“Shit...” I let slip, stunned.
“The following morning, when we returned to her hospital room, Meg had passed away.”
I swallowed my grief. I couldn't speak. How traumatic... It only took me ten seconds to come to my conclusion.
“Let's go find the policemen you were just talking to,” I told Val.
Chapter 49
Question 1:
What is included in promotional strategies?
And there we were... Twenty-eight Marketing students sitting in rows on single tables, going over all thirty questions of the first exam of the week. Mrs Auteberry was our supervisor that Monday morning. She kept looking over her glasses to check nobody was cheating. And every hour on the hour, she took much pleasure in counting down the time that was left for us to fill in the blank sheet of paper laid out in front of us.
Question 5:
What is a graphical way of representing two or more dimensions
or variables that are represented in consumers' minds?
It was going to be a hell of a day...
I had barely closed my eyes the night before. Val and I had spent three hours at the police station, going over every little detail with the same two gentlemen who had paid a visit to Behind the Curtains that afternoon. There was a lot of talking and a lot of waiting, until they finally decided they had all the information they needed for the investigation.
“Are you going to set my boy free?” Val asked them before leaving the premises.
“No, Ma'am,” one replied, coldly. “Mister Downes still has a lot to prove.”
“Can I see him?” she requested, desperately.
“No, Ma'am. Not tonight. You'll have to come back tomorrow.”
“I'll be back at the break of dawn!” she warned the policemen.
I walked her back to the club. I could have stayed there the entire evening to comfort her, but she insisted that I get back to my revisions. I promised her I would, but I spent most of my time wandering around the town until the sun went down. Then, I returned to the flat and shared my roommates' company in the living room. When they decided it was time for bed, I locked myself in my own room and hid under my covers – again. I wasn’t thinking straight... I wondered whether Val and I had done the right thing or not. Could our version of Chris' story save him? Would he forgive me for not keeping my promise to stay out of it all? Would we soon be reunited? Would he still want me?
That night, I was desperate to hear Olivia's voice. I needed to tell her everything. And I mean, E-VE-RY-THING. Without thinking twice, I reached into my handbag, grabbed my mobile and dialled her number. She didn't reply... It was midnight, after all! Of course she was sleeping. I should have been too. Instead, I fidgeted in bed for hours on end.
I guess, in some way, I was in the best state of mind to take my exams, in the sense that I wasn't nervous about them. I was worried about Olivia and Chris; that was all the anguish my brain could take. There was no room left for test anxiety. Tommy, who was sitting to my right, was a bit more flustered. He was racing to answer the questions and his paper was already jam-packed with lengthy responses and solutions. Jessica was to my left, and she was constantly drumming her fingers on her desk out of frustration – a bloody nuisance! Kelly was sitting in front of my table. I could only see the back of her head. She compulsively scratched it throughout the four hours, as if her repetitive action could help ideas to form in her brain. I took a deep breath and attempted to focus on the questions, but no matter how much I tried, my mind kept going back to the two students who were unable to take their exams that very day.
“Does anybody know why Miss Ledford and Mister Downes are missing today?” Mrs Auteberry asked after checking her list of students.
All heads in the room looked up at her, irritated that she had dared to break their concentration half way through the exam with her annoying high-pitched voice. All except two: Tommy and Jessica's eyes were both fixed on me. The first knew I had information about Olivia; the second despised that I most probably knew where Chris was too. I chose not to say a word about either of them. Now wasn't the time to get into explanations and I wanted to respect their privacy. I ignored Mrs Auteberry's inquiry and got back to the exam.
Chapter 50
“I've put the tests all together in this folder. When you feel like it, have a look at them. It'll give you a head start for next year!” I winked when giving the file to Olivia.
She didn't take it, and didn't return a smile either. My friend was indifferent to my help that Thursday afternoon. In all honesty, my own motivation to help had started to fade... It was getting harder and harder to stimulate a person who seemed numb to any positive or encouraging actions. Olivia looked vacantly out of the window, as if she preferred that I hadn't shown up that day. I was desperate to feel a moment of happiness with my friend, and most importantly, to feel connected with her; she looked so absent. Her head leaned back against the support of the hospital bed and her eyes stared into space. In that moment, I thought it would be a good idea to tell her all that had happened with Chris. A little gossip always cheered her up, and I couldn't hold my tongue any longer.
“Chris and I, we kissed last week...” I began.
I was hoping for a hair-trigger response from her, but she remained as she was.
“He's in trouble at the moment... but before... Well, after...”
I struggled to speak clearly while Olivia was sitting motionless in front of me.
“He's– He's had a rough childhood. He was upset last week... He made an awful mistake before coming to see me... Then, then we kissed...”
“I don't care,” Olivia said, out of the blue.
“What?”
“I don't care what goes on. In his life, and in yours.”
“You're having a bad day, Olivia. You'll feel better tomorrow...”
