A Question Of Identity Part 22

Sam glanced up from the sheet he was cutting out of a magazine. 'MYOB.'

Hannah leaned over his shoulder. '"Damian Lewis". Who's Damian Lewis?'

'He's about the most famous actor on television right now.'

'Well, I've never heard of him.'

'Shows what you know. Ever heard of Dominic West then?'

'No.'

'Benedict c.u.mberbatch?'

'You just made that up.'

'Ha.'

'Who are they then?'

'I said. Famous actors.'

'They can't all be the most famous actor on television.'

'No. Duh.'

Hannah turned away.

'You're crying.'

'I am so not crying.'

Sam jumped up, grabbed her arm and spun her round to face him. 'Ha. So what's that on your face dishwater?'

She bent her head and bit him on the hand. Sam yelped.

'You little weasel.'

'Shut up, shut up . . .'

'Look, you made tooth marks.'

'Teeth marks. Yes and I'm glad and I hope it bleeds and you get HIV.'

Sam snorted.

'Or teta.n.u.s.'

'Well it would be something pretty evil if I caught it from you.'

Hannah grabbed the magazine on the table and ran out of the room with Sam after her. In the hall, both of them crashed into Felix who was on his way to find them. His wail of fright as he hit the ground had Cat flying out of her study. 'What in heaven's name is going on here? Sam, what were you playing at?'

She dusted Felix down and inspected the knee he was rubbing. It was turning red and had a small scratch. 'All right, I'll put some cream on that, sweetheart. Sam?'

'Look at that . . .' Sam held out his bitten hand. 'That little b.i.t.c.h did it. And now she's stealing my magazine.'

'Sam!'

Hannah was already halfway up the stairs. Seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.

'Sam, come here.'

'I'm doing something.'

'I'm not interested. All right, Felix, sit still, I'm only putting a dab of cream on, you're fine.'

'And a Bob.'

'Yes and a Bob.'

'Baby.'

'Sam, I don't know what any of this is about but it has nothing to do with Felix. How did he come to be on the floor with you two on top of him?'

'Hannah's fault.'

'I doubt that. There.'

Cat pressed a Bob the Builder plaster onto Felix's scratch and lifted him down from the worktop beside the sink. He inspected his injury closely, beamed, and wandered off to the den.

'Right, sit down, and tell me exactly what was going on and why you were speaking to Hannah in that way. I won't have it, Sam. What happened?'

'Nothing. She's only sulking.'

'No, she is disappointed and upset and are you really surprised?'

'And jealous.'

'Of course she's jealous. Think about it. She was hoping no, she was pretty much expecting to get a part in a film. She didn't get it, so she was gutted . . . and this is what she loves doing, what she's good at. But what's worse is you, into whose head the words film and acting had never entered, who didn't ask for any of it, just swan into a much bigger role in a much bigger film. She could even cope with that, eventually, but not if you gloat and lord it over her. Which is what you've been doing for over a week, and you should be ashamed of yourself. You aren't four, Sam, but you're behaving like a spoilt brat.'

'She's the spoilt brat, if you ask me.'

'I'm not asking you. I don't want to hear one more word from you to Hannah on this subject. And if I do, or if Hannah tells me that you've started up again '

'You'll do what?' Sam sighed.

'I'll contact the film company and tell them you can't take part. That's all. Now go and get on with your homework.'

'You wouldn't do that.'

'Try me.'

Sam attempted to stare her out and, failing, slouched away upstairs.

Which child to see first? Cat was about to check that Felix was happy constructing another tower block with his Bob the Builder Site Kit, then go to Hannah, when she had one of her increasingly rare moments of feeling alone. The life of a single parent was far worse for most other women, without adequate housing, money, family, friends.h.i.+ps, but the lonely responsibility was the same. She had support, enjoyed her work. Then came evenings like this one and she struggled to know which way to turn, and longed for the presence of just one other adult. Any other adult.

She checked on Felix, who barely looked up from his ma.s.sive fibreboard building site, made herself a coffee and rang her brother.

'Serrailler.'

'Hi, you in the middle of something?'

'Sorry, didn't check it was you. How's stuff?'

'How long have you got?'

'Ah . . . not all that long actually.'

'The case?'

