“Why wouldn’t you? Leading the IT security team is massive.”
“I know. So’s the salary.” He grinned.
“I’m surprised Lynne’s okay with it. I mean, she wouldn’t even think about leaving Cardiff when you met.”
“You should’ve seen her face when we flew over a few weeks ago.”
“On your—” I made air-quotation marks “—Swiss mini-break aka fact-finding mission?”
“Yeah, well, she loved it. One of the only times I’ve seen my wife incapable of talking. It’s a beautiful place, it really is.”
“Ah, well, at least the contract’s only for a year.”
“Yeah... About that...it’s not contract.”
“But you said—”
“I said that’s what I applied for, but after the interview, they changed the spec.”
“So it’s a permanent role? Well...bugger me.”
Paul grimaced. “I know. It’s a big step.”
“A big step? It’s bloody...gargantuan.”
He laughed. “Bigger than Kate Upton’s boobs.”
Thankfully Abby and Lynne weren’t in the room, or they’d have smothered him with a pillow. I took a swig of my beer. “No kidding. And I’ve said a thousand times how the boss kisses the ground your wife walks on. I swear Kevin tells me at least once a week the Cardiff office would crumble without Lynne. Shit, he’ll flip his lid when she resigns.”
“He’ll cope. And she’s looking forward to spending more time with the girls.”
“Hmm... So where will you live?”
“The company’s relocation people will help sort us out. But Lynne doesn’t want to be in the city. So somewhere in a village with cowbells and chocolate, I expect.”
I laughed. “Yeah, where nobody speaks any English and—”
“Who cares? We’ll take German lessons.”
God, he didn’t have a clue, did he? “They don’t speak German. It’s Swiss-German. Some dialect only the locals understand. And they have weirdo laws.”
“Oh, yeah, like what?”
I counted on my fingers. “Like no standing up to piss after 10:00 p.m. if you live in a flat. You can’t mow your lawn or take stuff to the recycling on Sundays, and—”
“Oh, sod off.” Paul laughed.
“It’s true.”
He crossed his arms and stared at me. “Since when are you an expert?”
I cleared my throat. “I may have Googled a bit.”
“A bit? Well...I don’t give a shit about the dialect or weirdo laws. And it’s for the girls as well, you know. Give them some international exposure. Raise them multilingual.”
“Multi... Jesus, they’re not even two years old. They can barely manage a sentence in English yet.”
He shook his head, and for a moment he looked like Dad. “It’s happening, Nate—”
“I know.”
“—middle of June—”
“I know.”
“—and I’ll make sure we get a place big enough so all of you can come and stay.”
I squinted at him. “You fucking traitor. Dad, Mum and now you, all abandoning me.”
Paul put his head back and laughed his deep, throaty laugh. “And I love you, too, little brother.” He leaned forward and patted my head as if I were the two-year-old. “Tell you what, the first time we need more people, I’ll call you. Let you do all the recruitment. How’s that?”
After mumbling another obscenity I felt slightly better. “Okay. Time for bed.”
I walked up the stairs to the bedroom, thinking a trip to Switzerland might be exactly what Abby and I needed. I’d tried talking to her the night before, after Liam and Nancy had left. But when I asked if she was okay she said she didn’t want to talk, rolled over and pretended to sleep.
“Did you finish your stuff?” I said as I entered the room. Abby was lying on our bed, fully dressed, flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. I sat down beside her. “What’s going on?”
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
“Is it me?”
She shook her head.
“Is it us?”
A blink. A shake of the head.
“Is it Tom?”
Abby hesitated, swallowed and nodded.
I sighed. Then reminded myself Abby’s happiness had always been paramount. Taking care of her was the one thing that mattered the most in the world. And as I put my arms around my wife and held her tight, I started formulating a cunning plan, an entire deck of aces I’d whip out from my sleeve and surprise her with.
I’d fix this. I’d fix everything, just like I did when we’d first met, and every day since.
THEN
NATE
IT TOOK ME all of three seconds to fall in love with Abigail Sanders when I saw her again. Who was I kidding? It wasn’t even two and a half.
By the time the paramedics and Officer Cook let me leave the scene of the accident, the sky was a light shade of pink. When I got back to Granddad’s place, I let myself in. Mum and Dad would be up soon, so I crept to the bedroom and sank onto the bed.
Attempting sleep felt ludicrous, like riding a bicycle through a field full of cats with a bucket of fish balanced on my head. Doable if someone pressed a gun against my temple, but otherwise utterly pointless.
The accident kept replaying in my mind, over and over again. A bad horror movie I was forced to watch on an incessant loop. Except it had happened for real. A man had died, and I’d been powerless to stop it. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the car, the flames, heard imaginary screams, saw the woman’s clothes on fire, even though they hadn’t been.
At some point I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew Mum stood over me, shaking my shoulders gently.
“Nate, wake up.” The words were urgent. “Come to the phone. It’s the police.”
I shot up, rubbed my itching eyes, wondering if the smoky, sweaty smell came from me.
