Emily Barr - The Sleeper

He kissed the top of my head. ‘Doing your homework? Good girl. What is it? Anything your old dad can help with?’

We discussed long division for a while, before he looked at the ceiling, signifying upstairs, and said: ‘And where is that wayward sister of yours?’

Olivia was only twelve. She was banned from doing anything other than coming straight home from school.

‘I’m not sure.’ I did not dare to attempt to lie for her.

‘She’s not home?’

‘Umm. Not sure. I don’t think so.’

‘Victoria!’ Victoria is Mum’s name. It suits her. She needs a formal, unabbreviated name. Like her namesake, she is rarely amused.

Once he had definitively established that she was not back from school, he went straight out to his car. Twenty minutes later he was back, a sulking twelve-year-old in tow.

‘You can go to your room and stay there,’ I heard him say to her, in an offhand way, as they walked through the door. ‘But first, you need to come and see this.’

Then they were in the dining room with me. Olivia was staring at the floor, the epitome of sulkiness.

‘I can’t be bothered with your behaviour, young lady,’ he told her. ‘You can stay in your room until morning, but other than that, this is going to be its sole consequence.’ He took out his wallet, opened it, and peeled out a stash of notes. ‘This is your allowance for the rest of the year, Olivia. Twenty pounds a month, nine months to go. One hundred and eighty pounds. Why would I pay you when you behave like this? Should I give you an “allowance” for ignoring even the simplest of rules? Of course I won’t be doing that. Lara, on the other hand, came straight home from school and started her homework. As she always does. Not only does Lara’s allowance remain unchanged, I’m giving her this on top of it.’

He put the cash on the table next to me. I remember staring at it, knowing that things had never gone this far before. I did not dare to hand it back. I could not pick it up. It sat next to my maths books, red hot and impossible to ignore.

Olivia turned and stormed out of the room, visibly restraining herself from slamming the door. Dad put a hand on my head, ruffled my hair, and left the room himself. As I listened to Olivia’s footsteps storming up the stairs, I knew she would hate me for ever, because of this.

And she does. Not just because of that, but partly.

‘I’ll have a Giardiniera, please.’ I smile at the waitress. ‘And could we have some tap water?’

‘No way,’ says Olivia. ‘A Giardiniera? They probably have your photo in every branch of Pizza Express, with your order written next to it. “This woman has partaken of nothing but Giardiniera for the past twenty years. Do not bother to ask what she wants.” Good to see you branching out, sis.’

She makes a point of ordering a new pizza, one that comes with a hole in the middle that is filled with salad, just to demonstrate to me how open-minded and impulsive she is.

‘Evening all!’

I look up, delighted and relieved at the sound of my godfather’s voice.

‘Leon!’ I get to my feet and hug him. He is standing right beside the table, having somehow slipped in without any of us noticing. I don’t care about Olivia now. Leon is Dad’s best friend from university, and, oddly, he is my best friend in the world. He always took a distant yet friendly godfatherly interest in me, until I really needed him. Then he came through for me like no one else ever has. Leon is the one person who knows everything.

‘Lovely to see you,’ he says quietly. ‘You OK?’

‘Better now you’re here,’ I tell him, sensing Olivia’s mocking gaze, not caring. Leon is, like my father, in his mid sixties. Unlike my father, who is increasingly looking like a heart attack waiting to happen, Leon gets more stylish and better-looking as he ages. His grey hair is swept back and reaches almost down to his collar, while his bone structure is somehow enhanced by his ageing skin. His clothes help, too: he has always dressed impeccably, and these days he looks like the chic European man you would find in Paris or Milan. Though she has never said anything explicitly, I know from the smirks Olivia gives me every time his name is mentioned that she thinks we have had an affair, perhaps that we are still having one. She is wrong, though nothing I could say would ever convince her of that. Leon and I have a far stronger bond than that.

He turns to the rest of the family.

‘Olivia,’ he says, with a warm smile. ‘You’re looking spectacularly stylish this evening. As ever, yet somehow more so.’

She doesn’t reply, but inclines her head towards him, one stylish person to another. I sit down as Leon kisses Mum on each cheek, shakes Dad’s hand and pulls up a chair between me and Mum, who looks at him with a small smile, then picks up a doughball and starts tearing it into tiny pieces. Dad refills everyone’s glasses. The room echoes with the sound of other people’s friendly chatter.

‘So, how’s the Wilberforce family?’ Leon asks, looking around.

‘Fine.’ Olivia answers quickly, which is unusual. She has pushed her glass away, and in fact I notice that she has not drunk anything. ‘Actually, there is some news.’

I close my eyes. Whatever this is, I can tell from her tone that I am not going to like it. In a second she is going to start telling everyone why I am such a terrible lodger. I will be forced to defend myself, and there will be carnage.

She notices.

‘Lara, you’ve got your eyes closed. I’m not going to hit you.’

‘I know. Look, I’ve opened them. Is that all right?’

‘Jesus. Look. Everyone. It’s not anything terrible. I’ve got used to the idea now and it’s actually a positive thing.’

Someone drops something on the other side of the restaurant, and the whole room is suspended for a second as everyone listens to what must be several plates smashing on the floor. Then normality is resumed, with staff rushing around and conversations starting up again; except on our table, where we are all staring at Olivia with transparent dread.

She rolls her eyes. I realise what she is going to say just before she says it.

‘I’m pregnant.’

I watch as all three of them turn their gazes to me. Everyone but Olivia is now checking my reaction.

‘Congratulations.’ I do not look at her. ‘That’s lovely.’

‘Yeah. Cheers.’

‘When’s it due?’

‘April. April the twenty-third.’

‘Shakespeare’s birthday. No pressure then.’

Of course she is pregnant. I make myself inhale. I have put all of that behind me, have determinedly moved on, but the years of monthly dashed hopes, followed by the injections and intrusive scans, the bills, the torment and the marital strains that changed our relationship fundamentally all come flashing through my mind before I shove them away.

Dad leans forward.

‘Do you mind me asking one thing?’ he says, his voice dangerously casual. ‘Who’s the father?’

She glares. ‘Yes, I do mind. I mind you asking who the father is before saying congratulations or being pleased that you’re getting a grandchild after all. Yes. I mind that, so I’m not going to tell you.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Olivia.’

I stiffen. I hate it when Dad swears. It always means danger.

‘For fuck’s sake yourself,’ she retorts. ‘You only want a grandchild if it comes from the sainted fucking Lara, don’t you? You don’t want my lesser genes passed on, do you? Well, Lara’s not come up with the goods and it seems that, accidentally, I have and that’s that. Get used to it. Things change.’

Oddly, it is Mum who rises to this. She does it while Dad is still drawing breath.

‘Olivia,’ she says, leaning forward, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She so infrequently steps into a row that I am transfixed. Her voice is soft, rarely used, so we all listen. ‘That’s not fair on Lara. You’ve taken us by surprise, that’s all. Give us a few moments to get used to this, please.’