'No, I'm off tonight. It's looking good.'

'You've got him?'

'Think so. Problem of lack of evidence but we'll find it. So, I'm in a small towel, having had a shower, and I was just choosing a s.h.i.+rt.'

'Aha. Date then.'

'Yes and I'm running a bit late . . . You all right?'

'Fine,' Cat said. 'Just wanted a catch-up but we can do that another time. Supper tomorrow night?'

'Great. Thanks. Can we have roast chicken?'

'Sure. And maybe you can have a word with Sam at some point.'

'See? Knew there was something. What's the new Daniel Radcliffe done now?'

'You may jest, but it's gone to his head in a really unpleasant way.'

'OK, I'll have a word.'

'Thanks, bro. Have a great evening. Love to Rachel.'

She thought about Rachel as she finished her coffee. Felix was singing 'Can We Fix It?' happily in the den. Upstairs was silent. Even Hannah's Radio 1 didn't seem to be playing.

Occasionally, Cat worried about Rachel, because she was so vulnerable and because of Simon's track record with women. She wondered if he had ever seriously loved any of them and then checked herself yes, he had loved Freya Graffham, she was pretty sure. And Rachel? Yes. He had not talked very much about her, but when he had there was a seriousness in his voice, a depth of emotion he had rarely displayed before. He was sensitive to her situation and to how difficult it was for her to split her time and her loyalties between him and her invalid husband. Kenneth might have accepted her relations.h.i.+p with Simon but, even so, guilt would be there, and anxiety, worry about the future. Kenneth was in the late stages of Parkinson's but that did not mean he was going to die any time soon. They had s.n.a.t.c.hed hours and the occasional weekend. They would have this evening and tonight. And then? Besides, she wondered if Rachel understood just how committed he was to his work, how much it took up not only of his time but of his mental, physical and emotional energies and commitment.

She sighed, putting her mug in the dishwasher. She loved her brother completely, but sometimes she saw a time ahead when he was still the bachelor uncle, still playing the field, in his sixties and heading for retirement. And then what?

'I think I'll be put to bed now,' Felix said, coming in.

'I see is the builder's work over for the day then?'

'Yes, but tomorrow, we are doing a demolition job so I need a lot of sleep.'

He was the only one of her children who had ever voluntarily suggested that it was bedtime and he did so often. At the top of the stairs, he glanced round at her and she caught a flash of her brother's looks on his five-year-old face, the same slow half-smile. 'I wish Molly would come back.'

'She will, but not quite yet.'

'Does her mummy still need to have her?'

'Yes. And she needs to have her mummy.'

'She sent me a particular crane I needed for the job so I love her.'

Cat laughed. 'I know. But you love her anyway, even without the particular crane.'

She watched him strip off his s.h.i.+rt and jersey as he went into the bathroom, putting them neatly together on the chair. He was the easiest of her children in every respect, by a country mile.

Twenty minutes later, he had fallen asleep in the middle of Horrid Henry. Cat switched off his light, went across the landing and listened. A slight sound from Sam's room probably a page turning. Sam read more books than anyone she knew apart from Judith. She decided she wasn't yet ready to have things out with him. That would almost certainly involve a full-scale row and she needed to prepare herself carefully for what she would say, to minimise the damage it might do to them both.

Let Sam stew.

'Hanny?'

Silence.

'Can I come in?'

Silence. Then a m.u.f.fled voice.

Hannah was sitting up on the bed, fully dressed but with her duvet pulled up around her, and her diary open on her knees.

'I don't want to talk about it any more and don't tell me I have to be loving and forgiving because no way.'

Cat sat down and put out her hand. Hannah ignored it.

'Don't take it out on me, Han.'

'He's mean and I hate him. He didn't even want to be in a film, he doesn't even do drama, so what's fair about that?'

'Nothing.'

'And don't say sometimes life is unfair because I'm not listening.'

Cat wondered what there was that she could say to help and decided probably nothing at all. Hannah was right it was unfair, life often was, and Sam had indeed been mean. She hadn't got the part in the film after longing for it so much; he had a bigger part in a bigger film he hadn't so much as tried for. What was there to be said about any of it?

'I just wish I could do something to help. I wish I could make it up to you.'