After You
Page 49
I bought myself a coffee at a little coffee shop and watched the market through its steamed window, ignoring the fact that I was the only person in there on my own. I walked the length of the sodden market, breathed in the damp and heady scents of the lilies, admired the folded secrets of the peonies and roses, glass beads of rain still dotting their surfaces, and bought myself a bunch of dahlias and the whole time I felt as if I were acting, a figure in an advert: Single city girl living the London dream.
I walked home, cradling my dahlias in one arm, doing my best not to limp, all the while trying to stop the words Oh, who do you think you’re kidding? popping repeatedly into my head.
The evening stretched and sagged, as lonely evenings do. I finished cleaning the flat, having fished cigarette butts out of the toilet, watched some television, washed my uniform. I ran a bath full of bubbles and climbed out of it after five minutes, afraid to be alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t call my mother or my sister: I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretence of happiness in front of them.
Finally, I reached into my bedside table, and pulled out the letter, the one Will had arranged for me to receive in Paris, back when I was still full of hope. I unfolded its well-worn creases gently. There were times, that first year, when I would read it nightly, trying to bring him to life beside me. These days I rationed myself: I told myself I didn’t need to see it – I was afraid it would lose its talismanic power, the words become meaningless. Well, I needed them now.
The computer text, as dear to me as if he had been able to handwrite it; some residual trace of his energy still in those laser-printed words.
You’re going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone … There is a hunger in you, Clark. A fearlessness. You just buried it, like most people do.
Just live well. Just live.
I read the words of a man who had once believed in me, put my head on my knees and, finally, sobbed.
The phone rang, too loud, too close to my head, sending me lurching upright. I scrabbled for it, noting the time. Two a.m. The familiar reflexive fear. ‘Lily?’
‘What? Lou?’
Nathan’s deep drawl rolled across the phone line.
‘It’s two a.m., Nathan.’
‘Aw, man. I always mess up the time difference. Sorry. Want me to hang up?’
I pushed myself upright, rubbing at my face. ‘No. No … It’s good to hear from you.’ I flicked on the bedside light. ‘How are you?’
‘Good! I’m back in New York.’
‘Great.’
‘Yeah. It was great to see the olds and all, but after a couple of weeks I was itching to get back here. This city is epic.’
I forced a smile, in case he could hear it. ‘That’s great, Nathan. I’m glad for you.’
‘You still happy at that pub of yours?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘You don’t … want to do something else?’
‘Well, you know when things are bad, and you tell yourself stuff like, “Oh, it could be worse. I could be the person who cleans the poop out of the dog-poop bins”? Well, right now I’d rather be the person who picks up the poop out of the dog-poop bins.’
‘Then I’ve got a proposition for you.’
‘I get that a lot from customers, Nathan. And the answer is always no.’
‘Ha. Well. There’s a job opening out here, working for this family I live with. And you were the first person I thought of.’
Mr Gopnik’s wife, he explained, was not a Wall Street Wife. She didn’t do the whole ‘shopping and lunches’ thing; she was a Polish émigrée, prone to mild depression. She was lonely, and the help – a Guatemalan woman – wouldn’t say two words to her.
What Mr Gopnik wanted was someone he could trust to keep his wife company and help with the children, to be an extra pair of hands when they travelled. ‘He wants a sort of Girl Friday to the family. Someone cheerful and trustworthy. And someone who is not going to go blabbing about their private life.’
‘Does he know –’
‘I told him about Will at our first meeting, but he’d already done background. He wasn’t put off. Far from it. He said he was impressed that we’d followed Will’s wishes and never sold our stories.’ Nathan paused. ‘I’ve worked it out. At this level, Lou, people value trust and discretion over anything else. I mean, obviously you can’t be an idiot, and have to do your job well, but, yeah, that’s basically what matters.’
My mind was whirling, an out-of-control waltzer at a fairground. I held the phone in front of me and put it back to my ear. ‘Is this … Am I actually still asleep?’
