‘Yeah. Well, right now, I don’t really want to test the odds.’
Some minutes later, when I could make my legs obey my brain, we went down the two flights of iron steps. We stopped outside my window when I realized I was shaking too much to climb through and I sat down on the step.
Lily rolled her eyes, waiting. Then, when she grasped I couldn’t move, she sat down on the steps beside me. We were only, perhaps, ten feet lower than we had been, but with my hallway visible through the window, and a rail on each side, I began to breathe normally again.
‘You know what you need,’ she said, and held up her roll-up.
‘Are you seriously telling me to get stoned? Four floors up? You know I just fell off a roof?’
‘It’ll help you relax.’
And then, when I didn’t take it, ‘Oh, come on. What – are you seriously the straightest person in the whole of London?’
‘I’m not from London.’
Afterwards, I couldn’t believe I had been manipulated by a sixteen-year-old. But Lily was like the cool girl in class, the one you found yourself trying to impress. Before she could say anything else, I took it from her and had a tentative drag, trying not to cough when it hit the back of my throat. ‘Anyway, you’re sixteen,’ I muttered. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this. And where is someone like you getting this stuff?’
Lily peered over the railing. ‘Did you fancy him?’
‘Fancy who? Your dad? Not at first.’
‘Because he was in a wheelchair.’
Because he was doing an impression of Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot and it scared the bejaysus out of me, I wanted to say, but it would have taken too much explaining. ‘No. The wheelchair was the least important thing about him. I didn’t fancy him because … he was very angry. And a bit intimidating. And those two things made him quite hard to fancy.’
‘Do I look like him? I Googled him but I can’t tell.’
‘A bit. Your colouring is the same. Maybe your eyes.’
‘My mum said he was really handsome and that was what made him such an arsehole. One of the things. Whenever I’m getting on her nerves now she tells me I’m just like him. Oh, God, you’re just like Will Traynor.’ She always calls him Will Traynor, though. Not “your father”. She’s determined to make out like Fuckface is my dad, even though he is patently not. It’s like she thinks she can just make a family by insisting that we are one.’
I took another drag. I could feel myself getting woozy. Apart from one night at a house party in Paris, it had been years since I’d had a joint. ‘You know, I think I’d enjoy this more if there wasn’t a small possibility of me falling off this fire escape.’
She took it from me. ‘Jeez, Louise. You need to have some fun.’ She inhaled deeply, and leaned her head back. ‘Did he tell you about how he was feeling? Like the real stuff?’ She inhaled again and handed it back to me. She seemed totally unaffected.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you argue?’
‘Quite a lot. But we laughed a lot, too.’
‘Did he fancy you?’
‘Fancy me? … I don’t know if “fancy” is the right word.’
My mouth worked silently around words I couldn’t find. How could I explain to this girl what Will and I had been to each other, the way I felt that no person in the world had ever understood me like he did or ever would again? How could she understand that losing him was like having a hole shot straight through me, a painful, constant reminder, an absence I could never fill?
She stared at me. ‘He did! My dad fancied you!’ She started to giggle. And it was such a ridiculous thing to say, such a useless word, faced with what Will and I had been to each other, that, despite myself, I giggled too.
‘My dad had the hots for you. How mad is that?’ She gasped. ‘Oh, my God! In a different universe, you could have been MY STEPMUM.’
We gazed at each other in mock-horror and somehow this fact swelled between us until a bubble of merriment lodged in my chest. I began to laugh, the kind of laugh that verges on hysteria, that makes your stomach hurt, where the mere act of looking at someone sets you off again.
‘Did you have sex?’
And that killed it.
‘Okay. This conversation has now got weird.’
Lily pulled a face. ‘Your whole relationship sounds weird.’
‘It wasn’t at all. It … it …’
It was suddenly too much: the rooftop, the questions, the joint, the memories of Will. We seemed to be conjuring him out of the air between us: his smile, his skin, the feel of his face against mine, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. I let my head fall slightly between my knees. Breathe, I told myself.
‘Louisa?’
‘What?’
