Page 111 of We All Live Here
“So you’ve come to ask if I’ll take him back.”
“No, no, Lila. I’ve merely come to pick up two boxes of his. He says they’re clearly marked. Could you show me where I might find the attic?”
Jane’s serenity could be marketed and bottled. Lila cannot imagine any world event that would prompt more than a head tilt and a faint smile as Jane considered the implications. She does something called holistic massage, which apparently takes in the emotional and spiritual concerns of the client, and she takes care, she says, to stay contained, and not absorb other people’s energy. “It would be overwhelming,” she says, in the calm tones of one who is never remotely overwhelmed.
Lila pulls down the loft ladder and climbs up first, peering down to the end of the attic. There are only two boxes marked GENE still here; he must have taken the others when he left. She hauls them to the loft hatch and passes them out to Jane. “I think that’s it,” she says, as she makes her way back down the ladder.
She helps Jane carry the boxes to her car, placing them in the boot. They are bulkier than they are heavy. And now there is no remnant of either of her fathers left in her house. It’s almost as if they have never been here at all. She resists the urge to ask how Gene is, what he is doing, but Jane tells her unprompted that Gene has been invited to take part in a Comic Con. She says the words carefully, enunciating each syllable, as if it is something strange and exotic. There has been retrospectiveinterest in Captain Troy Strang and the cast ofStar Squadron Zero—one of the streaming services has announced it will be broadcasting series one to three—and he is attending the fan convention in a couple of weeks to meet viewers and sign autographs. Apparently the queues go around the block. Lila wonders briefly if they do or if this is another of Gene’s embellishments. And then she wonders if there even is a Comic Con.
“Thank you, Lila. Shall I give him your love? I know he’d love to see you.”
Lila closes the boot. “No. Thanks, anyway.”
Jane straightens and gazes at Lila. It is a slightly unnerving experience, like having someone see right through you. She smiles. “Don’t be too hard on him. He loves you. And he really did love your mother.”
“He had a funny way of showing it.”
“Lila, we all like to think we know everything about our parents, but we don’t. Your father learned a lot of lessons too late. Certainly too late for him and me, but I retain a great deal of fondness for him. He is a good person.”
Lila fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Maybe. But he doesn’t deserve to stay here, Jane. Not with us.”
Jane stands very still for a moment, perhaps considering this. “One of the things I come up against often in my practice is the notion of forgiveness. Do you want to repeat the mistakes your parents made? Holding on to your grievances for the rest of your life? Or do you want to put that burden down?”
“Jane, with respect—”
“Oh, don’t use that phrase. ‘With respect’ is what people say when they’re spiky and defensive.”
“Well, maybe I am spiky and defensive when it comes to my father. You don’t know him like I know him.”
“Darling girl, I lived with him on and off for fifteen years. That’sprobably more time than you spent with him. And I’m going to tell you something. You do not know what happened between him and your mother. Casual infidelity I could have let go. The degree to which he was in love with her, I couldn’t.” As Lila struggles to make sense of what Jane is saying, she adds: “Your mother was not a fragile flower, nor was she easily bidden to do anything she didn’t want to do. She was a strong woman and she had agency. She made her own decisions.” She holds up a long, strong finger. “And before you say it, that doesn’t make her a terrible person either. Life is long and complicated, Lila, and we all make mistakes. What matters is what we do beyond them. But if you’re going to hold up your mother and your father as villains of the piece it will be misguided and it is ultimately you who will suffer.”
“So you just forgave him. For shagging my mother.”
“Of course. I chose not to be romantically involved with him anymore, but I will always be fond of him, and glad that we’re in each other’s lives. Have you never made a mistake?”
Lila thinks about Jensen, about the awful discarded chapter. Jane seems to note her flicker of uncertainty. “Well, I hope, if you have, that you were forgiven. I hope the person understood that you’re only human. You can hang on to anger and bitterness your whole life. But all you really do is prolong your own pain. Just think about it. Put that burden down. For you and your daughters.”
Lila accepts the kiss that Jane plants on her cheek. She smells of lavender and patchouli.
“It was lovely seeing you, Lila. Love to the girls too.”
Lila waits until she has started the car. “He’s still not coming back here,” she calls, as Jane pulls out of the driveway. “Definitely not.”
Jane smiles back, one hand lifted in a cheerful wave, so that Lila is unsure whether she heard her. The wave would probably have been the same either way.
•••
Lila is movingfurniture when Anoushka calls. She has decided a new start is needed, that perhaps moving the sofa and the easy chairs will disguise what is missing, and the rooms will look intentionally minimalist or, at least, better for the estate agent, once the house goes on the market. She has puffed and tugged the furniture from one end of the room to the other, has dug an old vase and jug out of one of the removal boxes in the garage that was never unpacked, and placed them artfully on the kitchen surfaces to hide the absence of Bill’s things. She has moved rugs and rehung pictures. She keeps telling herself that a house is just bricks and mortar. She will create a new home wherever they end up. They will be fine by themselves.
She is so busy dragging the television cabinet round to the far wall that she almost misses the call, and answers it breathless and a little sweaty.
“Darling. Have you got a minute?”
“Anoushka! Sure!” Lila glances up in the wall mirror and sees that she has a black smudge on her face. She rubs at it.
“I’ve had an idea. Just had a meeting with a new client—very successful actress. She wants to do a memoir. There’s a huge appetite for memoir right now, especially the really spicy ones. I think it will be marvelous.” She lets this dangle.
“I thought I’d already explained the reasons I can’t do a memoir.”
