by S. J. Watson
Yet how can I ask her to do that? I can’t. The idea is monstrous. She has to realize it for herself.
‘I don’t know. But if you end it now he’ll know I had something to do with it.’
She’s incredulous. ‘You want me to carry on seeing him?’
‘Not exactly—’
‘You do!’
‘No, Anna. No . . . I don’t know . . .’
Her face collapses. All her defiance rushes out, replaced by bitterness and regret.
‘What am I going to do?’ She opens her eyes. ‘Tell me! What am I going to do?’
I reach out to her. I’m relieved when she doesn’t push me away. Sadness fills her face. She looks much older, nearer to my age than to Kate’s.
‘It’s up to you.’
‘I need to think about it. Give me a few days.’
I’ll have to live with the uncertainty. But next to what she has to live with, that’s nothing.
‘I wish this had never happened. I wish it could be different.’
‘I know,’ she says.
We sit for a while. I’m drained, without energy, and when I look at her I see she is, too. The station seems less crowded, though that might be my imagination; the lunchtime rush can hardly make any difference to somewhere so perpetually busy. Nevertheless, a quietness descends. Anna finishes her drink then says she has to leave. ‘There’ll be another train soon. I need to go and get a ticket . . .’
We stand. We grip our chairs for support, as if the world has tilted to a new axis. ‘Do you want me to help? I really don’t mind paying—’
‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.’
She smiles. She knows I feel guilty, that the offer of money is my attempt to assuage that guilt.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again. I desperately need to know I have her friendship, but for a long moment she doesn’t move. Then she’s melting into me. We hug. I think she’s going to start crying again, but she doesn’t.
‘I’ll call you. In a day or so?’
I nod. ‘You’ll be okay?’ I’m aware of how trite the question sounds, how meaningless, yet I’m exhausted. I just want her to know I care.
She nods. ‘Yes.’ Then she lets go. ‘Will you?’
‘Yes.’ I’m far from certain it’s the truth. She picks up her case. ‘Go. I’ll get this. And good luck.’
She kisses me again. Wordlessly, she turns to leave. I watch as she crosses the concourse, heads for the stairs that lead down to the ticket offices. She rounds the corner and goes out of sight. I feel suddenly, terribly, alone.
PART FIVE
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monday. Hugh is due to have a meeting about his case today; he’ll find out whether his statement has satisfied the chief executive, the medical director, the clinical governance team. If it has, they’ll refute the claim; if not, they’ll concede that he made a mistake. ‘And then they’ll close ranks,’ he said. ‘It’ll all be about preserving the reputation of the hospital. I’ll probably be disciplined.’
‘But you won’t lose your job?’
‘Doubtful. But they’re saying I might.’
I couldn’t imagine it. His job is his life. If he were to lose it the repercussions would be catastrophic, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to cope with something like that hitting our family. Not with everything else that’s going on.
Yet I’d have to, there wouldn’t be a choice. I clung to the word ‘doubtful’.
I have to be strong.
‘Are you all right?’ I said.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, tilting his head back. ‘I am. I have to be. I have to go into theatre this morning. I have to operate on a woman who’ll most likely be dead within weeks if nothing is done. And I have to do that with a clear head, no matter what else is going on.’ He shook his head. He looked angry. ‘That’s what really pisses me off. I haven’t done anything wrong. You know that? I forgot to warn them that for a few weeks their father might forget where he’d put the remote control. No’ – he corrected himself – ‘I didn’t even do that. I forgot to write down that I’d warned them. That’s what this amounts to. I was too busy worrying about the operation itself to write the details of some trivial conversation down in the notes.’
I smiled, sadly. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll call me?’
He said he would, but now the phone is ringing and it’s not him.
‘Anna?’
She’s hesitant. When she does speak she sounds distant, upset.
‘How’re you?’
‘Fine,’ I say. I want her to tell me what she’s decided. For two days I’ve been convincing myself that she’s reconsidered, or hasn’t believed me at all. I’ve imagined her talking to Lukas, telling him that I’d caught up with her at the station, recounting what I’d said.
I daren’t imagine what his next move would be then.
‘How are you feeling?’
She doesn’t answer. ‘I’ve been thinking. Ryan’s away for another week. He’s staying in London. I need a week after he gets back.’
I’m not sure what she means.
‘A week?’
‘I need to finish it with him. But I need to make him think it has nothing to do with you at all. I’ve already told him I haven’t seen you since the other night at the hotel, that you haven’t been in touch. I told him I thought you were a freak, and that I didn’t want anything else to do with you. When he comes back I’ll just have to be busy, I’ll pretend I’ve got a lot on at work or something. I can manage it for a week, I think.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I’ll end it.’
