After You, Page 33
Jojo Moyes
forward and eyeing me almost suspiciously.
“It’s the shagging,” said Fred. “I’m sure that’s the cure. I bet I’d have got over Jilly much faster with all the shagging.”
Natasha and William exchanged a strange look.
“I’d like to come until the end of the term, if it’s okay,” I said to Marc. “It’s just . . . I’ve come to think of you all as my friends. I might not need it, but I would still like to come for a bit longer. Just to make sure. And, you know, to see everyone.”
Jake gave me a small smile.
“We should probably go dancing,” said Natasha.
“You can come for as long as you want,” said Marc. “That’s what we’re here for.”
My friends. A motley group, but then most friends are.
• • •
Orecchiette cooked al dente, pine nuts, basil, homegrown tomatoes, olives, tuna, and parmesan cheese. I had made the pasta salad according to Lily’s instructions, which she was relaying by phone from Mrs. Traynor.
“Good invalid food,” Camilla shouted from some distant kitchen. “Easy to digest if he’s spending a lot of time lying down.”
“I’d just buy him a takeaway,” muttered Lily. “Poor man’s suffered enough.” She cackled quietly. “Anyway, I thought you preferred him lying down.”
I walked along the hospital corridor later that evening feeling quietly proud of my little Tupperware of domesticity. I had made this supper the night before and now carried it in front of me like a badge of honor, half hoping someone would stop me and ask what it was. Yes, my boyfriend is recuperating. I bring him food every day, you know. Just little things he might fancy. You know these tomatoes are from my roof terrace?
• • •
Sam’s wounds were beginning to close up, the internal damage healing. He tried to get up too often, and was grumpy about being stuck in bed and worried about his animals, even though Donna, Jake, and I had set up a reasonably good animal husbandry schedule.
Two to three weeks, the consultants reckoned. If he did what he was told. Given the extent of his injuries he had been lucky. More than one conversation had taken place in my presence where medical professionals had murmured, “A centimeter the other way and . . .” I sang la-la-la-la-la-la in my head during those conversations.
I reached his corridor and buzzed myself in, cleaning my hands with the antibacterial foam as I pushed at the door with my hip.
“Evening,” said the nurse with glasses. “You’re late!”
“Had to go to a meeting.”
“You just missed his mum. She brought him the most delicious homemade steak and ale pie. You could smell it all the way down the ward. We’re still salivating.”
“Oh.” I lowered my box. “That’s nice.”
“Good to see him tuck in. The consultant will be round in about half an hour.”
I was just about to put the Tupperware into my bag when my phone rang. I pressed answer, still wrestling with the zip.
“Louisa?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Leonard Gopnik.”
It took me two seconds to register his name. I made to speak, then stood very still, glancing around me stupidly as if he could be somewhere nearby.
“Mr. Gopnik.”
“I got your e-mail.”
“Right.” I put the food container on a chair.
“It was an interesting read. I was pretty surprised when you turned down my job offer. As was Nathan. You seemed suited to it.”
“It’s like I said in my e-mail. I did want it, Mr. Gopnik. But I . . . well . . . things came up.”
“So is this girl doing okay now?”
“Lily. Yes. She’s in school. She’s happy. She’s with her family. Her new family. It was just a period of . . . adjustment.”
“You took that very seriously.”
“I . . . I’m not someone who can just . . . leave someone behind.”
There was a long silence. I turned away from Sam’s room and gazed out of the window at the car park, watching as an oversized 4x4 tried and failed to negotiate its way into a too-small parking space. Forward and backward. I could see it wasn’t going to fit, even from here.
“So here’s the thing, Louisa. It’s not working out with our new employee. She’s not happy. For whatever reason she and my wife are not really comfortable with each other. By mutual agreement she’s leaving at the end of the month. Which leaves me with a problem.”
I listened.
“I would like to offer you the job. But I’m unused to having people change their minds. And I don’t like upheaval, especially when it involves people close to me. So I guess I’m calling because I’m trying to get a clear picture of what it is you actually want.”
