' She handed over the prescription as though she were doing Robert a favour, not the reverse. He went out the front door, a man on a mission. I take care of her. Not you, Julia thought. She followed Valentina into their flat. She filled the hot-water bottle before she took off her coat, and went to the bedroom, where Valentina was slowly undressing.