Margot said, Oi, and Ari told Gabriel to pipe low. Ambrose and Kenzilea exchanged glances, trying to see each other as grandparents and not disliking the view. Tamar took four different pills from four different pillboxes, washed them down with some green juice but didn’t seem much calmer afterward.
Harriet was aware of Rémy’s personal mission to wind up the whole wide world, so her heart didn’t skip a single beat when he told his family that he’d felt love at first sight. He walked Harriet and Margot down to the driveway, and Tamar Kercheval followed them. She held the taxi door before Rémy could close it, and she bent down to look into Harriet’s eyes. As for Tamar’s own eyes—they bulged. A swollen vein fluttered across her temple, and her words came out in fits and starts—what she was saying was far less disquieting than the overall impression she gave of being about to spew intestinal tissue: So what now—what is this—can’t wait a little longer for a passport so you’re having a passport baby? Or is it that you think you’ll get more from us if you join the family? Thought—we were taking you in—but we—were the ones—completely taken in by—you—little tramp—after all we’ve given you—how—how dare you try to get more!
Rémy began to reply, Margot began to reply (with nuclear asperity), but Harriet had her own answer. She said, I’m sorry you were tricked, Tamar. You probably feel poorer now. Not money-wise—I know you didn’t mind about that. It’s because you believed in something that turned out not to be real. That’s what happened, but I wasn’t the one who tricked you. Trickery occurs all the time, all the time . . . people exchange fake money for things of genuine value, people spend their life savings on lies. Let each person involved in those exchanges consider their losses and gains, the benefits and drawbacks of trusting others and gaining the trust of others, but as for you, Tamar, don’t you dare say it’s trust that’s made you poorer today . . . first of all, what was the source of that trust? Wasn’t it the value you placed on my obedience? Isn’t that what you thought you’d bought . . . affectionate obedience? Somebody who wouldn’t feel any more or any less than you wanted her to feel, someone who’d love but not dare to—whatever it turns out I’ve dared to do. But really you shouldn’t be surprised this happened; this is what you get for placing people in your debt in such a way that they can never repay it!
Of course she didn’t say that. This is a protest Harriet only has the words to make seventeen years later—at the time nobody but her friend Gretel could have seen to the bottom of her gingerbread heart and expressed these things verbally. Harriet’s actual answer at the time wasn’t so bad when you take into consideration her age and her not being a changeling and her being face-to-face with the wrath of Tamar. Harriet mumbled something about how she and Margot had invested faith in the Kerchevals too, a barely audible reminder that the Lees had believed without seeing and come to live with Ari without knowing what he would really be like, what any member of that family would really be like. Harriet might have spoken a bit louder if she hadn’t had the guilty awareness of not having tried her best to be worthy of the generosity shown her. She’d tried, but not her best, and had been hoping to settle the balance with gratitude, but there hadn’t been enough gratitude either . . .
Tamar said nothing, but took a couple of steps back. Margot, correctly guessing that this was no retreat, that Tamar was in fact preparing to dive into the back of the taxi with them and make them fight for their lives, reached across Harriet and pulled the door shut as soon as its handle was released.
Harriet hasn’t seen or spoken to Tamar Kercheval since that day, nor has she seen or spoken to Ambrose, Kenzilea, or Gabriel. A minor correction: Harriet does see Gabriel in nightmares—the first came after Ari’s offhand mention that Gabriel had been sent down from Oxford; Ari seemed rather pleased by this, as this made his son a member of a club even more exclusive than the one comprised of students who’d been admitted to the university. Ari mentions Gabriel from time to time and then Harriet has a nightmare, but they don’t really alarm her anymore—Gabriel Kercheval runs her a bubble bath and makes her lie in the bubble bath forever, that sort of thing. She only thinks of these as nightmares because she’d rather not have such dreams, or see him in them, or something.
Harriet and Margot made their way to London town, where a super-duper lucrative project of Margot’s was already in the works, and where Harriet had her kid, the kid she kept by her side when at home because that kid definitely didn’t want anybody seeing or hearing what she was up to and worked out how to turn the baby monitor off as soon as her mother left the room. On school trips Perdita Lee was the first to remove and discard any hat or sticker that linked her to the other kids before scampering off into the depths of the zoo/park/museum . . . and the manner in which the girl scampered was analogous to the CEO strut depicted on cinematic screens. Cue the gravelly voice-over: Rushing headlong into obscurity was her forte . . . in that field she had no rivals . . .
This same kid took and placidly donned Harriet’s bachelor’s and master’s degree hats without so much as a “congratulations” at both ceremonies, though she did consider turning thirty a notable achievement and wrote in that year’s birthday card: Good news—past the age of thirty there’s a dramatic decrease to your chances of being murdered by a serial killer. This was the child named Perdita, who didn’t grow up as a Kercheval, so she never discovered whether hers was a face that said “Save” or a face that said “Spend.” Where the Kerchevals are differentiated by “Save” and “Spend,” the Lees are “Rent vs. Buy.” Margot prefers to live in property that she owns, but whenever Harriet reads or hears anything about mortgages, she can’t help but hear it all said in the voice of Clio Kercheval, and she dares not exchange something as weird as money for something as crucial as permanent shelter—that’s a wicked prank she won’t fall for. So she just makes sure there’s always a spare bedroom Margot can have whenever the truth about her mortgage comes out, or in the event of somebody showing up with a contract that predates Margot’s and seems to prove that the bearer of the contract paid even more for the place than Margot has; perhaps a second antagonist might also appear with a claim to the land upon which the house is built . . .
Ari Kercheval says he will buy a hat shop and eat it if any of that happens. To this day he’s refused to leave Harriet’s life, and she’s stopped trying to shake him off. “You’re our good deed,” he tells her. “You’re our good deed, and I’m your benefactor, and nothing changes that.” He may be right, though talking to him can be bad for her nerves, and for Margot’s. So many lies of omission, however cheerful the conversation.
And as for Rémy—
Rémy came to the antiques shop in Whitby too, all those years ago, before London and Perdita. Harriet was standing in for Margot again that afternoon, and Rémy didn’t make a game of this visit; he came straight to the shop counter and asked her when she was leaving. She told him, knowing he would be glad not to have to keep watching over her.
Come with me for a sec, he said.
I’ve got to stay until six.
The clinic closes at five.
The . . . clinic?
Harriet. Be a bit wiser than you have been so far, OK? Choose freedom.
Freedom to do what you want. By the way, why are you “advising” me to—?
It’s hard to describe what’s going on at home right now, but just think of it this way: The wrath of my dear Aunt T passeth all understanding—she neither gives nor hears any explanation, no matter what we do or say. As for a way that she might leave you alone if you have this kid . . . there is none. But I’m not only thinking of you. I’m saying: Why reproduce? Personally I’d be a lot easier in my mind if this branch of the Kerchevals just gets cut off altogether.