“Oh, I did really want it. But I—”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, and there was Sam, leaning against the wall.
“I—uh—”
“You got another position?”
“I got a promotion.”
“Is it a position you want to stay in?”
Sam was watching my face.
“N-not necessarily. But—”
“But obviously you have to weigh it all up. Okay. Well, I imagine that I’ve probably caught you by surprise with this call. But on the basis of what you wrote me, if you’re genuinely still interested I’d like to offer you the job. Same terms, to start as soon as possible. That’s as long as you’re sure that it’s something you really want. Do you think you can let me know within forty-eight hours?”
“Yes. Yes, Mr. Gopnik. Thank you. Thank you for calling.”
I heard him click off. I gazed at my phone and then looked up at Sam. He was wearing a hospital dressing gown over his too-short hospital nightshirt. Neither of us spoke for a moment.
“You’re up. You should be in bed.”
“I saw you through the window.”
“One ill-timed breeze and those nurses are going to be talking about you till Christmas.”
“Was that the New York guy?”
I felt, oddly, busted. I put my phone in my pocket and reached for the Tupperware container.
“The position came up again.” I watched his gaze slide briefly away from me. “But it’s . . . I’ve only just got you back. So I’m going to tell him no. Look, do you think you can manage some pasta after your epic pie? I know you’re probably full, but it’s so rare that I manage to cook something that’s actually edible.”
“No.”
“It’s not that bad. You could at least try—”
“Not the pasta. The job.”
We stared at each other. He ran his hand through his hair, glancing down the corridor. “You need to do this, Lou. You know it and I know it. You have to take it.”
“I tried to leave home before, and I just got even more messed up.”
“Because it was too soon. You were running away. This is different.”
I gazed up at him. I hated myself for realizing what I wanted to do. And I hated him for knowing it. We stood in the hospital corridor in silence. And then I saw he was rapidly losing color from his face. “You need to lie down.”
He didn’t fight me. I took his arm and we made our way to his bed. He winced as he lay back carefully on the pillows. I waited until I saw the color return to his face, then I lay down beside him and took his hand.
“I feel like we just sorted it all out. You and me.” I laid my head against his shoulder, feeling my throat constrict.
“We did.”
“I don’t want to be with anyone else, Sam.”
“Pfft. Like that was ever in doubt.”
“But long-distance relationships rarely survive.”
“So we are in a relationship?” I started to protest and he smiled. “I’m kidding. Some. Some don’t survive. I’m guessing some do, though. I guess it depends how much both sides want to try.”
His big arm looped around my neck and pulled me to him. I realized I was crying. He wiped at my te
ars gently with his thumb. “Lou, I don’t know what will happen. Nobody ever does. You can set out one morning and step in front of a motorbike and your whole life can change. You can go to work on a routine job and get shot by a teenager who thinks that’s what it takes to be a man.”
“You can fall off a tall building.”
“You can. Or you can go to visit a bloke wearing a nightie in a hospital bed and get the best job offer you can imagine. That’s life. We don’t know what will happen. Which is why we have to take our chances while we can. And . . . I think this might be yours.”
I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to hear him, not wanting to acknowledge the truth in what he was saying. I wiped at my eyes with the heels of my hands.
He handed me a tissue and waited while I wiped the black smears from my face.
“Panda eyes suit you.”
“I think I might be a bit in love with you.”
“I bet you say that to all the men in intensive care.”
I turned and kissed him. When I opened my eyes again he was watching me.
“I’ll give it a go if you will,” he said.
It took me a moment for the lump in my throat to subside enough for me to be able to speak. “I don’t know, Sam.”
“You don’t know what?”
“Life is short, right? We both know that. Well, what if you’re my chance? What if you are the thing that’s actually going to make me happiest?”
