The Half Life Of Stars Part 6

I walked out of my brother's office that spring afternoon with his cheque burning a hole in my pocket; I didn't even know how much it was for. Daniel was too embarra.s.sed to ask me how much I needed and I was too humiliated to take it out and look at how much he'd given me. I felt awful, to tell you the truth. I wanted to hang out with my brother in a different way to this. I wanted us to be able to relax and have a laugh and chat honestly and openly about our lives. I wanted to ask him how he'd been getting along these days, I'm never entirely sure. Whenever you ask Daniel how he's doing he always says he's doing great, then he immediately begins on a story about Kay, or the baby, or the business.

Is that about getting older? I suppose it is. He has his own family now, a life that's utterly separate from mine. We share not a single friend nor acquaintance in commonwe haven't done for yearsand we rarely see each other one to one even now that I've moved back to London. We generally meet up at family gatherings, or horribly ch.o.r.eographed dinner parties where Kay tries to fix me up with someone 'suitable'. Failing that I visit him at his office every six months or so to ask him if he'll bail me outyet again.

It took me a good while to locate Jin Itchi that first afternoon and when I'd finally navigated my way down the series of back roads and blind alleys, I remember being shocked by how low key it was. It was so unlike the kind of place I'd expect Daniel to know about. I couldn't resist it. The idea of seeing my brother stripped bare in these surroundings was too good an opportunity to miss. I decided to call him back and harangue him some more.

'Daniel, just get yourself down here.'

'I can't, I told you.'

'You can, come on. The waitress is already being rude to me and taking the p.i.s.s out of my j.a.panese. Come down here and look expensive so she'll like me more and won't spit up in my food.'

'I can't...really.'

'Daniel...come on. It's my treat.'

'Did you look at it yet?'

'The cheque?...No, I didn't look.'

'Do me a favour, then, don't. Not until after we've eaten.'

'You'll come come?'

He hesitated for a moment.

'Yeah...I'm a partner. Why not?'

We had the best afternoon. We drank too much sake, ate too much raw fish; talked about my marriage, my divorce and my lousy taste in men, and my consistently woeful financial ac.u.men. We even talked a little about the old days. There were certain things we skirted over (there always were) but we connected in a way we hadn't done for years.

'So, how are you?' I said, not knowing exactly why I was asking.

'How am I?' he said, loosening his tie. 'You know...I'm fine, I'm good.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. The job is going great, Kay's enjoying the baby...'

I frowned and bristled at him slightly.

'No. Not Kay, not the business, you you. How are you, Daniel? Are you happy?'

He looked almost bemused at the question. And then I just blurted it out.

'You ever miss the running? You ever sorry you gave it up?'

I shouldn't have said that; it's on the list of things we're not meant to talk about.

'You know what?' he said, wiping his mouth. 'I do miss it. Sometimes I miss it a lot.'

He looked like a different person as he said it. His cheekbones almost seemed to change shape. It was as if he'd been training his muscles to hold his face a certain way all these years and for a moment they'd given up on the effort. He looked the way he might have if his life had been altogether different, if he'd chosen an entirely different course.

'Hey,' I said, giving his arm a squeeze. 'Maybe you should take it up again, for fun. Keep yourself fit, stop your arteries furring up from all those rich dinners your wealthy clients keep treating you to.'

He laughed for a second and smiled this delightful, youthful smile.

'Maybe,' he said. 'Maybe.'

I stayed a long while after he left. I drank a cup of coffee and ordered a bowl of cherry-blossom ice cream that still stands as one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. It tasted floral and sugary, like a bowl of frozen jam, and it took me an age to get through it. I savoured every mouthful, rubbing my finger round the bowl to collect the pools of melted cream, and tapping the sugary droplets into my mouth. I put off opening that cheque for as long as I possibly could and when I eventually did, it made me gasp. A cheque for five thousand pounds. It would cover my debt, pay the solicitor's fees, and put me properly back on my feet. I couldn't believe it. I was overwhelmed, actually. Too overwhelmed to call him up immediately and tell him how much I'd enjoyed our meal together. Too overwhelmed to call and let him know what an exceptional brother he was and to a.s.sure him that this was the last time I'd ever have to borrow money from him.

When I tried to reach him later that evening he'd gone out somewhere with Kay and I didn't manage to speak to him again until the following afternoon. By then his whole tone had altered. He'd closed up again, pulled away; become reserved, efficient and polite. And I let things slide, like I always do. I paid back the money bit by bit, went back to the melodramas of my own dysfunctional existence and neglected to delve any further into his.

So what if Sylvie is right? What if there was something going on in Daniel's life that I didn't know about; that I managed to ignore or exacerbate? What if he'd become depressed and despondent and I'd missed it because I was too caught up with my own problems? What if it turns out that I failed him, if it turns out to be too late?

'Hey, waitress...I was wondering. Have you got any of that cherry-blossom ice cream in the fridge?'

'Do you see it written on the menu?'

'Well, no.'

'So, what do you think? I'm gonna go find a tree, cut down some cherries and make a special bowl all for you you.'

'Look, I was only asking.'