“What’s going on?” Mum said. “What happened?”
“There was an accident—”
“Oh, my god, are you okay? What about Paul? Is he—”
“He’s fine, Mum. I stopped to help someone. Hang on.” I stepped around her. “Let me speak to the police, and I’ll tell you.” I half stumbled into the hallway and grabbed the phone. “Nate Morris.”
“Mr. Morris. This is Officer Cook.”
I wanted to swallow, but there was nothing to bring down. “Officer. Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “But I’d like to go through your statement again. Make sure we didn’t miss anything. Could you come down to the station this afternoon? Say, three thirty?” He gave me the address. “Thank you, Mr. Morris. We’ll speak later. Goodb—”
“Hold on.” I scratched the back of my head, registering how thick and dirty my hair felt, then noticing the dusty blackish sheen that had attached itself to my fingertips. “The woman? Did she... I mean, is she okay?”
The smile in his voice was audible as his tone softened. “Yes, Mr. Morris. I’m told she’ll pull through, thanks to you.”
When I put the phone down and turned around, Mum and Dad stood in the hallway, watching my every move.
“Sounds like you had a rough night, son,” Dad said.
I exhaled. “You can say that again.”
Mum rubbed my arm. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
* * *
The interview at the police station felt far less intimidating than I’d expected, and I blamed my negative preconceptions on watching too many episodes of Law & Order. I had visions of me sitting in a barren room, tape recorder on the table, two policemen smoking, leaning over me, playing good cop, bad cop. As it happened, Officer Cook and I sat in a brightly painted area with a Mickey Mouse clock on the wall, and two mugs of tea and a packet
of Jaffa Cakes in front of us.
Officer Cook took me through the details again, I signed my witness statement and was free to go. “Thank you,” he said as he walked me out of the building. “Thank you again for stopping. You saved Miss Sanders’s life.”
It was shortly after five, and I thought it best to head back and pack up my things. My boss wasn’t expecting me for a week, but after Granddad’s funeral and the accident, I felt like I’d been whizzed around in a blender for a month.
I decided I’d make an early start home the next morning. try to return to some degree of normalcy. And if it meant sitting in the office, poring over candidate details and writing job ads for Visual Basic gurus, then that predictability was fine by me.
But as I drove to North Road I spotted a sign for the Royal Preston Hospital and, on impulse, followed it. Officer Cook had assured me Miss Sanders—Abigail—would be okay, that the injuries weren’t life-threatening. It was hard to believe. There had been so much blood on her face, arms and legs she’d looked like Carrie at the prom.
I parked close to the hospital and went to the front desk. Three wrong turns, a pit stop at the gift shop, two lifts and one long walk later I arrived on what I hoped was the correct floor.
“Excuse me,” I said to a tiny nurse with spiky blond hair. “I’m looking for Abigail Sanders.”
The nurse’s eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. “Name?” She raised her penciled-on, clown-like eyebrows.
“Nate Morris.”
“Are you family?”
“Uh, no, I...”
She kept staring at me, and I tried not to focus on the crazy eyebrows. I almost snapped my fingers. Ronald McDonald. That’s who they reminded me of. I attempted a disarming, charmingly reassuring smile, but Nurse McNugget wasn’t having any of it.
“I can’t let you see her if I don’t know who you are,” she said. “She’s had enough trouble from her...” She cleared her throat. “So...?”
I shrugged again. “I’m just the bloke who stopped at the crash and I wondered—”
The nurse’s mouth dropped open, and she clapped her hands. “That was you? Oh, my gosh. Why didn’t you say so? You’re a hero.” A megawatt smile lit up her face. “I’m sure Abby will be pleased to see you. She’s in there.” She pointed to the door closest to her station. “But go easy, okay? No need to tell you she’s had a tough time.”
“I won’t stay. I only wanted to make sure she’s okay, you know?”
“I understand,” my new best friend said, her expression soft, her voice gentle. “I understand completely.”
I stood in the doorway, looking at Abby for those two and a half seconds, falling in love with her. Her blond hair was still matted with blood, her forehead a mosaic of plasters, and even from under the covers, her right leg looked twice as thick as her left. But despite all that, or perhaps because of it, I could tell she was a fighter. There was no doubt she could do anything she put her mind to.
Her eyes were shut, her head turned slightly toward the window. As I stared at her delicate cheekbones and the gentle slope of her ski-jump nose, I wanted to trace a finger down the side of her face, tell her how amazingly strong and resilient she was. Instead I cleared my throat.
“Just leave, will you?” Her voice sounded hoarse, distant. “I told you to go.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but this definitely hadn’t been it. “I’m sorry.” I retreated toward the door. “I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Wait.” Her head was facing me now as her eyes searched mine. “You must have the wrong room,” she said, turning away again.
“You’re Abigail Sanders?”
She looked at me, then at the bunch of yellow daffodils draped over my arm. “It’s Abby. And I didn’t know the police brought flowers.”
