The Wolf Border by Sarah Hall Read Free Book Online Page A

He puts an arm around her stomach, pulls her for more depth. He reaches round to stroke her, courteously. Then it is automatic, impossible to stop. A man’s identity is revealed in the habit of climax; it is the real introduction. Fuck. Jesus Christ . He slumps against her. But the true psychology is in the withdrawal. Quick, perfunctory, or inched delicately out. Whatever was seen in the bar, in his face, his body, predicted correctly. Can I freshen that drink for you? Thanks, but I was just leaving . Sometimes she walks away.
    She arrives back at Willowbrook a little after 1 a.m. She enters the apartment quietly, opens the windows, lets the dense, airless heat flood out into the night. There’s a note on the coffee table in her mother’s appalling handwriting. Lawrence here for dinner. Where were you? Gone back to Leeds – he’s your brother! She sighs, crumples up the note. Typical of Binny to have planned this without telling her. And typical of Rachel not to have been there.
    *
    Binny will die soon; of this everyone seems certain. Willowbrook’smanager speaks to Rachel softly when they meet, with excessive pronunciation and compassion, as if in fact death had already happened. The young visiting doctor, who Rachel has a quiet discussion with in the corridor outside Binny’s apartment on his rounds, says they just need to keep her comfortable. And Milka, who attends to Binny’s intimate needs most days, informs Rachel quite straightforwardly that her mother is ready. It’s in the eyes. Nie jasne – no light. Even Lawrence’s intermittent emails have talked of there not being much time, if you want to reconnect . But upon questioning, the various care-givers have no definite information, there seems to be no fatal disease. Binny will no doubt set her own schedule. She will go on for as long as she cares to. Though she is clearly fed up with the incapacitation, if the days still prove interesting enough her heart will jab on, her systems will sluice away. Now, in the sitting room of the apartment, while Rachel pours tea into standard-issue china cups and rattles biscuits from their plastic sleeve – something of an afternoon ritual, Binny holds forth.
    It’s all about choice, you see. Everything is, except birth – no one chooses to be born. Get off the bus when you know it’s your stop I say. I cannot abide this poor-me attitude. Didn’t get me out of Wandsworth. Didn’t help me after your father left.
    She strains to speak, is lazy over her vowels. Her head nods intermittently. She still has her faculties but there are fissures in her memory, and in her stories.
    I thought you were the one who turfed him out, Rachel says.
    Binny grunts, but lets the comment pass. The skin on her forearms looks so frail, the veins so knotted, she might bruise simply from the press of a finger. Rachel slides a cup of tea towards her mother.
    Women always have a choice, Binny says. I taught you that, Ihope, if nothing else.
    You did. You were Socratic.
    With surprising force, her mother bangs a hand on the top of the coffee table.
    Don’t get smart with me, my girl! Can’t we just have a conversation? You are such a clever beggar sometimes.
    Am I? Right.
    Rachel sits, and holds her temper. One more day before she flies back to America. The tension has been mounting all week. She is annoyed with Binny for, among other things, simply growing old. They have worked in their own ruthless, autonomous way for decades, orbiting each other only if it suited them, not required to show love or compassion. She will be obedient for the next few hours, she will be civil. Tomorrow she will bid her mother goodbye, for who knows how long. Meanwhile, she will try to behave as a good daughter. She will sit through another interminable meal and shuffle around the flower garden listening to Binny stammer, being polite to the other residents. She will help her mother fit pink orthopaedic