Page 90 of We All Live Here
About an hour after he left, she noticed that he had left behind the portrait of Francesca.
•••
On Friday, sheheads again to Bill’s. She decides to pop into the supermarket at the end of the road to get him some flowers, a kind of peace-offering, even if peace isn’t hers to offer. She strolls the aisles,then picks the nicest ones she can find that aren’t lilies—they have always been too funereal since her mother died: some stocks in a deep raspberry red. She scans the buckets, trying to find the best possible bunch, and then, on impulse, picks up a second, as if she can show him through sheer horticultural mass how much he means to her. When she looks up a woman is standing beside her, gazing at the tub of flowers as if she is working out which ones to take. Just as Lila registers this, she sees, beside the woman, Jensen, dressed in his work gear. Lila straightens and flushes, as if she has been caught doing something wrong.
“Hi,” she says, her mouth powdery and dry.
“Hello, Lila,” he says. He doesn’t smile.
“Oh,you’re Lila.” She sees the woman reassess her, as if through a new prism. She has pale red hair, cut in a sleek bob, and is wearing a black polo-neck and white jeans. She has the air of someone who knows exactly who she is, and is unafraid of what anyone else may think that might be.
Lila glances at Jensen, who is carrying a small basket of shopping: she takes in red wine, salad, and a chicken, the kind of thing one might buy if one was preparing a nice dinner for two.
“How are you?” she says tentatively, trying to ignore the woman’s stare.
“Fine,” he says. His face is expressionless.
She cannot help herself. “I’m so sorry, Jensen,” she blurts out.
“Yes,” the woman says calmly, before Jensen can answer. “You should be. C’mon. We should head to the checkout.” As Lila watches, the woman takes Jensen’s elbow and they turn away from her to walk down the aisle.
•••
The girls havebeen particularly fractious over dinner, arguing over a teddy bear, which, until Lila brought it down from the attic, neither had even remembered they owned. They are unimpressed by herattempt at supper (a chicken tray-bake she had retrieved twenty minutes too late from the oven) and furious when Lila tells them that Dan wants them to switch overnight days to Thursday this week (he has a work event and Marja is apparently not up to managing three children alone). She has told them that Bill is having a few days at the bungalow and that Gene is away for work. It is too much to explain the truth.
When Celie disappears upstairs to her room—complete with obligatory teenage door slam—and Violet settles herself in front of the iPad, Lila doesn’t have the energy to persuade them to stay. She cleans the kitchen, trying to keep her attention on a listless radio panel show, and walks Truant around the block. Finally, when Violet is in bed, she runs herself a bath and sinks into it gratefully. Then when she can bear the silence no longer, she calls Gabriel.
“Hey, Bella,” he says, picking up immediately. He sounds upbeat, as if he is glad to hear from her. “What’s going on?”
She wants to match his cheerfulness but, right now, it’s beyond her.
“I’m…I’m having a tricky time actually. Just thought it would be nice to hear a friendly voice.”
“What’s up?”
She tells him about the attic and the discovery of the letter. He listens carefully, then lets out a long sigh. “Oh, that’s tough.”
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I’m not sure there’s much you can do. You might just have to let your stepdad simmer down a bit. I’m sure he’ll come back when he’s ready.”
“You think?” She isn’t so sure. Bill hasn’t so much as dropped in since he picked up the suitcase of belongings.
“It’s pride. He’s suffered a blow to his ego. No matter how old he is that’s going to hurt, especially when that blow has come from your biological dad.”
Lila is not convinced that’s right. Bill’s pain seems so much more bone-deep than that. It isn’t just ego: she watched the very backbone ofhis life crumble in front of her. But it’s so nice to talk to Gabriel that she doesn’t challenge him. “So how are you?”
He tells her how busy he is at work—two huge new projects have come in—a respite center, and a house for a multi-millionaire who changes his mind daily on major decisions. He’s working at home this evening from his office at the end of the garden. His voice is cheerful, a little detached. It is, she thinks uncomfortably, a conversation he could be having with a work colleague.
“How’s Lennie?” she says.
“Fine. Very excited about thisPeter Panproduction. Though she’s pretty exhausted when she gets back from the rehearsals.”
They talk of school a little, and school plays they have starred in (he was a tree inRobin Hood; she was a teapot in a compendium of nursery rhymes) and of television they have watched, and the water starts to go cold so she leans forward and turns on the hot tap.
“What are you doing?” he says.
“Oh. Just running the tap. The water’s gone a bit cold. I’m in the bath.”
