I flashed my sister an admonishing look. How could she be so nasty and still be the one with the boyfriend, whereas it seemed that I, being nothing less than kindness incarnate, was doomed to be single forever? Just one more mystery to unravel.
“You want a lift, Elby?” Fred offered, but Maggie snagged the tea towel he was folding straight out of his hands and threw it in the washing hamper.
“Insider tip: nobody but Michel is allowed to butcher my sister’s name like that. She hates it. Anyway, I need some air, so I’ll walk her to the train.”
Maggie grabbed a sweater and led me by the arm out into the street. The streetlamps washed the pavement with an orange glow, illuminating row upon row of modest brick-built Victorian houses, mainly two, and never more than three, stories high.
As we crossed the junction into the shopping district, everything became brighter and livelier. Maggie waved to the Syrian owner of the twenty-four-hour corner shop. There was a launderette next to a kebab joint, followed by an Indian restaurant that could seat no more than two at a time. A former video store was entirely boarded up and covered with posters, most of which had been ripped to shreds. Ahead, we plunged back into darkness as we strolled along the gates of a park. Soon after, the air was filled with the metallic, urine-smelling odor of the platform, which cleared as we entered the station.
“Something wrong?” Maggie asked.
“Why do you stay with Fred when you spend all your time pecking away at him? What’s the point?”
“Pecking away. You know, sometimes, I ask myself where it is you get all these expressions from. Anyway, what’s the use in putting up with a man, if you can’t peck away at him from time to time?”
“If that’s how relationships go, maybe I should just stay single.”
“Ah, I wasn’t aware you had a choice in the matter.”
“Touché! Thanks—only a major bitch would say something like that.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Anyway, on a more important note, we failed pretty miserably at getting anything out of Dad tonight, huh?”
“Well, at least we didn’t have to slave away in the kitchen. And we got some good laughs out of it. What do you think got into him tonight with the whole wedding thing? You think he’s already itching for grandkids?” I suggested.
Maggie stopped short and began to hum under her breath.
“Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a tiger by the toe. If he squeals, let him go, eenie meenie miney mo!” Maggie’s finger landed on me. “Sorry, sister. Looks like you’re stuck with it. Personally, I have zero desire to have kids.”
“With Fred or just in general?”
“At least we were able to answer the burning question of the night: Mum was as broke as ever when she got back together with Dad.”
“Maybe. But the whole night did raise a load of new questions,” I countered.
“No need to make a fuss, in any event. Mum gave Dad the push when they were young and then came back ten years later with her tail between her legs.”
“Seems to me the truth may be a bit more complicated than that.”
“Ah. Maybe you should give up traveling and devote yourself to sentimental investigative journalism.”
“Good lord, your sarcasm never fails to slay me. I’m talking about Mum and Dad here, about the over-the-top weirdness of the letter I received, all the shadowy parts of their histories. The lies they told us. You don’t have the slightest interest in learning more about your own parents? Or are you too busy thinking about yourself?”
“Well, touché right back at you, Elby. Only a real bitch would say something like that.”
“You know, we could also interpret Mum showing up penniless as actually corroborating the poison-pen’s story.”
“Sure. Because everyone who’s penniless must have walked away from some massive fortune.”
“Like you’d even know. You’ve never been penniless, thanks to our parents constantly coddling you.”
“Ah, poor Rigby. Should everybody join in, or you want to keep singing that same sad old song all by yourself? Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. Last out of the cradle, first in line for pampering, the whole family always bends over backwards just for her. You know, don’t forget who has the studio in London and who lives in the suburbs an hour away. Don’t forget who goes gallivanting across the globe and who stays behind to take care of Dad and Michel.”
“I don’t want to fight, Maggie. I just want your help in getting to the bottom of this. Whoever sent this letter did it with a purpose. Even if everything in it is completely baseless, there has to be some kind of motive behind all this. So: Who sent us the letter, and why?”
“Sent you the letter! Don’t forget, you weren’t even supposed to tell me about it to begin with.”