The Men in her Life

Holly awoke.
    ‘Shhhh,’ Clare said, crouching down at the foot of the sofa bed with her back to Holly.
    The television cameras were outside the entrance to a hospital.
    ‘... and it was here that Princess Diana was taken by ambulance earlier this morning...’
    ‘What’s the time?’ Holly sat up rubbing her eyes.
    ‘It’s nearly seven...’ Clare turned round. ‘Princess Diana is dead,’ she said, and suddenly she was sobbing uncontrollably, her small body made smaller by the seismic quakes of grief that seemed to be rocking it.
    Holly looked at her uncomprehendingly, then leant forward and flicked through the channels. There was no doubt about it, Princess Diana was dead. Poor thing, Holly thought.
    They sat staring at the news reports on screen. It was the strangest feeling, Holly thought, as if war had been declared or something. Clare sobbed quietly beside her, but Holly did not feel like crying. It was too unreal. She went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.
    On the television there was a hasty montage of recent footage of Diana. Diana with Mother Teresa in New York , Diana with her children on a raft in a theme park, Diana walking through a minefield, Diana’s dresses being auctioned at Christie’s. How much more they’d be worth now, thought Holly as she poured boiling water onto tea bags. If the sale had been delayed a couple of months they’d have made tens of millions more.
    Upstairs Tom woke up and started calling ‘Mar Me, Mar Me’ but Clare did not move from her position. Holly was about to go to the child when his cries abated and, moments later, Joss appeared carrying him. Joss was wearing a white cotton woman’s dressing-gown which barely met across his chest.
    ‘What on earth’s going on?’ His dark eyes flashed menacingly.
    He looked utterly desirable with his hair ruffled and his child resting on his shoulder. The ridiculously feminine dressing-gown, which he had clearly pulled on remembering there was a visitor in the house, only seemed to enhance his masculinity.
    ‘Tea?’ asked Holly.
    ‘You’re an angel,’ he said, his voice reverting to its usual smooth timbre.
    Clare came into the kitchen, her face red and swollen from crying. She took Tom from Joss’s arms. The child Put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes contentedly.
    ‘Princess Diana is dead,’ Clare whispered over the top of her son’s head.
    ‘No! Assassinated?’ Joss asked.
    ‘Car crash in Paris . Accident. Stupid, stupid acci dent...’
    Joss’s eyes rolled very slowly and deliberately round the room.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Clare asked.
    ‘I’m consigning to my memory exactly where I was when I heard the news. I’m sure that in a few years’ time everyone will talk about where they were when they heard. I’ve always regretted not having taken more notice when Kennedy died. I’m the only person who can never remember...’
    Holly tittered nervously.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Clare was suddenly angry, ‘a woman is dead and all you can do is be facetious...’
    ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Joss asked.
    ‘Show a bit of respect, actually,’ Clare told him.
    ‘Not my strongest suit, I’m afraid, not where royalty is concerned...’
    ‘She’s a mother of two children...’ Clare’s voice was rising.
    ‘I’m sure that in the time it’s taken you to say all this a dozen women with children in Africa have died but I don’t see you weeping for them...’
    ‘That’s not the point and you know it,’ Clare said, and then immediately started crying again.
    Suddenly Holly knew what it must be like to be the child of rowing parents. She hated them doing this to each other and she felt as if she were invisible in the oppressive intimacy of their mutual contempt. She wanted to run away and leave them to it. She didn’t know whose side she was on. Clare was her sister and she hated seeing her cry, but she thought she was being a bit melodramatic. Joss’s reaction was similar to her own, except he had enough arrogant self-belief to be amusing about it.
    ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ she said, mimicking Mrs Doyle in Father Ted.
    Clare looked at her as if she had forgotten she was there.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said.
    Joss merely smiled. The tips of his fingers touched hers as she handed over his mug.
    Tom started demanding his breakfast. Clare seemed transfixed by the television. Holly found him some cereal, but it turned out it was not the cereal he wanted. Joss got cross and