Love Songs in Age

Other evenings, when David was feeling tired, we would just sit and watch a film or just read. Isobel was working her way through all of DH Lawrence. David and I were both making our way through the later volumes in The Gatekeeper's Daughter universe.

Then, before we knew it, the time arrived for her to sit her exams again. Her confidence, which had been building rapidly, suddenly seemed to evaporate the day before. To boost her morale David insisted on coming with us to the examination centre, though it was painful to see how he struggled now. Just before she went in he surprised her by wrapping her in a bear hug and whispering something into her ear. She coloured, smiled, then kissed him on the cheek. Then she shyly looked at me before turning and disappearing inside.

"God," I said. "If she doesn't pass I'm going to be a wreck."

"She'll pass history," said David confidently. "The English more of a lottery. But I think she'll be fine."

Then he smirked at me in that familiar way, and I sighed, and lent him my arm to lean on as I helped him shuffle back to the tube station.

**

There was a six-week interval between her sitting the exams and getting the results. For a lot of that she was away, first with some cousins on a tour of Canada, then with a group of friends for what I assumed would be a fairly hedonistic fortnight in Ibiza. I still had a handful of other students to look after, but her absence left a surprisingly large hole in both our lives. She kept in contact, but I was a little jealous to find that she seemed to communicate more with David than me. Four or five times a day his phone would beep with a new message from her. He would read them and either chuckle, curse or roll his eyes, but he refused to share anything but the most basic of details. I would get an email once or twice a week, a little more formal and self-conscious, telling me of places she'd been and what she was reading, and although I welcomed them they left me feeling a little dissatisfied.

It was during this time that David's health began to decline more alarmingly. His breathing became more laboured and we had to use his oxygen mask more often. We both knew that he was unlikely to see out the year, but we never spoke of it.

When she returned from Ibiza I think we were both rather pleased that she came around to see us within a few hours of landing. She looked wonderful, glowing with health, and her normally rather pale skin had gone a soft bronze in the sun. She hugged me and then fussed over David, which he pretended to complain about but which I could see he was absolutely relishing. Quite simply, our lives felt brighter for having her back with us, even if it was just for a short while.

I cooked us a casserole for dinner -- another of David's favourites -- and listened to her telling us about the delights of all-night partying. It sounded horrendous to me, but David had been quite a clubber when he was well and had spent a summer there himself, so the two of them had lots to talk about. I listened from the edges, feeling a little left out but still delighted to have her there.

"So -- when do you get the results?" I knew the answer, but I wanted to muscle in on the conversation.

"This Friday. They should email them to me around 9 or 10 in the morning, they said."

"Not the same as ripping open an envelope," grumbled David. "So much more dramatic when you can do that."

"Will your parents be there?"

"No... well, actually I've told them I won't get the results until the evening."

"Why?" I was surprised.

She looked a little sheepish. "Well... I'm a bit nervous about getting them. And... I kind of feel I'd like to do it -- find out about them -- with you two there. So... would you mind if I came over first thing and just waited with you?"

"No problem at all," I said.

"I've got a better idea," said David. "How about a sleepover?"

"What... you mean stay here?"

"Yes. Perfectly comfortable sofa. We've got a sleeping bag somewhere. That means we can stay up late the night before and watch old films, and then we'll all be here and ready at the crack of dawn. No need for you to rush over. Much nicer." He peered at her. "Unless you're planning a wild night on the town?"

"God no." She looked at me. "Would that be OK with you?"

David was dismissive. "Of course it'll be all right with him."

"Yes," I said. "It would be fun. If your parents don't mind."

She sighed. "You make me sound like I'm still ten years old. I'll be nineteen next month. Practically ancient. So if my parents don't like it, they can get stuffed. But honestly, even if I told them, I don't think they'd mind."

I wasn't sure about that, but I kept my counsel.

"Well then," said David. "It's a date."

I may have been wrong, but I thought he and Isobel exchanged glances when he said that.

**

David fell asleep half way through The Silence of the Lambs. Isobel and I decided that the best thing was to put a blanket over him and let him sleep there on the sofa, and she'd sleep in his room.

