As they walked slowly to Peter’s place, Beth considered how to carve out two or three hours to read The Book properly. The brief scan hadn’t suggested anything immediately concerning, but she wanted, desperately, to know what her future held. But they’d just arrived in Pines and the three-day quarantine had been miserable. She’d need to bathe and sleep and spend time reassuring her family. Which meant that she’d be speaking to Peter without having read it fully. Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Not that Peter would think she’d joke about something like this, of course. But it might not be a bad idea for her to be visibly unfamiliar with the contents when they went through it. She didn’t want him to even wonder if it was something she’d written herself.
Beth plodded on in increasing misery. She swapped which hand was pulling the suitcase as they climbed another hill, but it no longer helped – blisters were rising where her fingers met her palm. Sweat was soaking her shirt. Once again, she weighed the risk of making herself ill by taking off her coat and chilling too rapidly in the biting wind. She was even tempted to remove her shoes entirely. At that point the pain of walking barefoot might be less than enduring the friction of the once-comfortable boots on her toes. By the time they arrived in the right neighbourhood, she was close to giving up. Even Oakley was too tired to complain.
They looked for the correct building between the decaying auto-repair garages and the shiny five-storey blocks of glass balconies and accent walls. Beth was just hoping no car tried to drive past. The houses were built right up against the road, and the tiny strips officially set aside for pedestrians with yellow paint wouldn’t have fit a toddler. From the front wall of one building to the other was just enough space for a single car to travel. If that car wasn’t particularly wide. The family filled the whole street and had nowhere to go to avoid anything.
“This must be it,” said her father, after they’d walked back and forth several times.
It was an external stairway hastily jammed into an alley. The street number sign was pinned to the side of the stairs and written in the smallest font imaginable. But it was right. Her father went up ahead by himself, leaving his things at the bottom. Beth felt a few tears well in relief when Peter opened the door.
“You made it!” said Peter. “I didn’t realise you’d been let out of quarantine today, or I would have come to collect you.”
“No matter, no matter,” said their father. “We’re here now. Help us bring the bags up.”
“Of course,” Peter said, propping the door open with a stop, and coming down to take Beth’s suitcase from her.
“Peter, I need to talk to you,” she said quietly.
“I was very sad to hear about poor Uncle Alex,” he said.
Oh. Yes. That too. Beth felt a stab of guilt about letting Uncle Alex’s death be overshadowed by other things.
“Well, yes,” Beth agreed. “We need to think about what we can do for Aunt Mary. She’s there, pretty much alone, dealing with all this government bureaucracy without any real help.”
“I’m sure things will work out,” said Peter.
“I hope so. But actually, I need to talk to you about something else. In private. It’s important.”
“Alright,” said Peter. “I’ll make sure to put aside some time for you as soon as I can. I’m glad you’re looking so well.”
Peter disappeared up with her suitcase, while Beth took Calley’s and followed behind. Once everything was up, Peter gave them a quick tour. The place still bore the marks of the house it had been before. The living room was a windowless space that had previously been the hallway and internal stairs. They had to walk through it to get to the kitchen. The kitchen / dining area had previously been the master bedroom, with a bay window out above the street. The new second bedroom, once third bedroom, belonged to the roommate, Francis Luce. It had been cut short with a mismatched wall to segment off the new front door and hallway. Only the original second bedroom, Peter’s, was untouched. It was, Beth had to admit, very small for an entire family.
And cluttered with boxes.
“Don’t worry about the chaos, that will be sorted out soon. Dad, you and Sophie will take my room, of course. It has a double bed and fresh linen. I’ve cleared out my flat-mate’s stuff for the girls. He has a single bed, so I put down an air mattress. Oakley can take the couch. It’s very comfortable, I promise.”
So much for Calley’s predictions. Not only was Peter willing to host them; he had even prepared for it without them even having to ask. But those preparations had one very glaring omission.
Calley was the one to ask the obvious. “And you?”
Peter shrugged. “I’m moving in with my girlfriend.”
“You have a girlfriend?” asked Beth.
“You have a girlfriend?” asked their father, considerably louder.