‘Did he always plan to go to that place? Dignitas?’
I nodded. I repeated the word to myself, trying to quell my rising sense of panic. In. Out. Just breathe.
‘Did you try to change his mind?’
‘Will was … stubborn.’
‘Did you argue about it?’
I swallowed. ‘Right up until the last day.’
The last day. Why had I said that? I closed my eyes.
When I finally opened them again, she was watching me.
‘Were you with him when he died?’
Our eyes locked. The young are terrifying, I thought. They are without boundaries. They fear nothing. I could see the next question forming on her lips, the faint searching in her gaze. But perhaps she was not as brave as I’d thought.
Finally she dropped her gaze. ‘So when are you going to tell his parents about me?’
My heart lurched. ‘This week. I’ll call this week.’
She nodded, turned her face away so that I couldn’t see her expression. I watched as she inhaled again. And then, abruptly, she dropped the joint through the bars of the fire-escape steps, stood up and climbed inside without a backward look. I waited until my legs felt as if they could support me again, then followed her through the window.
CHAPTER NINE
I called on Tuesday lunchtime, when a joint one-day strike by French and German air-traffic control had left the bar almost empty. I waited until Richard had disappeared to the wholesaler’s, then stood out on the concourse, outside the last Ladies before security, and searched my phone for the number I had never been able to delete.
The phone rang three, four times, and just for a moment I was filled with the overwhelming urge to press END CALL. But then a man’s voice answered, his vowels clipped, familiar. ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Traynor? It – it’s Lou.’
‘Lou?’
‘Louisa Clark.’
A short silence. I could hear his memories thudding down on him along with the simple fact of my name and felt oddly guilty. The last time I had seen him had been at Will’s graveside, a prematurely aged man, repeatedly straightening his shoulders as he struggled under the weight of his grief.
‘Louisa. Well … Goodness. This is – How are you?’
I shifted to allow Violet to sway past with her trolley. She gave me a knowing smile, adjusting her purple turban with her free hand. I noticed she had little Union Jacks painted on her fingernails.
‘I’m very well, thank you. And how are you?’
Some minutes later, when I could make my legs obey my brain, we went down the two flights of iron steps. We stopped outside my window when I realized I was shaking too much to climb through and I sat down on the step.
Lily rolled her eyes, waiting. Then, when she grasped I couldn’t move, she sat down on the steps beside me. We were only, perhaps, ten feet lower than we had been, but with my hallway visible through the window, and a rail on each side, I began to breathe normally again.
‘You know what you need,’ she said, and held up her roll-up.
‘Are you seriously telling me to get stoned? Four floors up? You know I just fell off a roof?’
‘It’ll help you relax.’
And then, when I didn’t take it, ‘Oh, come on. What – are you seriously the straightest person in the whole of London?’
‘I’m not from London.’
Afterwards, I couldn’t believe I had been manipulated by a sixteen-year-old. But Lily was like the cool girl in class, the one you found yourself trying to impress. Before she could say anything else, I took it from her and had a tentative drag, trying not to cough when it hit the back of my throat. ‘Anyway, you’re sixteen,’ I muttered. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this. And where is someone like you getting this stuff?’
Lily peered over the railing. ‘Did you fancy him?’
‘Fancy who? Your dad? Not at first.’
‘Because he was in a wheelchair.’
Because he was doing an impression of Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot and it scared the bejaysus out of me, I wanted to say, but it would have taken too much explaining. ‘No. The wheelchair was the least important thing about him. I didn’t fancy him because … he was very angry. And a bit intimidating. And those two things made him quite hard to fancy.’
‘Do I look like him? I Googled him but I can’t tell.’
‘A bit. Your colouring is the same. Maybe your eyes.’
‘My mum said he was really handsome and that was what made him such an arsehole. One of the things. Whenever I’m getting on her nerves now she tells me I’m just like him. Oh, God, you’re just like Will Traynor.’ She always calls him Will Traynor, though. Not “your father”. She’s determined to make out like Fuckface is my dad, even though he is patently not. It’s like she thinks she can just make a family by insisting that we are one.’