29
When people say autumn is their favorite season, I think it’s days like this that they mean: a dawn mist, burning off to a crisp clear light; piles of leaves blown into corners; the agreeably musty smell of gently moldering greenery. Some say you don’t really notice the seasons in the city, that the endless gray buildings and the microclimate caused by traffic fumes mean there is never a huge difference; there is only inside and out, wet or dry. But on the roof it was clear. It wasn’t just in the huge expanse of sky; it was also in Lily’s tomato plants, which had pushed out swollen red fruit for weeks, and the hanging strawberry pots providing an intermittent array of occasional tart treats. The flowers budded and then curled and browned, the fresh green growth of early summer giving way to twiggy stalks and space where foliage had been. Up on the roof you could already detect the faintest hint of the oncoming winter in the breeze. An airplane was leaving a vapor trail across the sky and I noted that the streetlights were still on from the night before.
My mother emerged onto the roof in her slacks, gazing around her at the guests and wiping droplets of moisture from the fire escape off the legs of her trousers. “It really is quite something, this space of yours, Louisa. You could fit a hundred people up here.” She was carrying a bag containing several bottles of champagne, and put it down carefully before straightening up and gazing around. “Did I tell you, I think you’re very brave getting up the confidence to come up here again?”
“I still can’t believe you managed to fall off,” observed my sister, who had been refilling glasses. “Only you could fall off a space this big.”
“Well, she was drunk as a lord, love, remember?” Mum headed back to the fire escape. “Where did you get all this champagne from, Louisa? This looks awful grand.”
“My boss gave it to me.”
We had been cashing up a few nights earlier, chatting (we chatted quite a lot now, especially since he’d had his baby. I knew more about Mrs. Percival’s water retention than I think she would have been entirely comfortable with). I had mentioned my plans and Richard had just walked off, toward the cellars, as if he hadn’t been listening. I had been ready to chalk it up as just another example of how he was still basically a bit of a wazzock, but when he reemerged a few minutes later he was holding a crate containing half a dozen bottles of champagne. “Here. Sixty percent off. Last of the order.” He handed me the box and shrugged. “Actually, sod it. Just take them. Go on. You’ve earned them.”
I had stuttered my thanks and he had muttered something about them being not a great vintage and the last of the line, but his ears had gone a telltale pink.
“You could try to sound a bit pleased that I didn’t actually die.” I passed Treena a tray of glasses.
“Oh, I got over my ‘I wish I was an only child’ thing ages ago. Well, maybe two years or so.”
Mum approached with a packet of napkins. She spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “Now, do you think these will be okay?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“It’s the Traynors, isn’t it? They don’t use paper napkins. They’ll have linen ones. Probably with a coat of arms embroidered on them or something.”
“Mum, they’ve traveled to the roof of a former office block in east London. I don’t think they’re expecting silver service.”
“Oh,” said Treena. “And I brought Thom’s spare duvet and pillow. I thought we might as well start bringing bits and bobs down every time we come. I’ve got an appointment to look at that after-school club tomorrow.”
“It’s wonderful that you’ve got it all worked out, girls. Treena, if you like, I’ll mind Thom for you. Just let me know.”
We worked around each other, setting out glasses and paper plates, until Mum disappeared to fetch more inadequate napkins. I lowered my voice so that she couldn’t hear. “Treen? Is Dad really not coming?”
My sister grimaced, and I tried not to look as dismayed as I felt.
“Is it really no better?”
“I’m hoping that when I’m gone they’ll have to talk to each other. They just skirt around each other and talk to me or Thom most of the time. It’s maddening. Mum’s pretending she doesn’t care that he didn’t come down with us, but I know she does.”
“I really thought he’d be here.”
I had seen my mother twice since the shooting. She had signed up for a new course—Modern English Poetry—at the Adult Education Center and now grew wistful at symbols everywhere. Every blown leaf was a sign of impending decrepitude, every airborne bird a sign of hopes and dreams. We had gone once to a poetry reading on the South Bank, where she had sat rapt and applauded twice into the silence, and once to the cinema, then onto the loos at the smart hotel near Haymarket, where she had shared sandwiches with Maria in the two easy chairs of the cloakroom. Both times, when we had found ourselves alone, she had been oddly brittle. “Well, aren’t we having a lovely time?” she would say repeatedly, as if challenging me to say differently. And then she would grow quiet or exclaim about the insane price of sandwiches in London.
