Read Online Cuckoo by Julia Crouch - Free Book Online Page A

together, while Gareth was hiding under the duvet, battling his demons.
     
    ‘Why didn’t they tell you?’ she asked, as they went for one of their evening walks down to the river.
     
    ‘They didn’t want Gareth to feel the odd one out,’ Andy said. ‘I guess they thought it was for the best.’
     
    ‘Didn’t it come as a shock to you?’
     
    ‘Totally. I mean, we’re so physically alike, people always asked us if we were twins. But it wasn’t such a big deal for me as it was for Gareth. He’s never gotten over it. He never got beyond formalities with them again, and now Pam and John have passed away and it’s too late. They loved him so much, though, Rose.’
     
    Rose looked at Andy. It was true; he and Gareth were very similar. Both tall and strong-looking, both with the same beautiful hands. But it was as if Gareth were made up of two halves – the light and the dark, whereas Andy was just light.
     
    It was because of this lightness that Andy seemed to be able to cope with the residual anger that Gareth sometimes, for want of a better target, directed at him. It was because of this lightness that, from time to time, Rose found herself asking if she had picked the right brother.
     
    ‘Andy’s more than OK,’ Rose said to Gareth.
     
    ‘I guess,’ he shrugged.
     
    The fire crackled around the knotty wood, sending a spray of sparks out onto the brick surround of the pizza oven. Rose looked at her husband and wondered how on earth she could ever have doubted that he was the one for her. They sat still, listening. The silence of the night was broken only by a blackbird that Rose had fed throughout the winter. He sat on their chimney, giving perspective to the evening.
     
    ‘I hope they don’t stay too long,’ Gareth said at last.
     
    ‘Oh, she doesn’t stop still,’ Rose said. ‘If I know Polly she’ll be up and off – probably with a new husband, band and recording contract – before I get a chance to change their bedlinen.’
     
    ‘I don’t want you running around after her. She’s a grown-up, you know. She needs to take care of her own stuff.’
     
    ‘OK, Dad,’ Rose said, leaning into him.
     
    ‘I’m sorry.’ Gareth put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I just don’t want us to be distracted from the important stuff.’
     
    ‘No worries about that.’ She reached up and kissed him. ‘You know, there’s something rather wonderful about this fire,’ she murmured, as she slipped to her knees and unbuttoned his Levis.
     
     
    Later, in their bedroom, as she lay next to Gareth – who had gone out like a light – Rose thought about what he had said, about the dark days, about how he had lost the plot. There was a point back then when his silence had been deafening. He had effectively signed out, only showing up for meals.
     
    This evening had been the first time they had ever really talked about it. She didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. Sometimes it was better just to forget about the unhappy stuff.
     
    Remembering that not so distant time, she again questioned her wisdom in welcoming Polly. But it was unthinkable that she could have turned her away. In any case, she and Gareth had sworn to be generous with their good fortune. After all, just ten years ago, they wouldn’t in their wildest dreams have imagined themselves in this comfortable position.
     
    Back then, before Hackney even, they lived in Gareth’s rented flat in Elephant and Castle. It actually had two bedrooms, but the landlord wasn’t allowed to charge rent for the second since it was too damp for human habitation. This ‘condemned’ room became Gareth’s studio, and it was there, out of necessity, that he had turned his back on the large-scale conceptual installations of his MA days. Instead, he started to work in what later became his trademark style of painting on found wood in oils. The dampness of the room meant that the oils stayed wet for longer than they normally would, and he