“Oh well, you know how it is,” said Peter. “It’s a bit of a new development. I didn’t want to raise anyone’s expectations in case the relationship didn’t work out.”
Beth could understand that a little. Their father would have made a fuss, wanting to know every detail about her, and analysing whether he considered her the best possible option for a wife. But none of that explained why Peter didn’t tell Beth privately. She would have kept it to herself if he’d asked. Peter must know that. Perhaps he just didn’t want to put her in the position of keeping things from their father. Peter did have the tendency to be overly protective of her. She’d have to remind him that she was an adult now and could make some decisions for herself.
“It’s clearly a good enough relationship for you to move in with her,” said Oakley.
“Do you want to sleep on the floor while I take the couch?” asked Peter.
“No!” said Oakley.
“Exactly,” said Peter. “So, I will be moving out, and you can use my place.”
Beth didn’t blame him. Either of them. Having to stay in the living room at all looked like it was going to be pretty unpleasant. It made sense for Peter to move out. It was just that they’d already spent so much time apart. And now that they finally had some time when they could live together, he was leaving immediately.
“Will you be joining us for meals?” asked Beth hopefully.
“Sure, when I can,” said Peter. “I’ll reach out to Sophie to organise something. Anyway, I’ve stocked up on groceries, and there’s a list for garbage collection dates and that kind of thing on the fridge. Once I take these boxes out, feel free to use anything that’s left.”
Sophie left to investigate, moving past Peter. He took a half-step back.
“The bathroom is on the left of the front door,” he said. “Be careful, there isn’t much hot water. Towels are in the airing cupboard next to it.”
Beth might have been indignant at how unsubtle Peter was being, but she was too desperate for a shower herself to object. They showered in descending age order while Peter continued moving things into boxes. Beth was mindful to only run the water while rinsing and limited her hair routine to a single shampoo. She was in and out in five minutes, changing into a half-dirty top and skirt. Oakley, despite being technically forty minutes younger than Calley, was waiting at the door with the colourful beach towel. He dove in and locked the door. Calley wailed in protest, but Sophie impatiently told her she could wait. When Calley finally had her turn in the shower, Beth went to grab Peter.
“Sorry, Beth,” he said. “I have to finish this now. Catherine’s coming to help me transport this stuff, and I’m already running behind. Later, okay?”
A startled scream came from the bathroom.
“What is it?” asked Sophie.
“The water’s freezing!” said Calley.
“Oakley,” said Sophie. “You knew the water was limited. Really, you should think of others more.”
Oakley was unrepentant, and Sophie didn’t look like she cared enough to follow up. Beth didn’t say anything either. Oakley hadn’t taken any longer than their father or Sophie. If Calley had gone first, then there was every chance that Oakley would have been the one left with cold water.
“You don’t want to run the washing machine at the same time as the shower, by the way,” said Peter. “The water pressure isn’t strong enough.”
“What am I supposed to do?” complained Calley, her voice muffled through the door.
“Just put a little water into the bath,” said Sophie, long suffering. “I’ll boil a kettle and bring it to you.”
Ten minutes later, Calley was drying her hair and glaring at Oakley, and the doorbell rang.
“There they are now,” said Peter.
He opened the door and led the visitors into the living room. “Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Catherine de la Haye, and her older brother, Alistair. Catherine, Alistair, this is my father. Michael Griffiths, his wife, Sophie, and their children, Calley and Oakley. And this is my sister, Elizabeth.”
Beth was still young enough to feel uncomfortable shaking her hands, but it seemed a bit much to go in for a hug on the first meeting. She settled for waving awkwardly from behind a table.
“Beth,” she corrected.
Catherine (not Kate or Kathy or Katie) was one of those people that made Beth uncomfortable on sight. It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous, although she was. Tall, black hair, blue-eyes, pale skin. She was a good match to Peter, who took even more after their mother than Beth did. It was that she was so precise. Her clothes were recently pressed, even the non-crease fabrics. Her eyebrows looked like they were plucked daily. Her makeup was done in that very time-intensive style amusingly called ‘nude’. Beth, who had been completely indifferent to her appearance a few minutes before, was now suddenly conscious of how grubby she looked and how wild her half-dry hair was.
