by David Szalay
He asked her when she was going to get her doctorate.
‘About two years,’ she told him.
‘I hope I live that long,’ he said, and laughed.
After supper they went to see the film.
She didn’t sleep well. She was on the sofa, which unfolded into a flimsy bed. It was odd and unsettling to lie there surrounded by the looming shapes of the living room. It wasn’t properly dark – a street light outside the window shone in through the pale blind. She was troubled by a sense of separation from her own past. She was also troubled, in another way, by the fact that she hadn’t yet told her father her news. Lying there in the semi-darkness, it seemed starkly obvious to her that she had to tell him before they went to the hospital in the morning, that if she waited until afterwards, it might be too late.
‘I have something to tell you,’ she said. ‘Moussa and I are getting married.’
He stared at her for a moment, and then asked, quite pleasantly, ‘He’s not some nutcase is he?’
She stared at him, wondering what to make of the question. Finally she said, ‘No, I don’t think he’s a nutcase.’
‘You know,’ her father said, and he was still smiling, ‘some Islamic nutter?’
‘He’s not like that.’
‘Moussa?’ He lifted his mug to his mouth. It was the next morning. They were sitting at the kitchen table. Neither of them was eating anything.
‘That’s his name, yes.’
‘Moses.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you love him?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, feeling that she mustn’t hesitate or seem even slightly unsure.
‘Well that’s the important thing, I suppose. Why doesn’t he come and visit?’
‘Why doesn’t he come to London?’
‘Yes.’
She said, ‘He has an expired Syrian passport – might be a problem at Heathrow?’
Her father laughed at that. He seemed very amused by the whole situation. ‘Yes, it might.’
‘He’s not allowed to leave Hungary,’ she explained.
‘No?’
‘It’s where he was granted asylum.’
‘I thought the nasty Hungarians didn’t do that sort of thing.’
‘They used to. He arrived in early 2015.’
‘Ah. Well,’ her father said, ‘maybe I’ll come and meet him there. If I live long enough that is …’
‘Will you stop saying things like that,’ she said.
Her tone took him by surprise.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘just stop saying things like that. I know you find it hard to be serious about anything.’
She had never spoken to him in that way before. She had no idea how he would take it. She waited, looking at him, feeling unexpectedly euphoric.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m frightened.’
‘I know, I understand …’
‘That’s why I say things like that.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But some things are serious. Which is frightening.’
Though she didn’t want it, she poured the last of the coffee from the cafetière into her mug. He had had that cafetière for as long as she could remember, all her life. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. She looked at her watch. ‘We should go soon,’ she said. His appointment at the hospital was in an hour.
They put on their shoes and jackets and were about to leave when he stopped for a moment at the door and said, ‘I’m happy you’re here.’
‘That’s ok,’ she said.
They went down the stairs. It was still quite early, a few minutes after eight. They walked to the bus stop on Westbourne Grove. Clouds moved in the sky, the sun came and went, and as they reached the corner the wind dislodged blossoms from all the trees in the street.
@vintagebooks
penguin.co.uk/vintage
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781473561243
Version 1.0
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
VINTAGE
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
Vintage is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
Copyright © David Szalay 2018
David Szalay has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published by Jonathan Cape in 2018
penguin.co.uk/vintage
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