She helped me tidy away the plates and glasses, neatly organising them in the dishwasher. She wore tight blue jeans and a faded grey t-shirt, and I was very aware of her as we chatted quietly in the kitchen.

"Well," I said a little awkwardly. "You know where everything is. Sleep well, Isobel."

"I doubt I will," she said. "Too nervous."

"You'll be fine. Honestly."

"I just don't want to let anybody down. You, David -- even my parents. They're trying to be cool about it, but I think they'll be really crushed if I don't do a bit better this time."

"Well, my guess is that they want it for you," I said. "Not for them. They want you to have choices. That's all. And exams can open some doors."

"You think? I think I embarrass them sometimes."

"I doubt that very much," I said. "They probably don't understand you sometimes, but... you're a teenage girl. Nobody understands them except other teenage girls."

She smiled a little at that, then looked more serious.

"Are your parents still alive?"

I hesitated before answering. "My father is. My mother died a few years ago."

"Does he ever visit?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I paused again, trying to find the words.

"You can tell me it's none of my business if you want."

"He... blames David for my mother dying, I think. She was always rather frail and a little... self-absorbed. When he told them he was gay, she had a kind of nervous breakdown. Ridiculous -- like we were living in the 1950s. And her health went downhill after that."

"God. That's awful! Poor David!"

"Yes," I said. "She was a spiteful, petty little woman. I think she liked the idea of dying because one of her children had disappointed her. The ultimate way of guilt-tripping us, really. Anyway, my Dad hasn't spoken to him since and he told me I should have nothing to do with him either."

I looked at her. "And as you've seen, I couldn't imagine a life without David in it."

"No," she said. "Nor could I, now."

Then she reached over and kissed me gently on the cheek. I looked at her. I wanted to reach out and hold her but I knew that would be wrong. So I just put out a hand and stroked her hair for a moment.

"Sleep well," I said. "It'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."

**

But we were all nervous. We had a rather subdued breakfast together, our eyes darting from each other to Isobel's phone on the table and back again. Even David's usual joie de vivre had temporarily deserted him.

It was about half past nine when the phone finally buzzed with a new email alert. She picked it up cautiously, typed in her pin code, then looked at both of us in turn.

"I'm too scared to look," she said. She turned to David and me and held the phone out to us.

"One of you do it," she said. "Please."

David shook his head. "This is your moment, Isobel. Enjoy it. You've passed. Trust me."

"But... how can you know?"

"Read it and tell me I'm wrong."

She reluctantly swiped the message open. There was a brief pause, and then the colour seemed to drain from her face.

"Fucking hell," she said. "Fucking -- FUCKING -- hell! No fucking way!"

Then she looked at us. Her eyes were wet and shining.

"B in English and a B in History," she said. "I can't believe it!"

David whooped and I rushed over and hugged her. After a moment's stiffness I felt her body relax and she hugged me back fiercely. I squeezed her so tight I think she found it hard to breathe.

Then we were all laughing and crying at the same time. David produced the bottle of champagne we'd been hiding in an ice bucket behind the sofa and, we toasted Isobel, David, me, DH Lawrence, Philip Larkin, Shakespeare and everybody who'd attended the Paris Peace Conference in 1919.

"I must just text my parents," she said. "I guess they should know too."

"No," said David quickly. "Call them. Please."

She looked doubtful. "I find it hard to speak to them on the phone."

"Just this once," he said. "For me. It'll mean so much to them, I promise you."

She looked at me, and I nodded.

"OK," she said. "I'll... go into the kitchen and call them. Back in a minute, OK?"

She went out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"I can't believe she only got a fucking B in History," said David. "After all that work."

But he was only joking. He was as thrilled as I was.

I let out a huge sigh of relief. "Well. That's that. Project complete."

He looked at me. "Is it?"

"She can go to college now next year. That was the goal. And I think we can take some credit for that. So yes, our work is done, isn't it?"

David didn't say anything for a moment.

"I wonder," he said. "I don't think you and her are quite done yet, somehow."

**

Later that day, after Isobel had gone off to meet some friends for a celebration lunch, there was a knock at the door. I thought it was probably a delivery driver, but when I opened the door I was more than a little surprised to find Isobel's father there.