Catherine’s older brother, Alistair, didn’t trigger the same instincts, despite being just as expensively and inappropriately dressed. He was casual and relaxed in his suit trousers and jacket, like they were the first comfortable thing he saw when he opened his closet. With the exquisite tailoring, they might well have been. Beth didn’t recognise the brand. While that didn’t really say much – Beth had little exposure to high-end men’s wear – she still had the faint suspicion it was bespoke.
“Calley,” said her sister, her hands still busy towelling her hair. “C-a-l-l-e-y. Not short for anything.”
“Oakley,” contributed her twin in turn. “Just Oak’s fine.”
“Also l-e-y?” asked Alistair.
“Yes.” From ease of long practice, no-one reacted to the subtle mockery for the ‘matching twins’ names. They were perfectly reasonable names, but it wasn’t worth the effort to defend them to every new person they met.
The de la Haye siblings finished saying hello to her father and Sophie and made polite small talk about the horror of the pandemic, the misery of the quarantine and their hope that things would go better from then on.
“I’m ready,” interrupted Peter.
Alistair nodded and then turned back to Sophie. “Our parents wanted to invite you to their new year’s celebration tonight. I realise you must be quite exhausted, but we’d love for you to join us. It might help to restore a little normality. We can come and pick you up at nine tonight if you’re willing?”
Beth checked her phone. It really was the 31st already. She had lost track.
“It won’t be anything elaborate,” contributed Catherine, “Just your family and ours. There are still the restrictions on small-group meetings, you see. But we’ve all been recently tested, so it will be perfectly safe.”
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Beth wondered if it was uncharitable for her to assume they’d originally had something better planned that had been cancelled. It probably was. The de la Haye’s were complete strangers, and it was generous of them to open their home to her family.
“We’d like that,” said her father, completely ignoring Sophie’s body language that indicated the exact opposite. With the chance to investigate Peter’s girlfriend presented to him on a platter, it wasn’t as if he would say no.
“Great! We’ll see you soon, then.”
With a swirl of activity, all the boxes were removed from the apartment. Beth went into Francis’s room, edging sideways to fit between the bed and the mattress. With some manoeuvring, she opened the wardrobe and was surprised that it was completely empty. Likewise with the bedside cabinet – at last the drawers that could still open. She took another tour around the whole apartment, looking for storage spaces, or loft space, or something, without finding anything remarkable. The group hadn’t taken that many boxes out with them. Had the flatmate being in the process of moving out? Or already put everything into long-term storage when he went out on his research trip? He couldn’t have had it shipped out to him, surely? Out of curiosity, she also took a quick look around Peter’s room. It was similarly stripped. When Peter said that everything left behind was for them, he’d really meant it. The two of them were much more minimalist than she’d expected from a pair of graduate students.
After treating her blisters, and then having an early lunch, a long nap, and another shower, Beth was feeling much better in newly washed clothes and properly conditioned hair. They ate supper without even being hungry, and soon enough it was nine o’clock. Alistair and Catherine blocked the street with their two cars to pick them up.
Beth had made her plans.
She just needed to alert Peter without alerting her father or anyone else. No more attempts to have a long meaningful discussion about it all in one go. Instead, she would just get him alone long enough to tell him she had read something that really worried her. She would give him the reader. Having the story be about their family would disturb him enough to finish reading it. Then he’d come contact her to find out what she knew, and they could begin planning.
They pulled up to a place with a full driveway and more off-street parking than they needed. The de la Haye house was exactly the kind of property Beth would have expected a person like Catherine to live in. It was just a little extra. It had two sitting rooms with stone fireplaces. It had more bathrooms than bedrooms. It had a ‘breakfast nook’ upstairs, with an additional fridge, coffee station and sink. Beth imagined it has started life as a bar before the de la Hayes decided that was entirely too vulgar. Peter wasn’t even going to be sharing a room with Catherine. He’d been placed in a very elegant guest room on the other side of the house.