Treena pulled the bench across, plumping up the cushions she had brought up from downstairs. “It’s Granddad I worry about. He doesn’t like all the tension. He changes his socks four times a day and he’s broken two of the buttons on the remote control by overpressing.”
“God—there’s a thought. Who would get custody?”
My sister stared at me in horror.
“Don’t look at me,” we said in unison.
And then we were interrupted by the first of the Moving On Circle, Sunil and Leanne, coming up the fire-escape steps, remarking on the size of the roof terrace, the unexpectedly magnificent view over the east of the City.
• • •
Lily arrived at twelve on the dot, throwing her arms around me and letting out a little growl of happiness. “I love that dress! You look completely gorgeous.” She was sun-kissed, her face open and freckled, the tiny hairs on her arms bleached white, clad in a pale blue dress and gladiator sandals. I watched her as she gazed around at the roof terrace, clearly delighted to be there again. Camilla, making her way slowly up the fire escape behind her, straightened her jacket and walked over to me, an expression of mild admonishment on her face.
“You could have waited, Lily.”
“Why? You’re not some old person.”
Camilla and I exchanged wry glances, and then, almost impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She smelled of expensive department stores and her hair was perfect. “It’s lovely that you came.”
“They’re pelargoniums,” said Camilla. “You won’t want to leave them up here over the winter.”
“She could put fleece over them. Those terra-cotta pots are heavy to take down.”
“They still won’t survive up here,” said Camilla. “Too exposed.”
“Actually,” I said, “Thom’s coming to live here and we’re not sure he would be safe on the roof, given what happened to me, so we’re closing it off. So if you’d like to take those with you afterward . . .”
“No,” Lily said, after a moment’s thought. “Let’s leave it. It will be nice to just think of it like this. As it was.”
She helped me with a trestle table, and talked a little of school—she was happy there but struggling slightly with the work—and of her mother, who was apparently making eyes at a Spanish architect called Felipe, who had bought the house next door in St. John’s Wood. “I feel almost sorry for Fuckface. He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.”
“But you’re okay?” I said.
“I’m fine. Life is pretty good.” She popped a crisp into her mouth. “Granny made me go and see the new baby, did I tell you?”
I must have looked startled. “I know. But she said someone had to behave like a grown-up. She actually came with me. She was epically cool. I’m not meant to know but she bought a Jaeger jacket specially. I think she needed more confidence than she let on.” She glanced over at Camilla, who was chatting with Sam by the food table. “Actually, I felt a bit sad for my grandfather. When he thought nobody was looking he kept gazing at her like he felt a bit sad at how it had all turned out.”
“And how was it?”
She shrugged. “It’s a baby. I mean, they all look the same, don’t they? I think they were on their best behavior, though. It was all a bit ‘And how is school, Lily? Would you like to fix a date to come and stay? And would you like to hold your aunt?’ Like that doesn’t sound completely weird.”
“You’ll go and see them again?”
“Probably. They’re all right, I suppose.”
I glanced over at Georgina, who was talking politely to her father. He laughed, slightly too loudly. He had barely left her side since she had arrived. “He calls me twice a week to chat about stuff, and Della keeps going on about how she wants me and the baby to ‘build a relationship,’ like a baby can do anything except eat and scream and poop.” She pulled a face.
I laughed.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just good to see you.”
“Oh. And I brought you something.”
I waited as she pulled a little box out of her bag and handed it to me. “I saw it at this totally tedious antiques fair that Granny made me go to and it made me think of you.”
I opened the box carefully. Inside, on dark blue velvet, was an Art Deco bracelet, its cylindrical beads alternating jet and amber. I picked it up and held it in my palm.
“It’s a bit out there, right? But it reminded me of—”
“The tights.”
