Juliet. Anne Fortier

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      ‘That’s enough,’ I said, trying to find a dry spot on my sleeve to wipe my eyes one last time.

      ‘Oh, don’t be so modest! You were on the front page!’

      ‘And I hear your business is going very well?’ Mr Gallagher looked at Janice, attempting a smile. ‘It must be a challenge to make everyone happy?’

      ‘Happy? Eek!’ Janice narrowly avoided stepping in a puddle. ‘Happiness is the worst threat to my business. Dreams are what it’s all about. Frustrations. Fantasies that never come true. Men that don’t exist. Women you can never have. That’s where the money is, date after date after date…’

      Janice kept talking, but I stopped listening. It was one of the world’s great ironies that my sister was into professional matchmaking, for she was probably the least romantic person I had ever known. Notwithstanding her urge to flirt with every one of them, she saw men as little more than noisy power tools that you plugged in when you needed them and unplugged as soon as the job was done.

      Oddly enough, when we were children, Janice had had an obsession with arranging everything in pairs, two teddy bears, two cushions, two hairbrushes…even on days when we had been fighting, she would put both our dolls next to each other on the shelf overnight, sometimes even with their arms around each other. In that respect it was perhaps not so strange that she would choose to make a career out of matchmaking, seeing that she was a genuine Noah at putting people in pairs. The only problem was that, unlike the old patriarch, she had long since forgotten why she did it.

      It was hard to say when things had changed. At some point in high school she had made it her mission to burst every dream I might ever have had about love. Running through boyfriends like cheap nylon tights, Janice had taken a peculiar pleasure in disgusting me by describing everybody and everything in such a dismissive way that it made me wonder why women bothered with men at all.

      ‘So,’ she had said, rolling pink curlers into my hair on the night before our prom, ‘this is your last chance.’

      I had looked at her in the mirror, puzzled by her ultimatum but prevented from responding by one of her mint-green mud masks that had dried to a crust on my face.

      ‘You know,’ she had grimaced impatiently, ‘your last chance to pop the cherry. That’s what prom’s all about. Why do you think the guys dress up? Because they like to dance? Puh-leez!’ She had glanced at me in the mirror, checking her progress. ‘If you don’t do it at prom, you know what they say. You’re a prude. Nobody likes a prude.’

      The next morning, I had complained about a stomachache, and as the prom came closer, my pains grew worse. In the end, Aunt Rose had to call the neighbours and tell them that their son had better find himself another date for the evening; meanwhile, Janice was picked up by an athlete called Troy and disappeared in a smoke of squealing tyres.

      After listening to my moans all afternoon, Aunt Rose began insisting that we go to the hospital in case it was appendicitis, but Umberto had calmed her down and said that I did not have a fever, and that he was certain it was nothing serious. As he stood there next to my bed later in the evening, looking at me peeking out from underneath my blanket, I could see that he knew exactly what was going on, and that, in some strange way, he was pleased with my scam. We both knew there was nothing wrong with the neighbours’ son as such, it was just that he did not fit the description of the man I had envisioned as my lover. And if I could not get what I wanted, I would rather miss the prom.

      ‘Dick,’ Janice now said, stroking Mr Gallagher with a satin smile, ‘why don’t we just cut to the chase. How much?’

      I did not even try to intervene. After all, as soon as Janice got her money, she would be off to the eternal hunting grounds of the bushy-tailed wannabe, and I would never have to set eyes on her again.

      ‘Well,’ said Mr Gallagher, stopping awkwardly in the car park, right next to Umberto and the Lincoln, ‘I’m afraid the fortune is almost entirely tied up in the estate.’

      ‘Look,’ said Janice, ‘we all know it’s fifty-fifty down to the last nickel, okay, so let’s cut the crap. She wants us to draw a white line down the middle of the house? Fair enough, we can do that. Or,’ she shrugged as if it was all the same to her, ‘we simply sell the place and split the money. How much?’

      ‘The reality is that in the end,’ Mr Gallagher looked at me with some regret, ‘Mrs Jacobs changed her mind and decided to leave everything to Miss Janice.’

      ‘What?’ I looked from Janice to Mr Gallagher to Umberto, but found no support at all.

      ‘Holy shit!’ Janice flared up in a broad smile. ‘The old lady had a sense of humour after all!’

      ‘Of course,’ Mr Gallagher went on, more sternly, ‘there is a sum put aside for Mr…for Umberto, and there is a mention of certain framed photographs that your great-aunt wanted Miss Julie to have.’

      ‘Hey,’ said Janice, opening her arms, ‘I’m feeling generous.’

      ‘Wait a minute.’ I took a step back, struggling to take in the news. ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’

      For as long as I could remember, Aunt Rose had gone through hell and high water to treat us equally; for heaven’s sake, I had even caught her counting the number of pecans in our morning muesli to make sure one of us didn’t get more than the other. And she had always talked about the house as something that we, at some point in the future, would own together. ‘You girls,’ she used to say, ‘really need to learn how to get along. I won’t live forever, you know. And when I am gone, you are going to share this house.’

      ‘I understand your disappointment,’ said Mr Gallagher.

      ‘Disappointment?’ I felt like grabbing him by the collar, but stuck my hands in my pockets instead, as deep as they could go. ‘Don’t think I’m just accepting this. I want to see the will.’ Looking him straight in the eye I saw him squirming under my gaze. ‘There’s something going on here behind my back.’

      ‘You were always a sore loser,’ Janice broke in, savouring my fury with a catty smile, ‘that’s what’s going on.’

      ‘Here.’ Mr Gallagher clicked open his briefcase with shaky hands and handed me a document. ‘This is your copy of the will. I’m afraid there’s not much room for dispute.’

      

      Umberto found me in the garden, crouched under the arbour he had once built for us when Aunt Rose was in bed with pneumonia. Sitting down next to me on the wet bench, he did not comment on my childish disappearing act, just handed me an immaculately ironed handkerchief and observed me as I blew my nose.

      ‘It’s not the money,’ I said, defensively. ‘Did you see her smirk? Did you hear what she said? She doesn’t care about Aunt Rose. She never did. It’s not fair!’

      ‘Who told you life was fair?’ Umberto looked at me with raised eyebrows. ‘Not me.’

      ‘I know! I just don’t understand – but it’s my own fault. I always thought she was serious about treating us equally. I borrowed money.’ I clutched my face to avoid his stare. ‘Don’t say it!’

      ‘Are you finished?’

      I shook my head. ‘You have no idea how СКАЧАТЬ