Beth snuck a glance at her father. He was trying to remain nonchalant, but Beth could still tell he was impressed. She was less certain why Peter had felt it so necessary to keep his relationship secret. He couldn’t imagine that their father would disapprove of someone with Catherine’s family background, surely?
They ended the tour and settled into the smaller of the living rooms. Mrs de la Haye – she hadn’t asked Beth to use her first name – brought out some snacks. Sophie was perhaps a little heavy-handed in telling the twins to only take a little, but it was probably the correct call. The de la Hayes did not speak out to reassure them they could have as much as they liked. When it came to food, that might no longer be true, not even for the most well-off. Beth restrained herself as well, which was a pity. She didn’t know what the paste on the little slices of toast was, but it tasted divine, with the perfect mouthfeel. The paste was flawlessly smooth, and the toast was miraculously crunchy. It hadn’t become even slightly soggy. Beth was half-tempted to ask how that was achieved, but she didn’t want to come across as an unsophisticated child.
After covering the basics of how terrible everything was, and how miserable it must have been to have suffered in quarantine, the conversation became awkward.
“Did you hear they’re voting on allowing clearing operations for the infected?” tried Mr de la Haye.
Mrs de la Haye frowned. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing this in front of the children.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “They’ll be hearing all about it soon if it passes.”
“If it passes,” said Catherine. “Surely we can solve the infection problems without that.”
“A lot of countries have had success with it,” said Alistair, his tone that of someone playing devil’s advocate.
“Clearing operations?” asked Oakley tentatively, with a cautious glance to make sure Sophie wasn’t close enough to physically protest.
“A way to control infection,” Alistair answered. “After sunset, the military or police force finds a clear space and sets a loudspeaker playing. Stage four infected are drawn to the noise, and it lets the military – capture them.”
Sure, capture. They would definitely go to that additional effort and risk when it was already perfectly legal to shoot them.
“Let’s not talk about it,” said Mrs de la Haye firmly. “What are your plans for getting home, Michael? Do you know yet?”
“I don’t think they can,” said Mr de la Haye. “Transport is still an absolute mess. In fact, my advice to you is to just to go ahead and register as staying indefinitely.”
“Surely not,” said her father.
Mr de la Haye leaned forward with enthusiasm. “No, I really think it’s the best plan. You want to get your ration books. Then you won’t be caught out by the shortages. I mean, it’s not like they’ll stop you from leaving if you do manage to get an earlier flight out, is it?”
“Alistair will be happy to help you out, won’t he?” contributed Mrs de la Haye. “Why don’t you take them along tomorrow?”
“Of course, Mother. But I don’t think it’ll be open on New Year’s Day.”
“It reopens on the 3rd,” said Peter, helpfully.
“Then take them along on the 3rd,” said Mrs de la Haye with a sigh.
“Thank you,” said their father to Mrs de la Haye, not Alistair. “That’s very kind.”
Beth judged that was her chance to try get Peter alone. “By the way, Peter, do you have an old warm pull-over I can borrow? I couldn’t bring much clothing, and it’s been colder here than I expected.”
Peter frowned. Had this been a miscalculation? Beth supposed that Peter had just moved. Were all his things deep in boxes he couldn’t find anymore?
“I can lend you something,” said Catherine. “I’m sure I have something that will suit you. In fact, why don’t we grab some other things you might need?”
“Oh,” said Beth. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I was just hoping for some old something that Peter isn’t wearing anymore.”
Beth laid emphasis on Peter’s name. She even tried winking. Peter didn’t notice.
“No inconvenience at all,” said Catherine. “I should have decluttered months ago. Come on, let’s go look. Calley, do you want to come with?”
Fifteen minutes later, Beth and Calley were back with entire shopping bags full of clothing. Clothing, that, to be perfectly honest, they both desperately needed. Catherine was being very nice, Beth told herself firmly. It wasn’t Catherine’s fault she was unintentionally foiling Beth’s plans, and making Beth feel like a beggar in the process. Beth would have another chance to get Peter alone.
