The Night Book Read Free

when they used to fight, jealous after parties, or irritated after a boring encounter with in-laws, yelling in bed, tearing strips off each other, before making up in the morning with blistering sexual energy.
    She put her hand over her mouth, tears welling up. ‘You don’t want her. You never did.’
    ‘That’s just bullshit.’ For a moment he hated her; there were some things he could never make her understand. Then he was sorry, and put his arms around her.
    She said into his chest, ‘I’m going to call the police.’
    ‘What?’ He pushed her away.
    ‘About the suitcase. It’s obviously stolen stuff, and there are all those horrible magazines.’
    ‘All right, do that. Tell them to pick up the bag and then let’s forget it. We’ll work on getting her to stay in her bed, that’s the only real problem.’
     
    He called her Elkie. LK. Little Kid. She was tough. The children went to an inner-city school that was full of rough kids from the local housing estate. At first, all three were teased for their accents and their unstylish provincial clothes. Claire especially was mocked for her haircut and her boyish shoes. Elke took action. She got Karen and Simon to take them to Oxford Street one weekend and fit them out with shoes with heels and the right style of jeans. Claire was reluctant and miserable, but Elke breezed out of the changing room looking like a local. She got Karen to take her to the hairdresser, and had her hair layered and flicked. She started to round out her Kiwi vowels.
    Claire came home in tears. She had worn her new London shoes with thick striped socks, and had been mercilessly teased, the kids surrounding her in the playground, chanting and laughing.
    Elke said, ‘Well why did you wear those socks?’
    Claire turned on her, furious and miserable. She shouted, ‘Adopted bitch.’
    ‘Claire!’
    Elke leaned against the door, trim and pretty in her outfit. She had bought herself a cheap silver chain with a little strawberry on it, inlaid with a smiley face. She looked expressionlessly at Simon.
    He went to the bedroom, where Claire was crying angrily. The provincial socks were lying on the bed. Her face was round and red and hot. She had put on weight and her legs were shaped like his — not slim like Karen’s, but heavy and ungainly. Her hair stood up in dowdy spirals.
    He sat beside her and crushed her in his arms; he wantedto protect her from everything. The fact that she was plain and awkward and miserable made him burn with love for her. She had set out with high hopes that morning, wearing the new shoes and the gaudy, naively coloured socks. Even he could have told her they looked wrong. His poor, clever, innocent girl.
    Elke sidled in. She said, ‘I’ll tell you what to wear, then they’ll leave you alone.’
    Claire’s face blazed with hatred. Simon frowned over her head, silently telling Elke to leave it for now.
    Elke shrugged and went off to the games room with Marcus.
    Karen came in and sat down on the bed, sighing. ‘Claire. That thing you said to Elke. You mustn’t.’
    Claire made a growling sound, her head in the pillow. She said, ‘You like Elke because she’s cute and pretty. Everyone likes her more because she looks nice.’
    Karen said, ‘That’s not true. We love all three of you equally. Don’t we, Simon.’
    ‘Don’t lie. Fuck off,’ Claire shouted.
    Karen’s voice went up a notch. ‘Don’t swear. This jealousy, Claire, it’s something you have to conquer. It’s something bad in yourself .’
    Simon reacted against Karen’s tone; it was the hectoring note she struck when she was ‘dealing with a problem’. It was the strict voice a little girl would use when telling off her doll. He saw how it made Claire bereft, hearing that her feelings were something bad in herself .
    He said to Karen, ‘You go and check on the others.’
    He soothed her out of the room, then sat with Claire and told her how much he loved her. It seemed wrong, indecent, to