Page 10 of Into the Dark
“Yes, but the point, little brother, is that a country still hugely divided by racism elected a Black bloody president. That’s the point. If you can’t see the enormity of that paradigm shift, then you’re being a twat!” She’s frustrated now. Nick always frustrates Tash whenever they discuss politics.
“Well, of course I’m a twat, Tash, but that doesn’t mean he should have used race to get the Black vote and then do absolutely nothing with it. Do you honestly think life for the ordinary Black person in America has improved in any way whatsoever by him becoming president? Arguably, it got worse.” Nick is sitting up now, and the two of them are facing off.
Nick and Tash both have very strong opinions about things. All of us Marlowes do, but they get so riled up, especially when there’s wine involved, and even more so when it comes to politics. When we were younger it used to be about silly things such as what we’d have for dinner, who had to stay home with me when Mum and Dad went out, or who got the attic room when their friends stayed over. Normally, I just let them go at it. The winner of these bouts is roughly even to my count. Nick seems to be winning this one from where I’m standing, but it’s early yet.
Greg spots me as I come closer and gives me a knowing smile. My sister’s husband is an attractive, tall American. Blond and broad-shouldered, he plays sports and has a perfect white smile. He grew up in Santa Barbara and works for a large law firm based in LA who came to take over Tash’s smaller firm in London. They fell in love, and he spirited her back to California with him where she works part-time, runs on the beach every morning, and lives the perfect life as far as I can tell. I could almost hate him for taking her away if he weren’t so bloody lovely and didn’t worship the ground she walks on.
“And you would know how the average Black person in America feels because…?” Tash asks him, voice high from the wine and the frustratingly admirable way Nick has of arguing his point to the death.
“You guys really need to stay off politics. It’s not good for this family.” I smile as I come closer.
There are a few empty bottles of wine on the outdoor table and some fresh olives. God knows I’m full, but I pop two into my mouth anyway. Olives are one of those things that make my life better.
“Oh, its him, Al—you know how he gets,” Tash says, rolling her eyes.
I smile at her and nod in agreement before turning to stick out my tongue at my brother.
“Don’t hurt yourself because your own argument is invalid.”
Tash makes a growling noise and lifts a pillow from behind her to hit him with it.
“Alex, why weren’t you here to mediate? You’re the sensible one,” Greg asks
“Becauseeeeee,” Tash drawls, “she was being romanced by the handsome French neighbor! Pierre, en chente…Alex, est-ce que tu es aussi doux que tes yeux?” Her French is slurred and ridiculous, but it makes me smile.
Nick smiles too, but not widely. The look he gives me is filled with concern. Which I assume is because he saw me just after Jake, and although he doesn’t know the entire story because no one does, he knows I’m probably not ready to be romanced just yet.
“It’s Laurent, actually,” I correct. “And he was nice. Very French, but nice. A television producer,” I add, lifting my brows as I pop another olive in my mouth.
Tash makes an “ooh” noise and turns her head to make wide eyes at Greg. “So did you let him take you to bed and make passionate French love to you?” she asks, causing Nick to make a disgusted noise and squeeze his eyes shut.
“Tash, please! She’s our baby sister, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need the visual—shut up,” he groans.
Tash laughs and sits up, looking around for another pillow, I think.
“Well, I think that’s my cue. I’m totally exhausted.” I walk across to Tash and give her a tight hug and a kiss before moving toward Nick. “You know, from all the passionate French lovemaking.” I wink at Tash, and she giggles loudly.
Nick groans again, but I lean down to give him a hug and a kiss on the head anyway.
“Night, sis,” he says, squeezing me tight.
“Night, guys. Try to keep the political discussions for the daylight hours, will you? My bedroom is right up there,”—I point up to my room—“and I need the window open to get any sleep in this heat.”
Upstairs, I strip out of my dress and turn the shower to lukewarm before stepping underneath it. My body feels sticky from the heat and my feet are covered in dust, the soles smattered with those minuscule pebbles that pin themselves to the soft flesh. As I lean my head on the cool marble, I allow myself to think about him.
They’ve been the only thing preventing total collapse, I think, these allotted times when I’ll allow thoughts of him to fully enter my mind in all their glory. It’s in these moments I don’t understand or recognize myself. Moments where I think I could be with him despite what he is. That I could turn a blind eye to everything he does and love him anyway. Tilting my head back under the spray, I rinse my hair and face and then turn off the shower and step out. It’s so warm here this summer, the warmest I ever remember it being.
The house is old and antiquated, and Mum and Dad never wanted to wreck it by installing air conditioning, so all I have is the huge, noisy ceiling fan above my bed. Though it helps to cool me a little, it keeps me awake too. Not that I’ve been sleeping well anyway.
I’m under the cool sheets for a few minutes before I hear a soft knock on the bedroom door. It opens a crack and Tash pops her head through, smiling.
“Hey, you’re still awake.” She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. Then she crosses toward me and plops herself down on the bed.
I scoot over to make room, and she moves up the bed closer to me.
My sister is dark-haired with a sprinkling of perfectly placed freckles and large brown eyes. Like Nick’s. They got Dad’s coloring while I got Mum and Aunt Audrey’s. Tash also turns a beautiful olive color in the sun—again, like Nick—giving her an almost Spanish look. She’s completely stunning.
“I feel like we’ve barely spoken since we got here,” she says, reaching down to brush my wet hair back off my forehead.