They were redirected to the other room were ‘the children could play games’. The children meant Alistair, Catherine and Peter as well as Beth and the twins. The games meant poker – Texas hold ’em. Beth knew the rules, of course, but she hated it. She was reasonable enough at playing the cards, but she was hopelessly incompetent at playing the other people, and she knew it. Peter and Oakley were keen, however, so that’s what they played. Two things became apparent to Beth very quickly. The first was that Alistair was far and away the best player there. The second was that he didn’t want the rest of the table to realise that.
Beth didn’t see any harm in Alistair giving the twins the occasional helping hand, but she couldn’t help but drop a few hints for Peter. After a particularly blunt finesse, Beth said, “very tricky, Mister de la Haye.”
“Actually,” said Catherine, “It’s Captain de la Haye, as of two months ago.”
“You’re in the military?” Beth asked
“Is that so surprising?” replied Alistair.
Beth tried to find an explanation that wasn’t as insulting as her real thoughts.
Alistair smiled. “My grandfather is the old-fashioned sort and believes in serving in the military before going into politics. I’m following his lead. And besides, you know that old joke – at least being entitled to a uniform gives you something to wear at your wedding.”
No, Beth did not know that joke. She nodded and smiled anyway.
Alistair continued, “It isn’t just desperate people who join the military.”
“I thought they’d called everyone in from holiday to deal with the infection crisis,” said Beth, and Alistair let her pretend that was what she had been reacting to.
“One of those fortunate co-incidences,” he explained. “I’m on post-operational leave, and the decision has been made to withdraw from the post I was originally supposed to be transferring to. So currently, there’s no-one to summon me back to service. I’m taking full advantage of it until someone finds my paperwork again.”
“We’re withdrawing?” asked Oakley. “We’re not losing, are we?”
“Who are we at war with at the moment, again?” asked Calley.
“No, and no-one,” officially. “We’re withdrawing from most our international peace-keeping concerns until the current crisis has been contained. The health and safety of our own people has to take priority.”
Beth knew what he really meant. The military would still be shooting at people. Just now, it would be their own citizens rather than foreigners.
Wanting to shift the conversation, Beth turned to Catherine. “Are you also in the military?”
“Oh, no. I’m getting my doctorate. The effects of regional autonomy on public order.”
That meant less than nothing to Beth and attempts to explain just made it worse. Beth was left with the vague impression that Catherine was on a more modern path to politics. Pines – meaning the university, not the island – was apparently a well-known destination for certain types of family who were heavily invested in that regional autonomy that Catherine was studying. All of that was said with such a heavy implication that Beth should know what Catherine really meant that Beth wasn’t willing to admit she had absolutely no idea.
Alistair turned to Peter. “And how is your PHD going? Industrial Sociology, wasn’t it?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Peter replied.
Did Peter mean that was it was going well, or going badly? Not even Beth could tell from that statement, and she listened to Peter complain about his work on a regular basis.
“Do you have any plans on what you want to do after you get your doctorate?” asked Alistair.
Beth could just hear an unspoken And are those plans good enough to support my sister?
“I intend to stay in research,” said Peter. “I want to make a difference to the world.”
“Have your name in history books?”
“Exactly.”
“And how is that going for you?”
Alistair’s tone was just innocent enough to be deniable, but Beth didn’t buy it for a second.
“I’m working on it,” said Peter without any defensiveness. “It’s a bit of a political game, behind the scenes. You have to know the right people to get introduced to the right researcher or placed on the right team. I have a late start, there, but I’m catching up.”
“Didn’t you say your old roommate, What’s-his-name Luce, was invited to join that team in South America? Does he have family connections?”
Beth clenched one hand under the table. Alistair was verging on being cruel.
“Some people just get lucky,” explained Peter, “and his luck was insane. You see, the person who was supposed to go came down with hepatitis. Francis just happened to have all his visas in order.”
“What a pity they didn’t ask you if you could get your visas in order,” said Alistair.
That was enough. Beth wasn’t just let this happen right in front of her.