She takes pity on me and brings me a bowl of tinned lychees instead.

'You look tired,' she says, setting down the bowl of fruit. 'Tomorrow is Christmas. You don't look very Christma.s.sy to me.'

'Yeah, well, it's been a bad week.'

'What happened?' she says, nonchalantly. 'You broken up with a boy?'

'Sort of. Among other things.'

'Another woman?'

'It's not important...he wasn't my boyfriend. Not really.'

'But you liked him?'

I shrug.

'And now he's with some other tarty b.i.t.c.h?'

'It's my sister, actually,' I tell her. 'He's started seeing my sister.'

Her mouth falls open and she giggles.

'Ah, rubbish...you're only joking.'

'No, really. It's true.'

'It's real? How old is she? Younger? Younger?'

'Yeah, a lot younger. Twenty-three.'

She takes this in for a moment. She lets out a hoot of contempt.

'Twenty-three, pah pah. What the point in that? She barely got hair on her f.a.n.n.y yet.'

I laugh. Despite it all I start to laugh. I like it that this woman doesn't look sorry for me. She doesn't dip her head to one side or avert her eyes from mine, she just shrugs her shoulders as if to emphasise the chaotic ups and downs of life, and pours out a little extra green tea.

'Lot of people with problems come in here,' she says. 'Down here is a good place to hide from your problems.'

'Yes,' I say. 'I think you're right.'

'My name is Yori, by the way.'

'Claire,' I say, holding out my hand.

'You been in here a few times before now, right? This week you been in here a lot.'

'This week I've had a lot of problems.'

I say this last part in my best j.a.panese and she smiles and raises her eyebrows.

'Not bad,' she says, collecting up my plate. 'p.r.o.nunciation bit loopy, but not too bad.'

She doesn't ask any more questions. She disappears behind the sus.h.i.+ counter for a couple of minutes, returns with an unlabelled video tape, and slips it into the ancient machine. Without asking if it's OK, she sits down at my table and folds her slim arms around her knees. The customers are almost all gone now and she's ready to relax and take a break.

'You like to watch the TV?'

'Sure,' I say. 'Why not?'

'The sound is broken.'

'I know,' I say. 'Has been for a while.'

'One day we'll fix. Maybe next year...but I like the pictures. I like this programme. This programme very good.'

'What's it called?'

'Yonigeya,' she says, darkly. 'Very thrilling and mysterious.'

She concentrates hard on the television screen and it feels like an imposition to ask her any more. So we sit for a while, just the two of us. Two strangers in an empty sus.h.i.+ bar on the loneliest evening of the year: sipping tea, eating lychees and watching pictures of a distant Asian city flicker gently back and forth on the screen in front of us. As calm and empty as a silent movie.

The Other End of the Telescope

For Christmas day lunch at my brother's house I wear an outfit that declares war on the world of gloom: a lemon-coloured skirt, a pale green wrap-around cardigan and a T-s.h.i.+rt that says Aloha Hawaii Aloha Hawaii on the front. Everyone else is decked out in their Sunday best, in funereal shades of black and grey. I keep my cardigan tightly fastened so they don't see the Hawaii logo or notice the screen-printed rainbow that joins the two dots above the i's, but I fear that the damage has already been done. on the front. Everyone else is decked out in their Sunday best, in funereal shades of black and grey. I keep my cardigan tightly fastened so they don't see the Hawaii logo or notice the screen-printed rainbow that joins the two dots above the i's, but I fear that the damage has already been done.

'Nice outfit, sis sis. Good one.'

I hadn't fully realised it yet, but we are a family in mourning. The chains of multicoloured fairy lights have been removed from the windows and the porch, and replaced with tall white candles. Muted flames dance unhappily in the living room gratecareful not to burn too high or crackle too enthusiasticallyand even the paper used to wrap up Julian's presents is a subdued and tasteful shade of navy blue.

'Is that your Hawaii T-s.h.i.+rt under your cardigan?'

'No, Sylvie. It's not.'

'It looks like it to me.'

'Well...I'm sorry. I just thought that if we were going to do this today, I should make an effort.'

This is typical of me. Somehow I always manage to get it wrong; to interpret things in a way that isn't appropriate. How did Sylvie know to wear a charcoal coloured trouser suit today and tie her hair back into a stiff blond bun? How did Kay know to match her demure woollen dress to my mother's, and who put Robert in that undertaker's suit? Did they all discuss it before hand? Was there some pre-arranged signal that was shared between everyone but me?

Kay goes upstairs to change Julian's nappy and I tag along with her; partly to avoid Sylvie, partly in an effort to make the peace.

'Don't listen to them,' she says, not quite meaning it. 'You look cheerful. It's nice...for Julian.'

'Really?'

'Of course, who cares what you wear?'

'h.e.l.lo, Stinky,' I say, patting Julian's nappy. 'Did you get any lovely presents?'

My nephew wriggles on his changing mat.

'Do you think he understands that his daddy is missing?' I say, cleaning him up.

'No,' says Kay, taking a deep breath. 'I don't think he does.'

'It's better that way. With a bit of luck, he won't ever have to know about it.'

She looks at me, wondering what I mean.