I reached out to take her right hand that was resting on her stomach. She removed it straight away and placed it under her light quilt. The silence that followed was difficult to handle. Something was wrong. Olivia was distant, unresponsive and cold. Not cold, icy. Frightfully icy.
“Can I get you something, Olivia?” I asked, seeking to ease the tension. “What could help you feel better?”
“I want you to leave,” she replied.
In a split second, my eyes welled up and my heartbeat galloped like a horse ridden by a jockey determined to win a race.
“You– You want me... to leave?”
She didn't answer.
“Okay. I'll come back tomorrow then...” I told her, trying to keep it together.
“No,” she said. “Don't come back.”
“Wh– Why? Olivia? What's wrong?”
She didn't even look at me. My hands started to shake.
“What's wrong?” I repeated, distraught.
“Our lives are not the same anymore. We don't have anything in common.”
“Of course we do! When you get better–”
“Leave!” she interrupted.
“Olivia?” I cried, begging her to look at me.
She never did.
“Just go,” she said.
Her tone was calm, cold and dispirited.
“And take the file with you.”
Very slowly, I took the folder in my hands, left the corner of her bed and walked to the exit. Every second along the way, I expected her to change her mind, say sorry, or tell me to come back in a couple of days, but she didn't say a word. When I looked back at her before leaving the room, she was still staring out of the window. She was lonely, I could tell, and yet she was pushing me away.
My heart broke as I stepped into the corridor. Surely this wasn't the end of our friendship? DAMN THIS ANOREXIA! All that I had done had been ineffective and in vain! The lessons I copied for her every week, the shopping online for funny jumpers, the card games, the gossip, the banner that was hanging on the wall in her room... Nothing had worked! Her eating disorder had got the bett
er of her. All that she thought was part of her life, was her anorexia.
Tears fell down my cheeks as I unwillingly removed myself. I wiped them immediately to avoid showing my distress and brokenness to the nurses, patients and doctors passing by.
Just when you think things can only get better, they get worse.
Chapter 51
My right-hand man – well, right-hand woman – had given up, and I was cast into a double-faced, polluted and nerve-wracking society without the moral support of my most precious confidant. Not only did I feel impotent, I had also lost faith in the happy-ending my sister always spoke about. While Geoffrey was running free somewhere in Spain, Chris was behind bars and Olivia had cut off all communication with me. What was happening to my world? Was this meant to be part of growing up? Seeing a criminal get away while my friends lost their freedom? Fuck! I wanted to go back to a simpler, fairer and innocent era, when I still believed that life could only show me good times. My twenties sucked!
When stepping out of the hospital, I felt lost. Where to next? I wanted to return back upstairs, to room 206. Back to Olivia, where I belonged. Maybe she just needed a bit of time... It was probably best that I gave her the space she asked for. I walked away, hoping that the next day, she would give me a call. In the meantime, I decided to drop by Behind the Curtains. Val most certainly had important information about Chris to share with me.
***
“He has asked us to testify in court,” she said as she poured steaming hot water into the mug in front of me.
As soon as I had entered the club, Val spotted me and waved with huge enthusiasm to invite me to the private apartment on first floor. Without even asking, she prepared two Earl Grey teas and placed a whole tin of Butterfly cakes in the middle of the kitchen table.
“Help yourself, darling” she said. “There are plenty more where those came from.”
I must admit that her creamy cupcakes had the superpower to comfort me. Without fail, they succeeded in dousing my sadness as soon as I felt the sponge cake and the sugary icing on my lips.
“Will our statements help Chris?” I asked.
“Well, our information is limited. We weren't at the scene of the crime, but we can enlighten the judge on his character... Make him understand that my boy is good.”
Val had obviously never been aware of Chris' evil pranks at university, nor of his bad reputation throughout his studies – not to mention his brutal plan to avenge his mother! Nevertheless, I agreed with her. Deep down, Chris was good. Hurt to his very core, but good.
“I will visit him this weekend, after tomorrow's exams,” I told Val.
“Oh, that won't be necessary, dear,” she remarked.
At first I was overjoyed to hear that Chris was going to let us support him in court, but Val's sudden change of tone when I mentioned my intention to call on him, made my painful emotions re-emerge.
“What do you mean?”
“He– He doesn't want you to do that, darling...”
The Butterfly cakes' power was weakening already.
“I don't understand,” I complained, desperate for an explanation.
“He will not accept to see you if you visit him in prison,” Val explained, without daring to look me in the eye.
“Why?” I said nervously.
I wanted to see Chris so badly, and I couldn't bear the opportunity being taken away from me.
“That's all he said, love...” Val declared, still avoiding eye-contact and looking down on a lonely cupcake sitting on the table in front of her.
She knew I was crushed.
“I think he's ashamed,” she gave as a reason for his decision.
“I– I don't understand... I love him... I love that damn boy! He wants me to testify, but he won't let me visit?”
There was nothing more Val could say, it seemed.