‘It’s not an easy ride. It’s long hours and a lot of work. But I’ll tell you, mate, I’m having the best time.’
I pushed my hand through my hair. I thought about the bar, with its huffing businessmen and Richard’s gimlet stare. I thought about the flat, its walls closing in on me every evening. ‘I don’t know. This is … I mean it all seems –’
‘It’s a green card, Lou.’ Nathan’s voice dropped. ‘It’s your board and lodging. It’s New York. Listen. This is a man who gets stuff done. Work hard, and he’ll look after you. He’s smart, and he’s fair. Get out here, show him what you’re worth, and you could end up with opportunities you wouldn’t believe. Seriously. Don’t think of this as a nanny job. Think of it as a gateway.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Some fella you don’t want to leave?’
I hesitated. ‘No. But so much has gone on … I’ve not been …’ It seemed an awful lot to explain at two o’clock in the morning.
‘I know you were knocked by what happened. We all were. But you’ve got to move on.’
‘Don’t say it’s what he would have wanted.’
‘Okay,’ he said. We both listened, as he said it silently.
I tried to gather my thoughts. ‘Would I have to go to New York for an interview?’
‘They’re in the Hamptons for the summer, so he’s looking for someone to start in September. Basically, in six weeks. If you say you’re interested, he’ll interview you on Skype, sort out the paperwork to get you over, and then we go from there. There will be other candidates. It’s too good a position. But Mr G trusts me, Lou. If I say someone’s a good bet, they’re in with a chance. So shall I throw your hat in the ring? Yes? It is a yes, right?’
I spoke almost before I could think. ‘Uh … yes. Yes.’
‘Great! Email me if you’ve got questions. I’ll send you some pics.’
‘Nathan?’
‘Gotta go, Lou. The old man has just buzzed me.’
‘Thank you. Thanks for thinking of me.’
There was a slight pause before he responded. ‘No one I’d rather work with, mate.’
I couldn’t sleep after he rang off, wondering whether I had imagined the whole conversation, my mind humming with the enormity of what might lie in front of me if I hadn’t. At four, I sat up and emailed Nathan a handful of questions, and the answers came straight back.
I walked home, cradling my dahlias in one arm, doing my best not to limp, all the while trying to stop the words Oh, who do you think you’re kidding? popping repeatedly into my head.
The evening stretched and sagged, as lonely evenings do. I finished cleaning the flat, having fished cigarette butts out of the toilet, watched some television, washed my uniform. I ran a bath full of bubbles and climbed out of it after five minutes, afraid to be alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t call my mother or my sister: I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretence of happiness in front of them.
Finally, I reached into my bedside table, and pulled out the letter, the one Will had arranged for me to receive in Paris, back when I was still full of hope. I unfolded its well-worn creases gently. There were times, that first year, when I would read it nightly, trying to bring him to life beside me. These days I rationed myself: I told myself I didn’t need to see it – I was afraid it would lose its talismanic power, the words become meaningless. Well, I needed them now.
The computer text, as dear to me as if he had been able to handwrite it; some residual trace of his energy still in those laser-printed words.
You’re going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone … There is a hunger in you, Clark. A fearlessness. You just buried it, like most people do.
Just live well. Just live.
I read the words of a man who had once believed in me, put my head on my knees and, finally, sobbed.
The phone rang, too loud, too close to my head, sending me lurching upright. I scrabbled for it, noting the time. Two a.m. The familiar reflexive fear. ‘Lily?’
‘What? Lou?’
Nathan’s deep drawl rolled across the phone line.
‘It’s two a.m., Nathan.’
‘Aw, man. I always mess up the time difference. Sorry. Want me to hang up?’
I pushed myself upright, rubbing at my face. ‘No. No … It’s good to hear from you.’ I flicked on the bedside light. ‘How are you?’
‘Good! I’m back in New York.’
‘Great.’
