The Crane Wife(35)
Author: Patrick Ness

‘Is it wrong for me to be upset that George is finally out-earning me now that we’re divorced?’

‘It’s been nine years, Ma.’

Clare sighed. ‘Feels so much shorter.’

‘How’s Hank?’

‘Oh, you. I’m not jealous, and I don’t suddenly want him back now that he’s rich. George is nice, but he’s nice all the way through. I need someone who’ll push back or I’ll just turn into a bully, and who wants that? I’m just surprised is all. Surprised but pleased. Yes, pleased.’

‘You sure?’

‘Darling, wouldn’t you want to be the person who’d made someone do that well? Wouldn’t that be a nice feeling?’

‘Hank’s loaded.’

‘He was loaded when I met him. I get no credit.’

‘But you’re not jealous.’

‘Stop with the teasing. You say this Kumiko is lovely, and I believe you. I’m happy for him. For them. She’s lucky to have him.’

‘And he’s lucky to have her,’ Amanda said firmly.

And wondered for a moment exactly what she meant.

When she was at home, she hung the tile over the television, not for any other reason than that there was a hook there already for an old French movie poster that had been there so long she almost literally no longer saw it. She took it down and hung the tile in its place.

‘What is it?’ JP asked the first time, wide-eyed.

She went to answer, but everything suddenly seemed too complicated to explain in terms of animal characters, so she just said, ‘Art.’

‘Okay,’ JP accepted solemnly, and didn’t even launch into the avalanche of questions she had braced herself for. He merely looked at it for a long, quiet moment, and then he said, ‘Can I watch Wriggles in the Jazz Age?’

Amanda stared at him for a confused moment. ‘Stone Age.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Yeah, you know how to work the thingy.’

As JP grabbed the array of remotes required to bring up the downloaded Wriggles on the telly, Amanda watched the tile, watched the bird and the mountain, thinking that maybe they were Kumiko and her father and then again, maybe not. She also thought that, though it was hardly bigger than a dinner plate, it was also somehow bigger than the room, bigger than her whole life, and the more she looked, the more it threatened to spill over from its world into hers.

And as time passed, she never actually got around to mentioning the tile to either of her parents. From the things he said, it didn’t seem as if Kumiko had told George about it either. Nor did JP ever bring it up to him, and while she certainly wasn’t going to ask her wee little son to lie, somehow, without her even trying, it was never an issue. It became a secret they’d all wordlessly agreed to keep.

So she just kept looking at it.

In those same weeks, even before she caught the glimpse of the tile, Rachel had grown strangely friendlier.

‘You want to join us for lunch?’ she’d asked one day, Mei in tow.

Mei was astonished. ‘Really?’

‘Really?’ Amanda echoed.

‘Girls in the office?’ Rachel said. ‘Need to support each other? Not let stupid stuff get in the way?’

‘Really?’ Mei said again.

‘Yes, really,’ Rachel snapped. ‘We’re all grown-ups here?’

‘Thanks,’ Amanda said, ‘but I’ve got plans.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Rachel said, and off they went.

But that hadn’t been the end of it.

‘Thought we might go to the cinema tomorrow?’ Rachel said, appearing on a Friday morning. ‘Make fun of Anne Hathaway’s accent? Then knock back a few cocktails?’

Amanda had watched her, suspiciously. ‘Is that an invitation?’

Rachel’s face made an angry, scoffing shape but quickly recovered. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘how many times do I need to say I’m sorry?’

Amanda opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. ‘Once?’

‘So? The cinema?’

‘I’ve got JP–’

‘No worries.’ And off she went again.

It was weird, and in a way worse than when they were just friends who hated each other. Rachel was as unreasonably demanding as ever about getting work in, but the invitations kept coming, until finally she’d relented and gone for lunch at the latest gourmet burger chain.

‘Do you think this is actually Emmental?’ Amanda asked, lifting up the bun.

‘I can’t believe they put cheese that fancy on a burger,’ Mei said.

‘Fancy?’ Rachel sneered. ‘Who says “fancy”?’

Mei looked slightly confused. ‘I just did?’

‘How’s it going with Wally?’ Amanda asked, taking a bite of the burger.

‘Wally is like a huge prick?’ Rachel said, cutting her own veggie burger in two.

‘Is a huge prick,’ Amanda said, ‘or has?’

Rachel slammed down her knife and fork, startling everyone, even nearby tables. ‘You know what?’ she nearly shouted. ‘I’m a good person!’

A quiet fell over their section of the restaurant. Mei looked at Amanda, then back at Rachel. ‘Well,’ Mei said, ‘I mean, you’re okay–’

‘Who says you’re not a good person?’ Amanda asked, actually interested, though not so interested that she failed to take another bite of burger.

‘I know I’m difficult? All right? But I think you have to be? To be a woman in business? And to make it in life and not be a, be a, be a–’

‘Chump?’ Mei suggested, sipping from her pistachio milkshake.

‘Yes, not be a chump! I thought that was the whole point?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Amanda asked.

Rachel sighed heavily, and there suddenly seemed to be actual tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t you just get tired of having to hate everybody?’

‘I don’t hate everybody,’ Amanda said.

‘Yes, you do!’ Rachel said. ‘You complain about everybody and everything! Like, all the time?’

‘Well . . .’ Amanda sat back. ‘Not everybody.’

‘Who do you like? Tell me.’

Rachel’s insistence was so nakedly hungry, Amanda answered almost as if to defend herself. ‘I love my son so much I sometimes miss him even when he’s sitting right there.’

‘Oh, me, too,’ Mei sympathised. ‘My daughter–’