I took another drag. I could feel myself getting woozy. Apart from one night at a house party in Paris, it had been years since I’d had a joint. ‘You know, I think I’d enjoy this more if there wasn’t a small possibility of me falling off this fire escape.’
She took it from me. ‘Jeez, Louise. You need to have some fun.’ She inhaled deeply, and leaned her head back. ‘Did he tell you about how he was feeling? Like the real stuff?’ She inhaled again and handed it back to me. She seemed totally unaffected.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you argue?’
‘Quite a lot. But we laughed a lot, too.’
‘Did he fancy you?’
‘Fancy me? … I don’t know if “fancy” is the right word.’
My mouth worked silently around words I couldn’t find. How could I explain to this girl what Will and I had been to each other, the way I felt that no person in the world had ever understood me like he did or ever would again? How could she understand that losing him was like having a hole shot straight through me, a painful, constant reminder, an absence I could never fill?
She stared at me. ‘He did! My dad fancied you!’ She started to giggle. And it was such a ridiculous thing to say, such a useless word, faced with what Will and I had been to each other, that, despite myself, I giggled too.
‘My dad had the hots for you. How mad is that?’ She gasped. ‘Oh, my God! In a different universe, you could have been MY STEPMUM.’
We gazed at each other in mock-horror and somehow this fact swelled between us until a bubble of merriment lodged in my chest. I began to laugh, the kind of laugh that verges on hysteria, that makes your stomach hurt, where the mere act of looking at someone sets you off again.
‘Did you have sex?’
And that killed it.
‘Okay. This conversation has now got weird.’
Lily pulled a face. ‘Your whole relationship sounds weird.’
‘It wasn’t at all. It … it …’
It was suddenly too much: the rooftop, the questions, the joint, the memories of Will. We seemed to be conjuring him out of the air between us: his smile, his skin, the feel of his face against mine, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. I let my head fall slightly between my knees. Breathe, I told myself.
‘Louisa?’
‘What?’
‘Did he always plan to go to that place? Dignitas?’
I nodded. I repeated the word to myself, trying to quell my rising sense of panic. In. Out. Just breathe.
‘Did you try to change his mind?’
‘Will was … stubborn.’
‘Did you argue about it?’
I swallowed. ‘Right up until the last day.’
The last day. Why had I said that? I closed my eyes.
When I finally opened them again, she was watching me.
‘Were you with him when he died?’
Our eyes locked. The young are terrifying, I thought. They are without boundaries. They fear nothing. I could see the next question forming on her lips, the faint searching in her gaze. But perhaps she was not as brave as I’d thought.
Finally she dropped her gaze. ‘So when are you going to tell his parents about me?’
My heart lurched. ‘This week. I’ll call this week.’
She nodded, turned her face away so that I couldn’t see her expression. I watched as she inhaled again. And then, abruptly, she dropped the joint through the bars of the fire-escape steps, stood up and climbed inside without a backward look. I waited until my legs felt as if they could support me again, then followed her through the window.
CHAPTER NINE
I called on Tuesday lunchtime, when a joint one-day strike by French and German air-traffic control had left the bar almost empty. I waited until Richard had disappeared to the wholesaler’s, then stood out on the concourse, outside the last Ladies before security, and searched my phone for the number I had never been able to delete.
The phone rang three, four times, and just for a moment I was filled with the overwhelming urge to press END CALL. But then a man’s voice answered, his vowels clipped, familiar. ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Traynor? It – it’s Lou.’
‘Lou?’
‘Louisa Clark.’
A short silence. I could hear his memories thudding down on him along with the simple fact of my name and felt oddly guilty. The last time I had seen him had been at Will’s graveside, a prematurely aged man, repeatedly straightening his shoulders as he struggled under the weight of his grief.
‘Louisa. Well … Goodness. This is – How are you?’
I shifted to allow Violet to sway past with her trolley. She gave me a knowing smile, adjusting her purple turban with her free hand. I noticed she had little Union Jacks painted on her fingernails.
‘I’m very well, thank you. And how are you?’