My laugh bounced around the room and stopped when I clocked her expression. “I’m not from the police.” I put a hand to my chest. “I’m, uh...” I didn’t want to sound like a pretentious prick. “I’m the one who stopped. At the...at the crash.”
She frowned as she stared at me, the effort of her thoughts visible on her face. What was I thinking, coming here? They’d probably drugged her way past her eyeballs, had her drifting higher than a satellite. No doubt she had a ton of family and friends already fussing over her. A boyfriend, too, definitely a boyfriend. Maybe even a husband. She didn’t need me, a total stranger, showing up with a bunch of overly sprightly colored flowers.
“You’re the one who found us?” she said, and her bottom lip quivered.
“I’m sorry,” I said as my shoulders dropped, and all of a sudden I almost didn’t dare look at her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Why?”
I paused. After a few beats I looked her in the eyes and whispered, “I couldn’t get to him.” I put the flowers on the table. “The man in the car. The flames...the heat... I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry.” Silence enveloped the room, and I stood there, wringing my hands until I quietly said, “Do you mind, uh, can I ask who he was?”
When she looked at me again the pain in her eyes was unbearable, and yet I couldn’t break her gaze. “My brother, Tom.”
“I’m so sorry.” The offering sounded pathetic. Insignificant. “I’ll leave now.”
“Please don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Could you...stay? For a bit?”
She seemed so small and lost, like a kid who’d woken up from a nightmare and had asked for her teddy. As I walked over to the bed I wanted to scoop her up and hold her close. “I’m Nate,” I said. “Nate Morris.”
“Thank you, Nate.” She managed the tiniest of smiles that made her look beautifully sad, like a princess from an old fairy tale or something. “You saved my life.”
I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Do you know what caused the accident?” I said gently. “I don’t mean to be rude but...well... I wish...”
“It was me.” Her eyes closed for a second. “I must have lost control.”
“Do you mean you don’t remember?”
“Nothing. But you...you were there. Tell me what you saw. Please. When you got there, was he...was Tom still alive?”
I couldn’t be sure; I’d never be sure. But she didn’t need to know. “No. He was already...gone.”
She covered her mouth with her hand and, despite the tears, didn’t break eye contact. “Thank you,” she whispered, although I wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking me for.
“What about your injuries?” I said. “Will you be okay?”
She rattled off a list and finished with, “The doctor said I’ll be fine.” She looked away. “Physically anyway.”
“I’m sure you’ll—”
“Can we talk about something else?” she said quickly. “Something that doesn’t have to do with anything...”
“What do you—”
“Anything. Something stupid so I can pretend it’s a normal day... Could we?”
“Of course, absolutely.” I wanted to ask about her brother, what he’d been like, what he’d looked like. I pulled up a chair and leaned forward. “We could be typical Brits and discuss the weather.” Pathetic, Nate, pathetic. I smiled. “Or you could tell me your favorite film of all time.”
“Actually,” she replied, patting my arm with fingers that felt like they’d been carved from ice, “I’d rather listen. What’s yours?”
“Easy. Big.”
Abby squinted a little. “With Tom Hanks?”
“That’s the one.”
Her brow furrowed further. “Why?”
“The scene with the piano on the floor? And when he shows up at a black-tie do in a white tux and nibbles the mini corn on the cob? Genius.” A hint of a smile made her lips twitch, but it disappeared all too soon. I vowed to make it reappear, for longer next time.
“Where are you from?�
� she said. “Not around here. Your accent’s too posh.”
I allowed myself a small laugh, unsure of the protocol to follow when talking to a woman who’d just lost her brother. “London,” I said, “Wembley.”
“What are you doing here? Visiting family?”
“Kind of.” I pulled a face. “My grandfather died and—”
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry. Were you close?”
“Very. And he was only seventy-five.” I crossed my arms. “My grandmother died last year and he never got over it. It’s like he lost his way, like he no longer had a purpose, you know and—” I stopped. “Christ, I can’t believe I said that.”
“It’s okay—”
“No, I’m a dickhead. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, honestly. You’re taking my mind off...stuff.” I thought she was going to cry, but she swallowed hard and added, “Did he live in town? Your grandfather?”
“No. Longton. I had dinner with, uh—” I was going to say my brother but reconsidered “—a friend in town last night and I was on my way back when...when...”
“When you found us.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds, tears spilling from the corners. “And you saved me.”
“I didn’t see you at first.” My voice trembled slightly and I watched her wipe her cheeks. “I was trying to get to...to Tom. When I saw you I thought you were dead. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” I took a deep breath, and she grabbed my hand.
“Thank you for stopping,” she whispered, and squeezed my fingers. “I’m...grateful.”
I almost asked her if she meant it. Something told me she wished she could swap places with Tom, but I’d never say that out loud. “It was nothing,” I murmured. And somewhere not too deep inside me a voice told me it wasn’t nothing. It had become everything.
Abby didn’t pull away as I thought she might when I kept hold of her hand, but curled her fingers around mine. I didn’t dare move as we continued talking until her eyes closed and opened increasingly slowly.
The Neighbors Page 14
