Weird Sister by Kate Pullinger Read Free Book Online Page B

always the analyst, even then, the one who tried to figure out what it all might mean, what motivation might lie behind the action. Robert simply enjoyed sharing words and thoughts, ready to explore ideas and feelings, even after his mother died. Talking made him feel better. He’s always been that way.
    He’s more unwilling now. Once Agnes arrived he confided less in me; later he became even more closed. Now there are some topics he will discuss only very reluctantly. There are others that are complete no-go areas. Agnes, of course, and most of what happened with her. Graeme as well. I don’t mind, I don’t object, I’m happy to pretend Agnes never happened, even though I know it is not healthy. It’s a few years since I last practised as a therapist but no matter how firmly I shut the door on that part of my life, it still comes back to me. I think therapy is in my bones, always was, always will be. Robert insists that talking doesn’t always make things clearer, that with certain things talking isn’t appropriate. He’s afraid he’ll hurt me with what he has to say.
    He still loves her. But that doesn’t matter. That’s all right.
    When I came back to Warboys after losing my job things were a little strained between us. My father had died, my mother passed away a few years before him; they both had heart conditions. I was at a very low ebb and I needed Robert to be my friend. Neither of us had ever needed the other before, at least not since his mother died, but I needed him then. Being needed didn’t really suit Robert.
    It was my idea to reinstate our Wednesday evenings, but that didn’t last for long. Robert was often busy with something to do with the estate. And he was into a heavy pattern of serial monogamy. I couldn’t keep up with the string of girlfriends, I couldn’t keep track of their names, and none of them were very interesting. I was terribly, incredibly, single and probably rather alarming with it. I’ll admit that when I came back to the village one of the thoughts foremost in my mind was that Robert had still not met anyone, Robert was still the village bachelor. Robert was on my mind. And he could tell that. And it turned out to be a problem for him. I was breaking the unwritten rule of our friendship, the precious balance we had maintained all those years.
    I guess a central feature of our friendship had been its blokeishness. We were mates and we’d do matey things together; I’d come home from university during holidays, we’d go to the pub and compete to see who could pull first. Occasionally, just occasionally, we would both fail, and we’d drink too much and find ourselves snogging in the tunnel under the yew hedge. Sometimes we’d sneak into his bedroom and spend a few hours pulling off each other’s clothes and having sex, but more often than not one of us would push the other away, laughing and saying ‘You look ridiculous.’ Regardless of what happened, come Wednesday evening we’d be together for the post-mortem, making each other hysterical with our stories of rejection. A funny kind of blokeishness, but you see what I mean.
    By the time we were both in our mid-thirties, and I had come back to Warboys for good, that easy familiarity between us had dissipated. We hadn’t been to bed together for quite a while, years in fact. Not since Robert’s thirtieth, when he’d dared me to do it, even though I was, at the time, engaged to marry someone else. When I came back to the village sex had come to mean rather more to me and I don’t think I could have just jumped into bed with him and out again like it meant nothing. It was as though with age I’d become rather brittle, more breakable, easily hurt. I think Robert felt the same way. At least, he did when it came to me – obviously not when it came to all those other women. And, of course, not when it came to Agnes.
    Barbara, who runs the shop, was the first to tell me that Jim Drury had a guest at the Black Hat. I’d