She sounds defiant. Absolutely certain.
‘I’ll get the pictures – the ones he’s got of you – and delete them from his computer. I’ll find a way, I have a key to his flat, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Then, even if he does suspect, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.’
I close my eyes. I’m so grateful, so relieved. It might work. It has to work.
‘You’ll be all right?’
She sighs. ‘Not really. But I suppose I kind of knew, really. There was always something about him, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. He’d always be travelling, at short notice. I should’ve known.’
I’m not sure I believe her. It sounds like justification after the fact.
She carries on. ‘Maybe when all this is over we can get together and go out for a drink. Not lose our friendship because of it.’
‘I want that, too,’ I say. ‘Will we stay in touch? Over the next couple of weeks, I mean?’
‘It wouldn’t be good if Ryan finds out we’re speaking.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll try and call you, when I can.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ll have to trust me,’ she says.
We talk for a minute or so more, then she says goodbye. Before we end the call we agree to reconnect on Find Friends. Afterward
s I sit for a moment as relief floods me, relief and fear, then I call Hugh. I’m not sure why. I want to hear his voice. I want to show that I support him, that I haven’t forgotten what he’s going through today. His secretary answers; he’s still in his meeting.
‘Will you ask him to call me when he gets out?’
She says she will. Almost on a whim I ask if I can speak to Maria. I want to know that Paddy’s okay, that he’s recovered.
I think of the steps. I’ve made my moral inventory now; without even being conscious of it, I’m working on making amends.
‘She’s not in today,’ she says. I ask if she’s on holiday. ‘No, some problem at home.’ She lowers her voice. ‘She sounded very upset.’
I put the phone down. I’m uneasy. Hugh has always said that Maria can be relied upon; she’s never sick, never late. I can’t imagine what might be going on. An illness? Paddy, or her parents, perhaps? They’re not elderly, but that rules nothing out, I should know that as much as anyone.
I almost call her at home but then decide against it. I have plenty going on as it is, and what could I say to her? We’re not friends, not really. I haven’t seen her since we visited Paddy, weeks ago. Hugh hasn’t invited them round, or maybe he has and they haven’t come. I wonder if that was Paddy’s decision, and if so what excuses he may have given his wife.
I spend the afternoon working. Connor arrives home and goes upstairs. Doing his homework, he says, though I’m not sure I believe him. I suspect he usually spends hours online – with his friends, Dylan, his girlfriend – and even now, every time I go up, to check if he wants a drink, to try to persuade him down for dinner, to make some sort of a connection, he seems to make a point of being cool towards me. He’s still angry over the grounding, I guess; even though it’s only for a week, it seems to be taking a long time to wear off.
Maybe it’s something else. He’s still upset that the arrest of the man who killed Kate hasn’t brought him the relief he’d hoped. He’s looking elsewhere, now. ‘Do you know who my real dad is?’ he said the other day, and when I said no, he said, ‘Would you tell me, if you did?’ Of course you wouldn’t, he seemed to be saying, but I tried to stay calm. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course I would. But I don’t know.’
I want to tell him it won’t change anything. I want to say, Your father – whoever he is, whoever he was – was probably very young. He abandoned your mother, or more likely didn’t even know she was pregnant. ‘We’re your family,’ I said instead, but he just looked at me, as if that was no longer enough.
It’s upsetting, but I tell myself it’s normal, he’s a teenager. He’s just growing up, away from me. Before I know it he’ll be sitting exams, then leaving home. It’ll just be me and his father, then, and who knows if he’ll even come back to see us? All children go through a phase of hating their parents, but they say adopted children can find it all too easy to break away. Sometimes the severance is permanent.
I’m not sure I could cope with that. I’m not sure it wouldn’t kill me.
I’m in the kitchen when Hugh gets home. He kisses me, then goes straight to the fridge and gets himself a drink. He looks angry. I ask him how it went.
‘They’re making them an offer. Out-of-court settlement.’
‘Do they think the family will take it?’
I wait while he empties his glass and pours another. ‘Hope so. If it goes to court I’m fucked.’
‘What?’
‘I’m in the wrong. It’s unequivocal, to them at least. I made a mistake. If it goes to court we’ll lose, and they’ll have to make some kind of example of me.’
‘Oh, darling . . .’
‘Next week I have to go on a course.’ He smiles, bitterly. ‘Record keeping. I have to cancel surgery to go and learn how to write a set of bloody notes.’
