“What do you mean?” she asked. “What’s my fault?”
“She tried to contact you, she wanted to talk to you, she needed—”
“She didn’t need me. Nel never needed me.”
“She was unhappy!” I said. “Don’t you even fucking care?”
She took a step back. She wiped her face as though I’d spat at her. “Why was she unhappy? I don’t . . . She never said she was unhappy. She never told me she was unhappy.”
“And what would you
have done if she had? Nothing! You’d have done nothing, just like you always have done. Just like when your mother died and you were horrible to her, or when she invited you to come here when we moved, or when she asked you to come that time for my birthday and you didn’t even reply! You just ignored her, like she didn’t exist. Even though you knew she didn’t have anyone else, even though—”
“She had you,” Julia said. “And I never suspected she was unhappy, I—”
“Well, she was. She didn’t even swim anymore.”
Julia stood very still, turning her head towards the window as though she were listening for something. “What?” she asked, but she wasn’t looking at me. It was like she was looking at someone else, or at her reflection. “What did you say?”
“She stopped swimming. All my life I can remember her going to a pool or to the river, every single day, it was her thing, she was a swimmer. Every single day, even in winter here when it’s fucking freezing and you have to break the ice on the surface. And then she stopped. Just like that. That’s how unhappy she was.”
She didn’t say anything for a bit. She just stood there, staring out of the window, as if she were looking for someone. “Do you know . . . Lena, do you think she had upset someone? Or that someone was bothering her, or . . . ?”
I shook my head. “No. She would’ve told me.” She would have warned me.
“Would she?” Julia asked. “Because, you know, Nel . . . your mum . . . she had a way about her, didn’t she? I mean, she knew how to get under people’s skin, how to piss them off—”
“No, she didn’t!” I snapped, although it was true that sometimes she did, but only stupid people, only people who didn’t understand her. “You didn’t know her at all, you didn’t understand her. You’re just a jealous bitch—you were back when you were young and you are now. Jesus. There’s no point even talking to you.”
I left the house even though I was starving. Better to starve than to sit and eat with her; it would feel like a betrayal. I kept thinking about Mum sitting there, talking into the phone, and the silence on the other end. Cold bitch. I got annoyed with her about it once, said, “Why don’t you just give it a rest? Forget about her? She obviously wants nothing to do with us.” Mum said, “She’s my sister, she’s my only family.” I said, “What about me? I’m family.” She laughed then and said, “You’re not family. You’re more than family. You’re part of me.”
Part of me is gone, and I wasn’t even allowed to see her. I wasn’t allowed to squeeze her hand or kiss her goodbye or tell her how sorry I am.
JULES
I didn’t follow. I didn’t actually want to catch up with Lena. I didn’t know what I wanted. So I just stood there on the front steps, my hands rubbing against my upper arms, my eyes gradually growing accustomed to the gathering dusk.
I knew what I didn’t want: I didn’t want to confront her, didn’t want to hear any more. My fault? How could this be my fault? If you were unhappy, you never told me. If you had told me that, I would have listened. In my head, you laughed. OK, but if you’d told me you’d stopped swimming, Nel, then I would have known something was wrong. Swimming was essential to your sanity, that’s what you told me; without it, you fell apart. Nothing kept you out of the water, just like nothing could draw me into it.
Except that something did. Something must have done.
I felt suddenly ravenous, had a violent urge to be sated somehow. I went back inside and served myself a bowl of Bolognese, and then another, and a third. I ate and ate and then, disgusted with myself, I went upstairs.
On my knees in the bathroom, I left the light off. Indulging in a habit long abandoned but so old it felt almost like comfort, I hunched over in the dark, the blood vessels in my face strained to a bursting point, my eyes streaming as I purged. When I felt there was nothing left, I stood and flushed, then splashed water on my face, avoiding my own gaze in the mirror only to have it fall on the reflection of the bathtub behind me.
I have not sat immersed in water for more than twenty years. For weeks after my near drowning, I found it difficult to wash properly at all. When I began to smell, my mother had to force me under the showerhead and hold me there.
I closed my eyes and splashed my face again. I heard a car slowing in the lane outside, my heart rate rising as it did, and then falling once more as the car sped off. “No one is coming,” I said out loud. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Lena hadn’t returned, yet I had no idea where to look for her in this town, at once familiar and foreign. I went to bed but didn’t sleep. Each time I closed my eyes I saw your face, blue and pale, your lips lavender, and in my imagination they drew back over your gums and even though your mouth was full of blood, you smiled.
“Stop it, Nel.” I was speaking out loud again, like a madwoman. “Just stop it.”
I listened for your reply and all I got was silence; silence broken by the sound of the water, the noise of the house moving, shifting and creaking as the river pushed past. In the dark, I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table and dialled into my voice mail. You have no new messages, the electronic voice told me, and seven saved messages.
The most recent one came last Tuesday, less than a week before you died, at one-thirty in the morning.
Julia, it’s me. I need you to call me back. Please, Julia. It’s important. I need you to call me, as soon as you can, all right? I . . . uh . . . it’s important. OK. Bye.