‘You think I don’t know that people suffer? That life is unfair, unequal?’
‘I don’t know what you know. But here’s what I think: that you want to convince me of something. That you want to talk to me and talk around what is true, circumnavigate whatever horror you prefer not to address. And I’m not here for that. I’ve got my own horrors.’
Marion made to leave.
‘There was a time,’ Hortensia said, ‘when you didn’t give a damn. I liked you much better when you didn’t care so much what I thought.’
‘Yes. I liked that time when I didn’t care. I liked that much better, too.’
SIXTEEN
MARION HAD NOT meant to eavesdrop and yet here she was, at the top of the stairs listening to what was clearly meant to be a private conversation.
‘God Almighty!’ Hortensia said, putting the phone down.
‘Is everything okay?’ Marion asked.
‘No, everything is not okay.’
‘You were shouting.’
‘This is my house. I can shout if I so wish. You want to know what that was? Here’s some nice juicy information for you. My husband had a lover.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Oh yes. And he had her for several years – that’s not the news, though. You know what he and his lover did? They made a baby and, what else, that baby is now a woman and heir to Peter’s inheritance. And I’m supposed to call her up and let her know that, so his money can go where he wished it to. In fact he wants me to meet her – can you imagine? And that person on the phone that you heard me, rightfully, shouting at is an idiot lawyer by the ridiculous name of Marx. I—’
‘Hortensia—’
‘No, let me finish. I am worn out. Between Peter and his cryptic will, you and your prodding, your Thelma-and-Louise bullshit, some woman somewhere with my husband’s blood running through her. I’ve …’ She walked and sat down. ‘It’s too much. I am – what are you doing?’
‘Just coming to stand a little closer.’
‘Well, don’t.’
They stayed quiet in the hallway.
‘That was supposed to be my child.’
‘Pardon?’
Hortensia was whispering and Marion had never heard that before.
‘That was my child.’
‘I’m not really—’
‘I was supposed to have children. Many.’
Marion’s legs felt tired, but there was only one chair in the hallway and Hortensia was sitting on it.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Many. And they come after me. A nursery of ghosts.’
‘Like a haunting?’
‘Every day.’
Marion bent down, her bum found the floor. She didn’t mind appearing inelegant. She stretched her legs out in front of her; they wouldn’t stay flat, hadn’t done so in many years.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You said. Did Max leave a will?’
‘He left a bill.’
Both women surprised themselves with laughter. They seemed startled, like newborn babies, surprised that a joke could live in such dark waters.
‘Seriously, though. You should read it. As if Peter … as if he … I don’t know, I actually don’t know what he was thinking.’
‘Do you know where the child is? Does he expect you to go out and find her?’
Hortensia shook her head. ‘It’s all there. Marx gave an email, a phone number.’
‘I don’t mean to … Tell me if it’s none of my business, but why do you think he put all this together like this, Peter?’
‘I can think of two reasons. One, because he hates me and wants to punish me. For what, I cannot imagine. Control the scene, boss me around?’
‘And two?’
‘Because he wants us to meet. He loves me and he loves her, and he’s sorry.’
‘Are you worried you’re doing the wrong thing?’
‘I want her – the child – to not exist. Why would I want to send her an email?’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’d do, either.’
‘But then I think: what if she’s destitute? I can’t imagine it – never knowing my own father, his love. What if this is her chance to know that he thought of her?’
Marion couldn’t help it when her jaw slackened. Hortensia, for just some seconds, resembled a soft-hearted woman; she could bake cookies and smile at Girl Scouts. It felt naked and made Marion uncomfortable. ‘I feel like I’m forcing you to talk.’
‘Oh, come off it.’