A Nest of Nightmares

‘Chez Charlotte and Emily,’ Sylvia said. ‘I’ll bet it’s cozy in a gale.’

‘It is a little isolated,’ I said. That suited me, but Sylvia, I thought, liked parties and people, the bright lights of cities.

‘That’s what I want,’ Sylvia said. ‘It’s perfect. I need a change . . . I’m sick of cities, and city people. And I like England. I can see why you stayed here.’

I smiled slightly. She had been here barely a week. ‘All right. Shall we hire someone to give us the bad news about the roof and the plumbing? Shall we make an offer?’

‘Yes,’ said Sylvia. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’

I want to make it clear that the house was Sylvia’s idea just as much as mine. At first she was even more enthusiastic than I was, impatient to get things moving to ensure that we had a house of our own by Christmas. She expressed no doubts, no serious reservations during all the negotiations. I did not bully her, or push her into something she did not want to do. Although I was the one who first suggested we take the money from the sale of our mother’s house and, instead of dividing it in two, use it to buy one shared house, Sylvia seized upon my suggestion eagerly. It was not I, but she who said – I remember it distinctly – how nice it would be to live together again, and how cozy we would be in our little nest in the country. I do not understand how it all went wrong.

We weren’t able to get the roof fixed right away, but the local carpenter and his brother rigged a tarpaulin over the hole to keep us snug and dry. Sylvia went up into the attic to supervise, despite my assurances that it was unnecessary and that the men should be left alone to their work. I stood outside in the rare, blessed sunshine and watched the activity on the roof. I couldn’t hear anything Sylvia said, but every now and then her clear laugh floated out on the breeze. I could hear the men, for all the good it did me. The heavy, foolish way the younger one was flirting with Sylvia made me prickle with embarrassment. Fortunately, stretching a tarp over a hole is no great job, and even though Sylvia invited them in for a cup of tea afterwards, we didn’t have to endure their clumsy society for long.

And yet, after they had gone, a stifling silence dropped, as if the tarpaulin had fallen in on us.

‘All cozy and snug now, aren’t we, Sylvia?’ I said, forcing the cheer.

She looked from the clutter of cups and saucers down to her hands in her lap and began to twist her ring. It was the mate to mine, a platinum band set with rubies. They had been our mother’s, the guard-rings she had worn on either side of her diamond wedding band.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

She shook her head swiftly, then said in a rush, ‘Oh, Pam, what will I do here?’

I almost laughed. ‘Do? Why, whatever you want. This is our home now. There’s plenty for both of us to do, to fix it up, and in the spring we’ll plant a garden. We can grow our own vegetables.’

‘That’s not what I mean. We’re so much on our own out here. We don’t know anyone. How will we meet people?’

‘In the village,’ I said. ‘At church, in the pub, in shops. People are friendlier in the country than they are in London – it will be easy. Or we could have people come to visit. The house is big enough for guests.’

She still looked doubtful, brooding.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You’re not having second thoughts now. It’s too late for all that. The house is ours now. You’ll love it here – just give it a chance.’

‘It’s just . . . it’s such a change from what I’m used to . . .’

‘But that’s what you said you wanted. And after Mother died whatever you did would have been a big change. How do you think you’d like living all by yourself in Edison? That boyfriend of yours wouldn’t have been much help.’

‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘I left him, didn’t I? That’s over.’

‘I’m just trying to point out that you could be a lot worse off than you are. Think how miserable you would have been if you’d let that affair drag on. What could he offer you? Nothing. He would never have left his wife, so you couldn’t hope for marriage, or any kind of security – ’

She glared at me. ‘I never wanted security from him. I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t trying to get him to marry me. It wasn’t security I wanted – he gave me something else. Adventure, a feeling of excitement.’

‘Oh, excitement,’ I said. ‘That’ll do you a lot of good.’

‘I don’t expect you to understand. After mother died I felt I needed something else . . . he wasn’t enough. That’s why I came here. And it’s over, so why do you keep bringing it up?’

She stood up, gathering the tea things together with a noisy clatter. As I watched her I wondered if she would ever, without me, have summoned the nerve to break up with her lover. I remembered how she had been at mother’s funeral, how dazed and helpless, sending me those blue-eyed looks that begged for rescue. In moments of crisis she always turned to her big sister for help, and was grateful for my advice.