You couldn’t blame her, after all. You throw two fish into the same bowl for eight hours a day, with sporadic visits from schoolchildren serving as the only other form of interaction? It’s no big surprise that they might begin to consider each other the best possible specimens humanity had available. That said, it did seem that Vera could be harboring some real feelings for my brother, begging the question: Was the feeling mutual?
The young manager of the crumbling establishment was overjoyed to lead us across the library towards the reading room, where we found Michel alone at a table with his nose buried in a book. Despite Michel being the only soul in the room, Vera still whispered to him as though the place were full of visitors. Libraries must be like churches, I thought to myself, where believer and nonbeliever alike must employ the same hushed tones.
My brother looked up in shock to find his two sisters staring back at him. He promptly closed the book he had been reading and returned it to its proper place before coming back to join us.
“We were just in the area and thought we’d stop by to give you a hug,” Maggie declared.
“Ah, that’s odd. You always tend to avoid our hugs. But, by all means.” With that, Michel extended two stiff arms and stood awkwardly awaiting a hug from his sister.
“I meant that . . . figuratively,” Maggie explained. “Come join us for a cup of tea. If you’re able to get away, that is.”
Vera cut in to answer on his behalf. “Of course he can. It’s a particularly slow day. Go on, Michel,” she said, her cheeks once more suffering a mini roseola attack. “I can close the library on my own.”
“Ah. But I do still have a few books to put away.”
“Oh, I’m sure those old books would be delighted to spend the night on top of each other . . . I mean, you know, in piles,” she said, the reddish hue intensifying by the second.
With that, Michel reached out and shook Vera’s hand, jostling it awkwardly like an old bike pump. “In that case, thank you very much,” he said. “I’ll be sure to work a bit extra to make up for it tomorrow.”
“Thank you. That won’t be necessary. Have a lovely evening, Michel,” she added, her cheeks full-on scarlet now.
Since hushed tones seemed to be official library policy, I bent over to Maggie and whispered in her ear, pointing out Vera’s behavior. Maggie rolled her eyes and led Michel out.
The three of us ducked into a tearoom. It was on the ground floor of a modest yellow-brick building dating back to the seventies, its bay window covered in posters and fliers. In a neighborhood that seemed especially slow to change with the times, the establishment was a vestige of the suburb’s industrial past. With no table service, Maggie went up to the counter and ordered Earl Grey with a heap of scones, generously leaving me the opportunity to pay the bill. The three of us sat down on plastic chairs around a Formica table.
“Has something happened to Dad?” asked Michel in a calm, measured tone.
I quickly assured him Dad was fine. Michel sipped his tea and turned to Maggie. “Are you here to announce you’re marrying Fred?”
“Come on! Just because we’ve stopped by to see you doesn’t mean there’s some kind of major drama afoot,” she said.
Michel pondered this for a moment, then cracked an exaggerated smile to let us know he liked her choice of words.
“I figured, for once I get to stay in London for more than two seconds,” I added. “So, why not come see my brother? And I invited Maggie to come along, too.”
“So, Michel,” asked Maggie, cutting straight to it. “Did Mum happen to tell you a secret, one just for you?”
“That’s a peculiar question. I haven’t spoken to her in ages, and neither have you.”
“I meant . . . you know, before.”
“Let’s say that she did,” he said, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t be able to tell you about it. A logical point, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not asking you what she said, just if she told you a secret.”
“No,” Michel confirmed sternly.
“See?” said Maggie, throwing a smug look my way.
“She didn’t tell me a secret; she told me many,” Michel clarified. Maggie and I looked at each other. “Am I allowed to have another scone?” he asked, and Maggie slid the plate over.
“Why would she tell you and not us?”
“Because she knew I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Even to your sisters?”
“Most of all to my sisters. When the two of you fight, you’ll say any thought that comes into your head, even things that aren’t true. While you both have many virtues, of course, knowing how to control what you say when you’re angry is not one of them.” Michel seemed pleased with his well-reasoned point.
I placed a soft hand on Michel’s forearm and looked deep into his eyes with nothing but tenderness and love.
“You know that we miss her just as much as you do.”
“Considering there’s no specific metric to prove such a thing, would it be safe to assume that’s just a manner of speaking?”
“No, Michel,” I continued. “I mean what I’m saying. She was our mother as much as she was yours.”
“Indeed.”
“If you know something that we don’t, it’s not exactly fair to keep it to yourself, do you see what we mean?” Maggie pleaded.
Michel looked my way, unsure. I nodded to tell him it was okay to talk, but all he did was dip another scone into his tea and devour it in two huge bites.