Brotherly love
APRIL
Luke was annoyed to find that his wife was in bed with his brother when he got home. He had been soaked in a sudden shower walking back from the station and needed dry clothes from the bedroom wardrobe. Mark’s car, parked tauntingly a little way along the street, told him that he would need to wait. Closing the front door with enough force to alert them to his presence, but not hard enough to sound like a slam, he flinched at hearing the vibrations through the floorboards. They’ll be done soon, he told himself, and headed for the downstairs shower to warm up. He stood under the jets, eyes closed, letting the pummelling water drown out the sounds from upstairs and the steam fill the tiny room until he could see little but his own, reddened body. When he turned the shower off there was silence. Grabbing the towel, he heard Mark letting himself out and, a few moments later, the roar of the Jaguar’s engine as it accelerated assuredly past the house.
Hannah lay very still in the bed, rationalising what she had just done, as she always did after sex with Mark. She stroked herself, skin still sensitive to the slightest touch, thinking about how she had laughed off her friends’ risqué questions when she had started dating an identical twin. Was it possible to fancy one but not the other? Did she ever look at her boyfriend’s brother and think: I know what you look like naked? If she were blindfolded, would she be able to tell them apart: how they kissed; how they touched; how they made love? She imagined she could, she had told them. Now she knew.
Mark drove back to the office. He usually liked to take a quick shower before leaving the house, so that he wouldn’t carry Hannah’s scent home with him, but this time he would have to call in at the gym after work instead. He never stayed long afterwards – that was one of her rules – but hearing Luke come home had hastened his departure. Slipping out of his brother’s house like an intruder heightened the unease he had felt during these past six months, since it began. Hannah seemed to find it so easy to separate her physical needs from her emotions, insistently reminding him that they were having sex, not an affair, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed their liaisons. He tried to remember when he and Ruth had last made love. It must have been around the same time that he had started sleeping with Hannah. Had his wife subconsciously sensed some change in him that led her to push him away, to plead tiredness or distraction from spending her days attending to the needs of their children? Maybe he should call a halt, confess to Ruth, and try to return their lives to normal. But not just now. That wouldn’t be fair on Hannah. He saw the desperation and need in her eyes whenever they were together. How could he push her away?
Luke, a towel around his waist, filled the kettle and dropped a teabag into each mug; builders’ for him, herbal for Hannah. She would be down soon, after she had changed the sheets. He took in the entries on the kitchen calendar. Hannah had marked today with an asterisk in a circle. The following day was similarly annotated; the day after that – Saturday – with a question mark. Mark would be over tomorrow afternoon as well but was unlikely to be able to get away from Ruth and the kids at the weekend. That was fine. Luke was on a late shift tomorrow so there would be no overlap. He could turn a blind eye, but it was easier if he saw nothing with the other one too. Today had been the first time Hannah had mistimed it. She had been so careful not to throw her liaisons with Mark in his face and he loved her for that. He wondered whether, if the roles were reversed, Ruth would do the same for Mark. And if she would, could he ever break the vow of faithfulness that he had sworn to Hannah, just a few summers before, with the acquiescence that seemed to come so effortlessly to his twin?
Hannah opened the bedroom curtains. Sunlight was streaming through the leaves of the magnolia tree, silhouetting the small birds hopping from branch to branch in search of places to build their nests. Beneath, the flower beds she and Luke had planted two years ago when they had moved in were beginning to come to life, fresh shoots confidently thrusting from the soil while the perennials opened their petals yearningly to the first exploring insects of the spring. She took the wedding photo from the drawer and replaced it on top of the bedside cabinet. Mark had said he found it off-putting to have Luke smiling at him while he and Hannah were in bed together. She was surprised that he could be distracted by anything. Even today, Luke’s early return had led him only to forego the shower he would take after the fifteen minutes or so they would usually spend afterwards with her cradled, silent and very still, in his arms. While she had needed time to become comfortable with him seeing and touching her body - it was only on their third or fourth time together that she had allowed him to see her completely naked and, even now, she would still feel pangs of guilt at enjoying the attention that he paid to ensuring her pleasure - there was a sense of concentrated purpose in his approach from the start that seemed to take control of the situation from her and brooked no resistance. He was like a doctor, she thought, not like the last one she had allowed to touch her, with his cold, invading fingers, or the one that had dismissively given Luke the news they both dreaded with as little empathy as he would have applied to reading out a shopping list. A caring doctor; one who wanted to make things better. Sex with Mark is not better than with Luke, she told herself. But it is different.
