Cloud Nine

‘Freddie,’ she whispered.

There he was, his last Christmas, standing in front of a tree with Will. Her lanky, sleepy boy, braces on his smile, so beautiful and tall. In this shot, Fred was nearly the same height as Will. How had Alice never noticed that before? Was it just the perspective? She couldn’t see their feet; had Fred been standing on a box, a stack of books?

‘Mom?’ Susan asked, shielding her eyes against the hall light.

‘Honey, you’re awake,’ Alice said, sitting on the edge of her bed.

‘You weren’t home.’

‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Alice asked, feeling that panicky guilt. ‘I called the machine.’

‘I got it.’

‘We had cocktails with Dean Sherry, and then a bunch of Julian’s friends decided we should all cook dinner together. So we went to Martine’s house and made Indonesian food and listened to Armando play some new pieces on his keyboard.’

‘God, how boring,’ Susan said, scowling.

‘Did you eat?’

‘Yes.’

Alice worried. She stared at Susan, wondering what was going on in her head. She sounded so tense and sullen, almost as if she were trying to make her feel guilty. As if it weren’t already a fait accompli.

‘What did you have?’

‘Dad took me to Chedder’s. I had a salad.’

‘You called your father? Susan, you know there’s a whole pantry full of food downstairs. Pansy bought every single thing you put on your list. The refrigerator is loaded with lettuce, all those strange kinds you love. Susan …’

‘“Susan”?’ she asked, frowning. ‘If you expect me to answer you, you’d better call me by the right name.’

Alice refused to play into Susan’s trap. She had been acting out ever since Alice and Julian had gotten married, and one thing she knew worked best was the name game. Alice felt her blood pressure mounting through the roof. She had a sneaking suspicion that Will was enabling this. He was so easygoing, he’d let Susan get away with anything. He had gone to pieces when Fred died, and he wasn’t even halfway put back together again.

‘Honey?’ Alice heard herself asking with an admirably even tone. She never spoke about Fred to Susan, not wanting to upset her. He had been her big brother, her hero. But she had to ask. The question just came out: Alice couldn’t have held it back if she’d wanted to. ‘Was Freddie as tall as your dad? Almost as tall?’

Silence. Downstairs, she heard Julian and Armando laughing. Drinks were being poured. The clack of pool cues. The chime of the break.

‘Susan, answer me.’

‘There’s no Susan here,’ her daughter said dangerously from beneath her pile of quilts.

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