‘Why wait?’ The seat belt pinged back into its casing. ‘It’s going to happen anyway. Might as well make it interesting.’ From the back seat I saw her fingers move towards the door handle.
Brian’s free hand had reached for her, his fingers clenched tight around her arm. ‘Calm the fuck down, Suzanne. Sit down.’ I watched his other hand lift from the wheel and scramble at the buttons beside it, locking her door from his side. I was too scared to move, clutching my seat belt tight to me as if it would save me when we got steamrolled by a lorry.
‘Get off me!’ Suzanne tried to wrench herself free from him, pulling at the door handle. ‘Stop trying to act like you care.’
Brian looked properly at her. ‘Of course I—’ The car swerved, a dozen horns sounded. Despite myself, a strangled shriek of panic escaped my throat. ‘Shit.’ He let go of Suzanne, put both hands on the wheel and guided the car across the left lane into the hard shoulder.
When we stopped, I realized just how much my heart was hammering. My hands, released from their death grip on my seat belt, were shaking.
But it still wasn’t over.
In the sudden silence of the stopped car, I saw Suzanne’s panicky rage flame. ‘Open my fucking door, Brian.’
‘Just calm down.’
Suzanne’s fist slammed against the door frame. ‘Open it.’
Instead, Brian opened his own door and got out, closing it behind him and hurrying around the car to open Suzanne’s. He caught her as she lunged out, his hand closing securely over her arm, pulling her away from the road to the grass beyond. I opened my door and watched them argue, listening to the words that carried in the wind.
‘Why won’t you just let me . . . ?’
‘Worried about you . . .’
‘I just hate . . .’
‘What about . . . ?’
I let my feet touch the tarmac, my hand on the open door, wondering whether to go over and intervene. I didn’t really think Brian would ever hurt Suzanne, but how could I know for sure? What exactly was my role here? Because, surely, I had one.
After a few minutes watching the argument escalate – Suzanne getting more worked up, Brian easing off, trying to calm her down – I forced myself to slide out of the car and make my way over to them. I paused a few metres off, thrusting my hands deep into my pockets. Brian glanced at me.
‘Why are you even here?’ Suzanne was yelling at him, seemingly unaware of my approach. ‘You’re useless. You’re so fucking useless.’
‘You’re right,’ Brian said. His voice was calm now. Controlled. ‘I am useless. I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ Suzanne’s face screwed up, her hands clenching into fists. ‘No, that’s not OK. You can’t do that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Brian said again. He held up his hands, palm up, away from his chest. ‘You’re hurting, and I’m sorry.’
Suzanne bridged the gap between them and smacked her closed fist against his chest. ‘I hate you.’
‘I know. It’s OK.’
Another punch. ‘I hate you.’
‘I know, Zannie.’
‘Shut up.’ She pummelled his chest, her frustration almost palpable in the air. He let her, holding out his hands away from her, waiting.
I could see what he thought he was doing. I recognized this moment from the earnest, moralizing TV shows I’d watched that took on an Issue and solved it in forty minutes. This scene was ubiquitous – the unhappy person taking out their frustration on someone who loved them, before collapsing in tears into their chest, all that rage spilled out, purged. The healing always came next.
But that wasn’t what would happen here. I had no idea if Brian could see it too, but as I watched Suzanne smacking her hands ineffectually against her brother I saw it clearly. He was steady and solid, so together and unbroken. Her fists, her shouting, her fury, had no impact on him, not really. Nothing she could throw at him would dent or bruise him. She, in contrast, was so unbearably fragile. A house of cards on the verge of collapsing. She’d already been pummelled by closed fists and someone else’s rage, and it had broken her. All Brian was doing was forcing her to see this unbridgeable difference between them.
She did break down, of course. The tears took over and she pressed herself against him, letting him settle his arms around her shoulders. I heard him saying, ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ and I wondered how he could lie like that. Why did people do that? Where did that impulse come from, to tell someone so clearly far from it that things were OK?
‘Let’s go,’ Brian said, quietly but firmly. Still with one arm around Suzanne’s shoulder, he started walking back towards the car. He met my eye and smiled reassuringly, understanding and secure.
In the car, Suzanne curled herself into her seat, facing away from us both. We were all silent as Brian eased out of the hard shoulder and into the traffic. After a few minutes, Suzanne’s tentative, shaky voice broke the silence. ‘Caddy, tell me something good.’
I thought she’d forgotten I was there.
‘In Iceland,’ I said, keeping my voice light and steady, ‘there’s a waterfall that always has a rainbow in front of it. Like, guaranteed. You can go and stand under it. Or at the end of it, you know, like a leprechaun.’