“Is the military a pure meritocracy? Entirely free of personal connections and nepotism?” she asked pointedly. “Or is it difficult to notice when you’re already on the correct side of that privilege?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Beth,” said Peter, “Don’t start with that. Forgive her, Alistair. You remember how kids get when they’ve just started university. Think they know everything.”
Beth was almost spluttering in indignation. Alistair grinned and raised a drink in her direction, which did not make her feel better. She took some calming breaths. If Peter didn’t want Beth defending him, then she supposed that was entirely his own choice. But she had no interest in sitting there and listening to it. Beth stated playing to lose.
And failing.
It shouldn’t have been a difficult task, but every time she was on the verge of losing her entire stake, she would somehow manage to win enough to continue playing. After the third time, she was outright glaring at Alistair. Stop helping me. She could swear that he smirked back at her, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. Beth was forced to control her own expression before Peter noticed and said something again. That was it. She was done with subtlety. The next time Peter was vibrating with excitement, Beth went directly all-in. Beth could see Alistair hesitate. Nope, not even he could have some plan to salvage this. As the river flipped, Beth decisively folded, not even waiting for her turn. Beth retreated to the other side of the room even as Peter raked in his winnings.
Her reader was fully charged, so Beth could entertain herself just fine. Beth re-read a favourite half-heartedly, waiting for Peter to drop out so she could grab him. It would be private enough. The twins were the next to be pushed out of the game, but they were successfully redirected to a jigsaw puzzle. Beth waited. She double tapped her reader to keep the clock visible. Time was getting later and later, and still, Peter was playing. At five minutes to midnight, Beth was about to recommend they postpone the rest of the game. Then the poker table burst into a mixture of groans, whoops, and boos. Beth came over to see all the chips had been consolidated into a single heap.
“All done?” asked Beth.
“I won,” announced Peter proudly.
“Just in time for the countdown, too,” said Beth. She raised an eyebrow in Alistair’s direction, and, this time, she was sure. He smirked back at her. Bastard.
“Congratulations,” she said to Peter.
There was no point in ruining his feeling of accomplishment, even if it did mean letting Alistair get away with it.
The two groups merged. Mrs de la Haye handed out champagne flutes of prosecco and grape juice, as appropriate, and they stood watching the television. All the official shows had been cancelled, so it was just a number on the screen overlaying b-roll of fireworks.
“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!”
They all exchanged hugs and well-meaning but improbable wishes for the future.
“Grab the clothes, Beth, Calley,” said Sophie, gathering her own handbag without sitting down. “Once again, we are so grateful for them, Catherine. It was very gracious of you. We’ll get this back to you as soon as we have a chance to buy some more.”
“Really, don’t worry about it,” said Catherine. “I’m not using them anyway.”
“We’re leaving already?” asked Beth.
She still hadn’t spoken to Peter. But Sophie looked determined, and the de la Hayes didn’t show any great desire to convince them to stay. Beth couldn’t even argue they had a poker game they still needed to finish. In her desperation, she considered making the process even simpler and just straight up handing the reader over to Peter. Recommend the book in front of everyone. She hesitated but then gave up on that idea. If she didn’t emphasise to Peter just how urgent it was, there was far too great a chance that he would say ‘yes’, but then never actually get around to it. It was far too important for that. She hadn’t even had a chance to read it herself.
“I’m afraid so. It isn’t good for the twins to stay up too late, and we’ve all had a very rough few days. Calley, Oakley, say your goodbyes.”
They obediently did so, leaving Beth no chance but to do likewise. It was fine, Beth told herself. She and Peter would have all the time in the world to talk. It wasn’t that urgent.
They were soon ‘home’ and bustled off to bed. Perhaps she had napped too long that afternoon, but Beth found herself wide awake. She picked up her phone to write up cards on the de la Hayes so she could remember the key details. After that, she could not resist anymore. She quietly set her phone back down on the bedside table and picked up her reader. She’d just read a little. After all, it would be silly to wait on reading it just because she hadn’t spoken to Peter yet. In fact, if she read it first, then perhaps she could have a rough plan about what to do when they did talk. Just a quick read, until she felt tired.