"Oh," I said. "Mr Haverstock. Please... come in."

He came in, his eyes flicking around our rather modest flat. David was sitting at the dining table, and he started to get up.

"No," said Mr Haverstock hastily. "Please don't get up. I won't be long."

He looked at us both. "I just wanted to say... thank you. I know you've done a lot more for her than any of her other teachers managed, and I wanted you to know that her mother and I... well, we do appreciate it. Very much. Isobel couldn't be more... complimentary about you both."

"Thank you," I said. "We both think... she's pretty terrific, actually."

He nodded, clearly pleased and a little embarrassed.

"Anyway... if you'd both like to come to dinner tonight with Gillian, and Isobel and me - we'd be delighted to have you. Just an informal supper. But... only if you're free, of course. No obligation."

He looked at us a little anxiously.

I glanced at David.

"We'd love too," he said. "Thank you very much."

Mr Haverstock nodded. "And... I wanted to give you this. I know you didn't do it for the money, but it always comes in handy, doesn't it?"

He passed me an envelope.

"That's very kind of you," I said. "But there's really no need."

I made as if to give it back but David reached over and deftly took it out of my hands. "No need - but it's very welcome. Thank you very much."

Isobel's father laughed. I could see David's charm was already working his magic on him.

"Well -- we'll see you tonight then." He turned to go.

"Mr Haverstock!"

He stopped and faced me again, eyebrows raised.

"David... is my brother, you know. Not my... partner."

He smiled.

"Oh yes," he said. "I knew that. I just thought... well, Isobel can be a bit of a flirt sometimes, so I thought if she felt flirting wouldn't work she might concentrate a bit more. Worth a try, anyway, wasn't it?"

And with that he opened the door and was gone, gently shutting it behind him. For once even David was speechless.

**

He died ten days later.

He started having breathing difficulties in the morning and nothing seemed to help, so I called for an ambulance. I held his hand all the way there and then when we arrived they took him straight through to the emergency unit. They did their best but he slipped into a coma and I knew then it was just a matter of time.

Isobel found me sitting by his bed in his hospital room. I was holding his hand and talking to him about anything that came into my head. Some say that people in a coma can still hear you. I doubt it's true but I wanted to believe it and if anything I said gave him the slightest comfort or flicker of amusement as he lay there then it was worth it.

She didn't say anything at first, just went over and kissed him and whispered in his ear that she loved him. Then she came and sat by me, and took my other hand, and we sat there together until he died peacefully early in the evening.

There was some paperwork to do but everyone was very kind and considerate.

"Come on," said Isobel. "Let's get you home now. We can sort everything else out tomorrow."

"Yes," I said, numbly. "Er... I suppose.... we should get a taxi, I guess. They can probably order one for us at the front desk."

"No. Mum and Dad are waiting outside. They're going to take us."

"Oh," I said. "That's nice of them. I don't want to be any bother."

She smiled sadly at me and shook her head and led me firmly out of the hospital. Her parents were in the car park. Mr Haverstock patted my shoulder and his wife hugged me. Then I got into the back of their car and stared at the traffic as we drove back to the flat.

When we arrived Isobel told her parents she was staying with me. The tone of her voice indicated this was not something that was up for discussion. So, after some final expressions of sympathy, they drove off and Isobel led me into the flat, leading me like a child to the bathroom and telling me I should take a shower while she got us something to eat. I did what I was told.

She made us some sandwiches and we sat quietly eating them. I had been expecting this day for several years but now it had arrived it didn't seem real. In a minute David would shuffle in and express his horror at the sombre, maudlin atmosphere.

After the sandwiches she made us some coffee and then she told me I should go to bed.

"I'll be in... David's room. If you need anything," she said. "Just... call for me, OK?"

"OK," I said. "Thank you."

I lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. I didn't feel like sleeping. I didn't feel anything. The house seemed so empty without him there.

But I must have fallen asleep, because when I looked at the clock again it was somehow after midnight. Something must have woken me up. I lay there and listened. Perhaps the traffic from outside? But no, the road seemed quiet.

Then I heard it. A distant sob, very faint. But unmistakable.