‘Yeah. It was great to see the olds and all, but after a couple of weeks I was itching to get back here. This city is epic.’
I forced a smile, in case he could hear it. ‘That’s great, Nathan. I’m glad for you.’
‘You still happy at that pub of yours?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘You don’t … want to do something else?’
‘Well, you know when things are bad, and you tell yourself stuff like, “Oh, it could be worse. I could be the person who cleans the poop out of the dog-poop bins”? Well, right now I’d rather be the person who picks up the poop out of the dog-poop bins.’
‘Then I’ve got a proposition for you.’
‘I get that a lot from customers, Nathan. And the answer is always no.’
‘Ha. Well. There’s a job opening out here, working for this family I live with. And you were the first person I thought of.’
Mr Gopnik’s wife, he explained, was not a Wall Street Wife. She didn’t do the whole ‘shopping and lunches’ thing; she was a Polish émigrée, prone to mild depression. She was lonely, and the help – a Guatemalan woman – wouldn’t say two words to her.
What Mr Gopnik wanted was someone he could trust to keep his wife company and help with the children, to be an extra pair of hands when they travelled. ‘He wants a sort of Girl Friday to the family. Someone cheerful and trustworthy. And someone who is not going to go blabbing about their private life.’
‘Does he know –’
‘I told him about Will at our first meeting, but he’d already done background. He wasn’t put off. Far from it. He said he was impressed that we’d followed Will’s wishes and never sold our stories.’ Nathan paused. ‘I’ve worked it out. At this level, Lou, people value trust and discretion over anything else. I mean, obviously you can’t be an idiot, and have to do your job well, but, yeah, that’s basically what matters.’
My mind was whirling, an out-of-control waltzer at a fairground. I held the phone in front of me and put it back to my ear. ‘Is this … Am I actually still asleep?’
‘It’s not an easy ride. It’s long hours and a lot of work. But I’ll tell you, mate, I’m having the best time.’
I pushed my hand through my hair. I thought about the bar, with its huffing businessmen and Richard’s gimlet stare. I thought about the flat, its walls closing in on me every evening. ‘I don’t know. This is … I mean it all seems –’
‘It’s a green card, Lou.’ Nathan’s voice dropped. ‘It’s your board and lodging. It’s New York. Listen. This is a man who gets stuff done. Work hard, and he’ll look after you. He’s smart, and he’s fair. Get out here, show him what you’re worth, and you could end up with opportunities you wouldn’t believe. Seriously. Don’t think of this as a nanny job. Think of it as a gateway.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Some fella you don’t want to leave?’
I hesitated. ‘No. But so much has gone on … I’ve not been …’ It seemed an awful lot to explain at two o’clock in the morning.
‘I know you were knocked by what happened. We all were. But you’ve got to move on.’
‘Don’t say it’s what he would have wanted.’
‘Okay,’ he said. We both listened, as he said it silently.
I tried to gather my thoughts. ‘Would I have to go to New York for an interview?’
‘They’re in the Hamptons for the summer, so he’s looking for someone to start in September. Basically, in six weeks. If you say you’re interested, he’ll interview you on Skype, sort out the paperwork to get you over, and then we go from there. There will be other candidates. It’s too good a position. But Mr G trusts me, Lou. If I say someone’s a good bet, they’re in with a chance. So shall I throw your hat in the ring? Yes? It is a yes, right?’
I spoke almost before I could think. ‘Uh … yes. Yes.’
‘Great! Email me if you’ve got questions. I’ll send you some pics.’
‘Nathan?’
‘Gotta go, Lou. The old man has just buzzed me.’
‘Thank you. Thanks for thinking of me.’
There was a slight pause before he responded. ‘No one I’d rather work with, mate.’
I couldn’t sleep after he rang off, wondering whether I had imagined the whole conversation, my mind humming with the enormity of what might lie in front of me if I hadn’t. At four, I sat up and emailed Nathan a handful of questions, and the answers came straight back.
