The Reunion

Nat. I don’t think he was taking Lilah’s side, I think he was trying to calm a difficult situation. And as for
my
side… since when are you and I on opposite sides, Natalie? I really don’t get this, why are you so angry with me?’
    Natalie shook her head. ‘Why am I angry?’ She sighed heavily, she raised her eyes to look directly at Jen. ‘I begged you, Jen. I
begged
you, just to contact him, to let him know you were OK. We heard nothing from you. Nothing. For years. I begged you to come to our wedding, not for me, not because it meant so much to me, but for him. Jesus.’ Her head dropped again. ‘How can you say you didn’t punish him?’
    ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Jen whispered, her words never sounding emptier. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
    ‘Jen,’ Natalie raised her hand in supplication, all the sting gone from her voice. ‘Please. I cannot have this conversation with you. I mean, I literally can’t right at this moment. Please. Could you get me my pills from upstairs? They’re in the washbag on the counter.’ She arched her back for a second and Jen could see the pain flit across her face, a passing shadow. ‘Sorry, sometimes it’s just really bad.’
    The mean and uncharitable part of Jen wanted to believe that Natalie was creating a diversion, looking for sympathy, but the better part of her triumphed, though, because she knew that seeking pity was not Natalie’s style. In any case, she’d seen the look on her face, she recognised the shadow that pain casts. And why would she seek a diversion now that she had Jen on the ropes? Jen ran upstairs to fetch the pills and brought them back with a glass of water, a glass of whisky in her other hand as a chaser. Nat had moved from the armchair; she was standing by the window, her shoulders rounded, head down, arms wrapped around herself. When she heard Jen behind her she turned and reached for the pills greedily, gratefully, and took a slug of the whisky straight afterwards.
    ‘Not supposed to drink with these,’ she said. ‘But I think today’s pretty much fucked anyway, isn’t it?’ She gave Jen a tired, rueful smile. For a moment, Jen caught a glimpse of the old Nat, the one who was always ready to laugh at herself. She reached out for Jen’s arm. ‘Give me a hand, will you? I’ve totally seized up.’
    Jen helped her back towards the armchair, but Nat steered her into the middle of the room. ‘Sometimes it helps if I lie flat,’ she said. Jen sat on the floor next to her as she lay prone in front of the fire. They stayed like that for a while, listening to that wind, its low howl building, rattling at the window, tearing at the tiles on the roof. The fire spat and crackled; Jen hoped they’d have enough wood to last the night.
    Eventually, Natalie spoke, her voice low and strained.
    ‘You remember that interview that Princess Diana gave?’ she asked.
    ‘Um. Vaguely, I suppose. Why?’ Nat raised her head and Jen fed her a sip of whisky.
    ‘Thanks. That thing she said, about there being three people in her marriage. That’s what I feel sometimes.’ She smiled, then she started to giggle.
    ‘So Lilah’s Camilla? I wouldn’t say that to her face if I were you.’
    ‘No, no. Lilah’s not Camilla. You are,’ she said, and she giggled some more. She laughed louder and louder, shrieked with mirth.
    ‘I am not Camilla!’ Jen protested. ‘How am I Camilla?’ She was laughing now too, and for a minute or two they were unable to speak, tears coursing down their cheeks.
    When she finally stopped laughing, Nat said: ‘You’re not really Camilla. It’s just that I feel as though I share him with you. Even though you’re not there, maybe even
because
you’re not there. It’s not that you’re Camilla, it’s the past that’s Camilla. You’re a part of it, you, Lilah, Conor… I want us, Andrew, me and the girls, to have a life without that shadow.’ She reached both her arms up above her head, stretching her spine as far as she could, then relaxed. ‘I just don’t want all that to be a part of us any more.’
    Jen took a sip of the whisky, enjoyed the feeling of it burning all the way down her throat and into her gut. The baby probably wasn’t enjoying the burn quite so much. She put the glass down.
    ‘The problem, Nat, is that all that is a part of you. There’s really not much you can do about that. You can’t make it go away. You can’t make
us
go away.’
    Natalie took one of Jen’s hands in hers and