Part IV

CONSPIRACY TO BRIBE

50.

Joe

They’ve moved to the kitchen table. ‘That’s not fair. It’s ours. We can’t just give it to him – this … opportunist.’

‘Well, life’s not fair,’ Joe says with a stiff gesture, more an upward creaking movement of his shoulders than a shrug. ‘Will’s fucking dead. Hardly fair on him.’

Cathy winces. She has her face cupped in her hands, is gazing at him over the table. She’s flushed and sad-looking. ‘But – I mean. We’ve got to be sure. We can never take it back. And, whatever we do, Evan will know forever.’

All three of them ignore the piece of plaster sitting near Frannie’s doors, the redness blooming across Joe’s knuckles.

‘That’s just it,’ Frannie says. She’s wiping her already-clean worktops in huge circles. She’s always enjoyed cleaning, the same way Cathy enjoys work. Joe once asked how she was so good at it. He always leaves a tidemark of filth on his consulting table when he wipes it, and she ends up doing it for him. She had said, ‘The trick is to stop when it’s actually clean?’ and they’d got the giggles for ten full minutes.

‘What’s to stop him blackmailing us again?’ Joe says.

‘Nothing,’ Cathy says. They exchange a glance that Joe can’t read, can’t interpret, their identical eyes flashing in the dimness. Frannie starts removing hob rings and putting them in the sink, rolls up the sleeves of her striped top.

‘Do you need to do that now?’ Joe says irritably.

‘Do you need to punch my walls?’

‘Let her clean,’ Cathy says.

Frannie sprays something on to the hob. ‘I don’t want us to give away part of our business to Evan. He’s a lech. Fuck,’ she says, her voice louder, scrubbing hard at the splashback tiles behind her hob. ‘I can’t believe he’s doing this.’

‘We have no choice,’ Joe says again.

Cathy’s cheeks have gone even redder. She blows air out of the side of her mouth. ‘I agree.’ She gets another bottle of wine and pours everybody a glass without asking. Frannie ignores her.

‘We’re not giving it to him,’ Frannie says, standing there with one sleeve rolled up and a spray bottle of Flash in her hand like a gun. Something swoops in Joe’s stomach, like a dove has just taken off. ‘Really, I’m not giving it to him,’ she says again.

Annoyance rises up through Joe, replacing the horror of the image of his sister with the makeshift gun. He is suddenly irritated by everything about her. Her beautiful house. Her total disengagement with practising veterinary medicine even though everybody wanted her to. Her stupid mistake that landed them here.

‘You’re being an idealist,’ Joe says. ‘Life isn’t the fucking Green Party.’

Frannie’s eyes are wide, still standing there by her oven. ‘What?’ she says.

‘Who knows?’ Cathy says with a sigh.

‘Excuse me?’ Joe says.

‘I said who knows what you’re talking about.’