I sit opposite him. I can see how injured he is. It seems so unfair; after all, no one is dead. It’s not as if he made a mistake during surgery.
I try to look hopeful. ‘I’m sure everything will be okay.’
He sighs. ‘One way or the other. And bloody Maria didn’t turn up today.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘I called. They said she wasn’t in. What’s going on?’
He takes out his phone and makes a call. ‘No idea. But I hope she’s intending to come in tomorrow.’ He puts the phone to his ear. After a few rings it’s answered, a faint hello. Maria’s voice. ‘Maria? Listen . . .’ He glances at me, then stands up. ‘How’re things?’
I don’t hear her reply. He’s turned away and is walking out of the room, his attention completely focussed on his colleague. I go back to preparing the meal. Hugh, Connor, Anna. I just hope everything will be all right.
Two days later Paddy calls. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks, and he sounds different, somehow. I wonder if something’s happened to Maria, but he says no, no she’s fine. ‘I just thought you might want to meet up. Lunch, or something?’
Is that what all this is about? Does he want to make another attempt at seduction?
‘I’d better not—’
He interrupts. ‘Please? Just a coffee? I only want to talk to you.’
It sounds ominous; certainly it’s not casual. How can I say no?
‘Okay.’
That evening I tell Hugh. ‘Paddy?’ he says. I nod. ‘But what does he want to see you for?’
I tell him I don’t know. I ask him why he wants to know; we’re friends, after all, it shouldn’t be that shocking.
He shrugs but looks worried. ‘Just wondered.’
It crosses my mind that Connor did see something that day. Maybe he’s told his father but Hugh has decided to say nothing as long as things don’t progress.
Or maybe he’s worried that we’ll go to a bar, that I’ll be persuaded to drink alcohol.
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Paddy Renouf,’ I say. ‘We’re just going for a coffee. And it will be a coffee. I promise.’
‘Okay,’ he says. But he still doesn’t look convinced.
We arrange to meet in a Starbucks in town. It’s cold, raining, and he’s late. I’m sitting with a drink by the time he arrives. The last time I saw him he was bruised, his face swollen, but that was weeks ago and he looks back to normal now.
We kiss awkwardly before sitting down. A friendly kiss, a peck on each cheek. I think of the time we kissed in Carla’s summer house. How different that had been. It crosses my mind that it would have been better if I’d slept with him, rather than Lukas. But then that might have turned out worse. How do I know?
‘How are you?’
I sip my drink. ‘I’m all right.’ The atmosphere is heavy, awkward. I hadn’t known quite what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. It’s obvious he’s here for a reason. He has something to tell me.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.’ It’s a surprise, him apologizing to me.
I look down at my drink. A hot chocolate, with whipped cream swirled on top.
‘For what?’
‘What happened, over the summer. You know. At Carla’s party. And then—’
I interrupt. ‘Forget it.’ But he continues:
‘—and then not ringing you. All summer, I’ve wanted to apologize. I’d had too much to drink, but it was no excuse. I guess I was embarrassed.’
I look at him. I can see what this honesty is costing him, yet I can’t reciprocate. For a moment I’d like to. I’d like to tell him everything. I’d like to tell him he has nothing to apologize for because, next to mine, his transgressions are insignificant.
But I don’t. I can’t. These are things I’ll never be able to tell anyone.
‘Honestly. It’s fine—’
‘I haven’t been a good friend.’
It’s been an odd time, I want to say. I haven’t been a good friend either.
But I don’t.
He looks at me. ‘How’re you doing now?’
‘Not bad.’ I realize it’s mostly true; my grief hasn’t gone, but I’m beginning to see a way I can live with it. ‘You know they caught the guy who killed my sister.’
He shakes his head. Hugh must not have told Maria, or else Maria hasn’t told her husband. I tell him the story, and in doing so realize that the fog of Kate’s death is lifting. The pain is still there, but for the first time since February it’s no longer the prism through which everything else is refracted. I’m not stuck, wading through a life that’s become thickened with grief and anger, or else ricocheting out of control, and I’m no longer angry – with her for getting herself killed, with myself for not being able to do anything to protect her.
‘It still hurts,’ I say. ‘But it’s getting better.’
‘Good.’ He pauses. We’re building up to something. ‘You have friends around you?’
Do I? Adrienne, yes, we’ve spoken in the last couple of days, but there’s still some way to go to reverse the damage done. ‘I have friends, yes. Why?’ He looks oddly relieved, and I realize the reason he’s here involves me, somehow.