Mark had been invited out for drinks after work but declined. One might lead to several and he didn’t want to risk disappointing Hannah the following day. He knew that each time might be their last, accepting that his brother’s wife was clearly in complete control of matters. She had initiated them, she had set the ground rules and she had, somehow, extracted her husband’s compliance. Mark sometimes found it hard to acknowledge that Luke was the elder twin. Mark was the one who went off to university and followed it with the big job, the lovely home, the attractive wife and equally well-kept children. There were times when he thought he sensed his twin’s envy of all his success but then Luke had Hannah and, as he had often told Mark, there was nothing and no one in his life that meant more to him and nothing that he would not do for the sake of her happiness.
Luke climbed into bed quietly, then slipped his arm hesitantly across Hannah’s stomach, unsure whether she was sleeping deeply enough to be aware of his presence. She had bathed shortly after dinner, going to bed not long after, while he was watching television, and her bedside light was already out. They hadn’t spoken about what had taken place that afternoon. Not talking about it had been in their understanding from the start. Yet it hung stubbornly between them, like the aftershocks of a vicious argument. She was still half-awake and responded to his embrace, turning on her side and pressing her back against him, so that their shapes were mimicking each other, like forks in a drawer. For a moment, Luke felt a memory of the early sparks of their marriage, when their lovemaking had been as integral to their existence as breathing, eating and sleeping, rather than what they now knew to be a futile ritual. Lately, Hannah had seemed so uncommitted, barely acknowledging his advances or disinterestedly submitting, as if undertaking a duty that she no longer felt held any value. ‘It’s been six months,’ he whispered. ‘You have to end it.’
Hannah lay still, eyes closed, as Luke wrapped her in his arms, gently enclosing her. ‘I love you so, so much,’ she heard him murmur. ‘I know,’ she whispered back. ‘But not yet. Everything will be all right soon. I’m sure of it.’ She could feel him pressing against the small of her back and tried conjuring up his face in her mind’s eye, suddenly unsure whether it was her husband that she imagined, or his twin. ‘I need to sleep,’ she muttered, and felt him shrink, redundantly, away.
JULY
Mark wasn’t expecting to see Hannah for a couple of weeks and was driving home when she called. She was warm, but still as direct as she had been the first time she had summoned him to her bed. She was ending it, for now at least. She realised that what lay ahead was going to be challenging for her and Luke. They could try to return to normal, but she knew things would never be the same for them both. Mark suggested that he should invite Luke out for a few beers, to clear the air between them, but Hannah was adamant that would be a bad idea. In fact, it might be better if Mark didn’t see either of them for a month or two. He parked up a couple of streets from home to collect his thoughts. The boys would both be home from school and the house would be a cacophony of family bustle. He needed a period of calm to come to terms with the shame he felt for deceiving his wife for so long. If he confessed to Ruth what had been going on, would she understand that everything he had done – that he and Hannah had done – was for the love of his brother? Maybe, but understanding would not be the same as acceptance, or forgiveness. Summer was here, bringing hot, languid days, buzzing with fresh life and contentment. Why introduce disruption and conflict when everything around felt so perfect? He would tell Ruth one day, perhaps, but not now.
SEPTEMBER
Luke rang the doorbell, to be greeted with air kisses from a smiling Ruth. ‘Come on in,’ she trilled. ‘We haven’t seen you both in ages.’ He followed her to the kitchen, clutching his bottle of Champagne. Aromas of freshly-baked bread and rich fruit hung in the air. ‘Harvest festival,’ said Ruth, almost apologetically, seeing him savouring the atmosphere. ‘And I’m making a fruit cake for Christmas. It’s always good to get ahead of all that. Mind you, last year, I made so much food that we were still eating the Christmas cake at Easter.’ Luke could see his nephews in the garden, playing football with Mark. They looked so much like their father; so much like himself.
Hannah kissed her sister-in-law and wandered outside. She and Mark spoke for a moment then came towards the house, Hannah taking his arm as they walked. Ruth watched them, smiling. She adored Hannah and it was wonderful that they all got on so well together.
Mark examined the bottle approvingly. ‘Pol-Roger,’ he said. ‘We must be celebrating something special.’
Luke put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. ‘We are,’ he said.
Hannah looked down, gently patted her stomach, then looked up, smiling broadly.
Mark roared his approval. ‘At last,’ Ruth squealed in excitement. ‘You’ve been trying for so long.’
As Mark uncorked the Champagne and began to pour. Ruth stepped over to hug Hannah. Their eyes met and, unseen by their husbands, a knowing smile passed between them.