I got up and padded though into the other bedroom. She was lying there on his bed, with her knees drawn up to her chest. In the faint light from the landing I could see tears were streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want to wake you. I wanted to be strong for you. But I'm just feeling so sad."

I sat on the bed beside her. "It's OK," I said.

I reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. I started to draw my hand away but she held on tightly. Then she lifted up the blankets.

"Please," she said. "Hold me for a while. Please."

I hesitated, but my need for comfort was almost as great as hers. I got in beside her and lay on my back and she nestled against my side, her head leaning on my chest. I stroked her hair until the tears slowly subsided. Then, after about fifteen minutes, her breathing changed to a heavier, slower sound and I knew she was asleep. Then, lying there in the dark with this sleeping girl beside me, I finally shed some of my own quiet tears for my beloved brother.

**

In the morning I awoke to find the bed empty. There were some sounds of movement from the kitchen, so I got up, retrieved a dressing gown from my bedroom, and went to find her. She was boiling some eggs and toasting some bread, and I suddenly realised I was very hungry. She was wearing one of David's old shirts that hung to her knees.

"Good morning," she said softly.

She saw me looking at the shirt. "I hope you don't mind. I wanted to change into something and... I saw this hanging there... and I just thought... well, it would be nice to wear something of his."

"I don't mind," I said. "I think David would say you looked better in it than he ever did."

She smiled, then fished the eggs out of the saucepan and put them on the table. We sat in silence for a few minutes, focusing on the food and both of us perhaps thinking our own thoughts about David.

"What will you do now?" she asked after a while.

I thought. "Start to go through his things, I guess. Most of it can go to charity shops. A few more valuable things I guess I can sell. If there's anything of his you'd like, please... help yourself."

"No. I don't mean right now. I mean... from now on."

"I don't really know," I said. "I've never really... I didn't like to think about what I'd do... afterwards. It seemed to make it too real. If that makes any sense."

She nodded. "Yes - it does." She paused. "David said... you should travel. He said you always wanted to, but somehow there was never the opportunity."

"He told you that?"

"He talked a lot about you."

"What else did he say?"

"Lots of things." She stirred her coffee. "I'm not going to tell you all of them. But... he definitely said you should go travelling."

Something about the way she glanced down when she said this told me there was something more there.

"Maybe," I said. "It's tempting. David didn't have much money, by the end, but I think what there is he's left to me. And there's a small insurance policy. And... your father gave us a very generous bonus. So... yes. Maybe I should travel, for a few months anyway."

There was a pause. "What about you? Any closer to deciding which offer you're going to accept?"

"Bristol," she said. "Not too far from home, but just far enough."

I nodded, and started to clear up the breakfast things.

"He said you should write," she said, suddenly. "And... he said I should go with you."

I was startled. "What?"

"I should come travelling with you. He said... I'd be good for you. And that we should find somewhere quiet, and peaceful, and you could write. He said you'd be good at that."

David had often told me I should try my hand at writing. But it was one of those things he nagged me about, and I always said there would be time for that later. But perhaps 'later' had now arrived.

"Maybe... yes," I said. I looked at her. "But I don't need looking after, Isobel. Though it's a sweet thought."

"No. You don't. But... we'd be there for each other. I've got eight months before college starts. Eight whole months. We could... do so much in that time. Travelling, writing... lots of things." She blushed.

"I'm ten years older than you, Izzy," I said gently.

She looked at me. "What does that matter? Really?"

Her eyes were on mine, clear and pleading. I didn't know what to say. Except deep within me, it felt like a small flame had suddenly burst into life, thawing the coldness which had been enveloping me. But still I hesitated. I knew that after what we'd been through, it was perfectly normal to feel a roller-coaster of emotions. To suddenly feel the need to reach out and connect to someone, cling to them as a means of fending off the dark.

"We should... take some time," I said carefully. "Neither of us is thinking straight at the moment."

She thought about this, then nodded, accepting the compromise.

**

David, bless him, had already quietly sorted a lot of his things out. I found a printed list on his bookshelf, listing most of his possessions and what I should do with them. Isobel helped me to bag a lot of his clothes and take them to the charity shop, though she kept a few of his shirts for herself. She said they made very good night shirts.