The War of the Roses

'He got it first. But you know Josh. When something hurts, he goes off into the corner like a whipped dog. Just like Benny when Dad yells at him. I saw him leaning against the tree in front of the house, just bouncing his basketball. I knew something was wrong. But this?'

'Have you discussed this with your father?'

'He was long gone. He slept in the guest room last night. No, I haven't discussed it with him. I'm afraid to. Considering what he's just been through. Thinking he was dying and none of us coming up to be near him.'

It had confused Ann as well. She had watched Barbara's initial agitation when she first got the news. Then, with uncommon speed, it subsided. She hadn't after all, heard the other end of the conversation and the way Barbara had gone about filling the casserole dishes with the cassoulet for the Paks one would have thought that Oliver had only a mild indisposition. 'He'll be fine,' Barbara had said, and she was right. 'It can't be a heart attack. He's too young. And the Roses have the genes of longevity.'

'I can't blame him if he was upset,' Eve said. 'But I didn't expect her to be the one who . ..' She was obviously still confused by her mother's announcement.

'Maybe it will all come out in the wash,' Ann said, disturbed by her own conflicting emotions. She was wondering, as well, how it would affect her own status in the house. Would they keep her,on? Surely now Barbara would need her more than ever. But the thought of not being near Oliver filled her with sudden anger, and she could not resist a vague, utterly illogical sense of betrayal. He will be leaving me, she thought, shocked at the depth of her feeling.

'She's already gone to see a lawyer, I'm afraid this is the end of the happy Rose family,' Eve said with adolescent sarcasm.

'He hasn't moved out yet?' Ann asked, wondering if she had missed something.

'Not yet.'

'He's a very resourceful man. He'll be fine.'

'Will he?' The tears rolled over the lower lids of Eve's eyes, wetting her cheek. Her nose reddened. 'Poor Daddy.' She reached out and Ann was there to embrace her.

But who would soothe her? Ann wondered.

Sitting at her desk, she had been listening for his familiar step. Although she was growing drowsy and had difficulty keeping her eyes open, the sound of his key in the downstairs lock quickly restored her alertness and set her adrenaline charging. She heard Benny's bark and the click of his nails against the marble as they came into the house. Barbara would not let Benny in except when Oliver came home. Did her disgust extend to the animal as well? Ann wondered. She waited to hear the sound of Oliver's ascending step. None came. Then she moved through the doorway of her room to the head of the landing, peering into the darkness of the second floor, listening to the sounds of the sleeping house. She wondered if the others were listening as well, secretly observing with their senses what was, to all of them, a considerable household trauma. She waited until she was certain that no one had stirred and, after a longer wait, walked soundlessly down to the second floor, listening first at Eve's door, then at Josh's, although she dared not move to the front of the house and Barbara's door. An alibi had already been concocted in her mind. She wanted a cup of tea, which she often made for herself when she studied late. Those previous occasions would make her story plausible. All she did was pop a tea bag into a cup and drown it with hot water from the Instant Hot tap.

In the kitchen, she deliberately placed the cup on the saucer with enough force to produce an audible tinkle. If anyone was listening, she wanted to dispel the impression that she was sneaking around. She had to see him, she decided. How could this have happened to such a man? How could Barbara possibly reject Oliver?

She took another teacup off the shelf and dropped in a tea bag, filled the cup with hot water, and put both cups on a tray. Something was missing, she decided, looking around until she spotted a ceramic cookie jar in which Barbara placed her chocolate-chip cookies. She laid out some cookies on the tray and carried it to the library.

He was sprawled on the leather couch, looking haggard and unshaven, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the Tiflany lamp. Hearing her, he lifted his head, startled, revealing his disappointed reaction. Perhaps he was expecting Barbara.

'I was making myself a cup of tea and I thought you might. . .' Her hands shook, rattling the teacups on the tray. In the air was the sour odour of alcohol, and it struck her quite suddenly that he might be drunk. Beneath her quilted robe and pyjamas, she felt her nakedness and a sudden stabbing sensation in her nipples. A nerve palpitated in her neck.

'No need, really, Ann,' he said, his voice gravelly. But he had lifted himself on one elbow and was squinting at her, not quite sober but not quite drunk. She started to turn, but his voice stopped her.