Invisible

‘Yeah,’ she says coolly, and pauses, as if he had been the one who had phoned and she is waiting to hear what he wants.

‘This is – I’m –’

‘Surprised?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Yes. You sound surprised,’ she confirms. There is a shade of an accent in her voice, ‘yis’ rather than ‘yes’.

‘Surprised and very pleased,’ he says. He stretches out a foot to push the door shut. ‘I thought I’d hear from your mother first.’

Stephanie gives a small grunt, perhaps of amusement. ‘Well, it’s me.’

‘After all this time.’

‘All this time,’ she copies.

‘So, how are you?’

‘I’m OK. How are you?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good.’

Having waited for her to say more, he prompts: ‘You didn’t sound altogether OK in your letter.’

‘I’m OK,’ she repeats expressionlessly, and again does not continue.

He makes a non-committal sound, hoping that she will speak. ‘You’re not, are you? Not really,’ he says at last.

She sighs loudly, then tells him: ‘We don’t get on. You spoke to her. You must have got the picture.’

‘Well, no. I don’t understand the situation. If the problem –’

‘The problem is that she’s who she is and he’s who he is and I’m who I am.’

‘Robert.’

‘The dentist. Yes.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met the man.’

‘What, never?’

‘Not ever.’

‘Count your blessings. I’m telling you. He’s dull. Dull dull dull.’

‘Dull isn’t so bad. One can live with dull. I don’t see why –’ ‘He’s worse than dull.

He’s dullness to the power of ten. Dullness de luxe. And she’s awful. They’re driving me mental.’

‘She’s not awful. Stephanie. She can be difficult. I know she can be difficult. I can be difficult. We all can be. But I don’t think she’s –’

‘But you wouldn’t know, would you?’

‘Well, I think –’

‘No,’ she persists with the aggression of a prosecutor, ‘you wouldn’t know. More than ten years ago you two split up.’

‘Yes.’

‘And a lot can change in that time.’

‘Of course.’

‘You ought to try living here. It’s a police state. A cross between a police state and the Ideal Home Exhibition. That’s exactly what it is. Everything by the book. Everything in its place. All friends to be vetted, all homework to be signed off. Probably got my room bugged.’

‘Stephanie.’

‘Wouldn’t put it past her. She opens my letters –’

‘That wasn’t good. We had words about it.’

‘A fucking outrage is what it was.’

‘Stephanie, please.’

‘Please what?’

‘Don’t use language like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘No, come on. We’re talking about your mother. There’s no need –’

‘We’re talking about my mother and you’re starting to sound like her.’

‘No, just tone it down a little. I want to understand, but abusing her doesn’t help.’

‘It helps me,’ she retorts.

A silence fills the line between them. ‘So did you talk to her?’ he asks. ‘Did you talk to your mother about coming down here?’

‘Oh yeah. We had a talk, as recommended.’

‘And?’