“Well tough! I'm going to see him! He has no choice!” I insisted, choking up.
I even felt a little sick. The cakes were going down the wrong way. My oesophagus and stomach had tensed up ever so quickly.
“Sorry... He told me he didn't want to see you,” Val repeated, uneasy and regretful.
Not Chris as well! First my best friend, now the man I had fallen in love with! Both refused to let me visit them! What could I have done so wrong for them to reject me when we needed each other the most! I urgently had to escape this conversation, before the outburst in my chest reached my naked face. I wouldn't have had the strength to hold back my tears.
“Thank you for the tea and cakes,” I said to Val politely, hiding my pain as I left the table.
Val wasn't naïve and guessed why I had to leave so suddenly.
“I'm sorry, darling... Chris is most probably not himself at the moment...”
“That– That's okay,” I stuttered.
“Will you testify?” she asked with pleading eyes, hoping the news wouldn't stop me from joining her in court.
“Yes... yes... of course...”
I scribbled my mobile number on the first little scrap of paper I could find on her kitchen counter. My writing was irregular and unsteady; hopefully Val could read it. After that, I left the club before you could say Jack Robinson. Our goodbyes were brief and flustered. I had to get out of there.
My heart broke for the second time that afternoon. I was in need of fresh air. My sorrow lead me to Crosby beach. There, I sat on the crispy sand in front of the seaside, drowning my sadness in tears and watching waves collide with the three iron sculptures of men standing in the water. The tide was low, and yet the sea crashed against the lonely, cold statues as if to warn them a menacing storm was on its way. The sky on the horizon was getting darker by the minute. I was ready for the rain to plummet onto my body and wear down the never-ending voice in my mind. A voice that was shouting over and over again...
I hope they know. I hope they know how much I love them.
Two years later...
Chapter 52
With pasta in one hand and Parmesan cheese in the other, I marched up five flights of stairs to get to Hannah and Michael's apartment. They had invited me over for dinner, but my former roommates only had half the ingredients to make a spaghetti Bolognese. Just before leaving my flat that Sunday evening, I received a panic call from Hannah. “Spaghetti! Spaghetti!” she asked for on the other end of the line. “And cheese! It's not the same without cheese!” I heard Michael add in the background. After a dull afternoon on my own at home, I was looking forward to spending the evening with the two people who always brought a smile to my lips and to my heart.
Hannah and Michael found an apartment for themselves a year ago. Before that, the three of us were still sharing our old flat together... until the two lovebirds got engaged and started planning their wedding! – you should have seen Hannah's reaction when she told me Michael had asked her to marry him. She was deliriously happy, with a beaming grin on her face and cheery tears in her eyes! It was magical. Michael had proposed whilst I was visiting my sister in Plymouth over a long weekend. On the Saturday evening, Hannah came home to a living room filled with candles and roses... How romantic! – As soon as she told me the news, I insisted that they take our apartment. But, as a matter of fact, they were eager to find a snug and smaller home in the artists' street. After months and months of searching, they eventually found one. It was on fifth floor without a lift, making it exhausting to get to their front door... By the time I rang the doorbell, I looked as though I had just ran a marathon. In two words: clammy and red-faced. To make matters worse, it was thirty-five degrees outside. July was going to be hot! No rain whatsoever had been announced for the two weeks to come. For us British, the yearly summer climate was getting too excessive and draining.
Hannah opened the door and saw me standing like a soggy wet thing, handing over the packet of pasta to her.
“Oh super! Spaghetti!” she said merrily.
I followed her into their cosy, yet very dusty, living room and
was suddenly surrounded by dozens of paintings. They had scattered their artworks all over their small rectangular old-fashioned room. All the shelving, the tables and the sofa had become display units.
“What's going on here?” I asked.
“We've made it!” Michael said as he greeted my arrival with home-made fresh lemonade. “Our paintings are going to be part of a temporary exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in the fall!” he explained, excited.
I immediately gave him a heartfelt embrace to congratulate him.
“My paintings too!” squealed Hannah, overjoyed and running towards us to take part in a spontaneous group hug.
“That's fantastic!” I congratulated while holding both of them in my arms.
“We need your help tonight,” said Michael, “we must choose the best ones for the showing...”
“Let's get started!” I suggested, ready to begin.
The decisions weren't easy to make; all my friends' paintings were impressive. They had depicted beautiful beach scenes at sunset and by night. While Michael's style patterned itself upon the traits of the cubism movement, Hannah had a particular romantic touch, filling her pictures with feeling and emotion.
We finally came to a conclusive choice by midnight that evening, after having questioned every artworks' strengths and weaknesses – and eaten a whole big casserole of spaghetti with bolognese sauce. There weren't many buses on a Sunday night, which meant that it was time for me to head home to Crosby beach, where my studio was located. I had to catch the twelve-past-twelve bus, leaving me only a couple of minutes to say goodnight to Hannah and Michael.
To be loved Page 19
