After You
Page 79
I listened to her talking animatedly and fought the sensation that I had been shed, like a skin. ‘When is all this going to happen?’
‘Well, I need to be there for the start of term in September. Granny thought it would probably be best if I moved quite soon. Maybe next week?’
‘Next week?’ I felt winded. ‘What – what does your mum say?’
‘She’s just glad I’m going back to school, especially since Granny’s paying. She had to tell the school a bit about my last school and the fact that I didn’t take my exams, and you can tell she doesn’t like Granny much, but she said it would be fine. “If that’s actually going to make you happy, Lily. And I do hope you’re not going to treat your grandmother the way you’ve treated everyone else.” ’
She cackled at her own impression of Tanya. ‘I caught Granny’s eye when she said that, and Granny’s eyebrow went up the tiniest bit but you could totally see what she thought. Did I tell you she’s dyed her hair? A sort of chestnut brown. She looks quite good now. Less like a cancer patient.’
‘Lily!’
‘It’s all right. She laughed when I told her that.’ She smiled to herself. ‘It was the kind of thing Dad would have said.’
‘Well,’ I muttered, when I’d caught my breath, ‘sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.’
She shot me a look. ‘Don’t say it like that.’
‘Sorry. It’s just … I’ll miss you.’
She beamed, an abrupt, brilliant smile. ‘You won’t miss me, silly, because I’ll still be back down in the holidays and stuff. I can’t spend all my time in Oxfordshire with old people or I’ll go mad. But it’s good. She just … she feels like my family. It doesn’t feel weird. I thought it would, but it doesn’t. Hey, Lou …’ She hugged me, exuberantly. ‘You’ll still be my friend. You’re basically the sister I never had.’
I hugged her back and tried to keep the smile on my face.
‘Anyway. You need your privacy.’ She disentangled herself and pulled a piece of gum from her mouth, folding it carefully into a torn piece of paper. ‘Having to listen to you and Hot Ambulance Man shagging across the corridor was actually pretty gross.’
Lily is going.
Going where?
To live with her grandmother. I feel strange. She’s so happy about it. Sorry. I don’t mean to talk about Will-related things all the time, but I can’t really talk to anyone else.
Lily packed her bag, cheerfully stripping my second bedroom of nearly every sign she had ever been there, apart from the Kandinsky print and the camp bed, a pile of glossy magazines and an empty deodorant canister. I dropped her at the station, listening to her non-stop chatter and trying not to look as unbalanced as I felt. Camilla Traynor would be waiting at the other end.
‘You should come up. We’ve got my room really nice. There’s a horse next door that the farmer across the way says I can ride. Oh, and there’s quite a nice pub.’
She glanced up at the departures board, and bounced on her toes, suddenly seeing the time. ‘Bugger. My train. Right. Where’s platform eleven?’ She began to run briskly through the crowd, her holdall slung over her shoulder, her legs long in black tights. I stood, frozen, watching her go. Her stride had grown longer.
Suddenly she turned and, spotting me by the entrance, waved, her smile wide, her hair flying up around her face. ‘Hey, Lou!’ she yelled. ‘I meant to say to you. Moving on doesn’t mean you loved my dad any less, you know. I’m pretty sure even he would tell you that.’
And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Her smile was like his.
She was never yours, Lou.
I know. It’s I suppose she was the thing I felt was giving me a purpose.
Only one person can give you a purpose.
I let myself absorb these words for a minute.
Can we meet? Please?
I’m on shift tonight.
Come to mine after?
Maybe later in the week. I’ll call you.
It was the ‘maybe’ that did it. There was something final in it, the slow closing of a door. I stared at my phone as the commuters swarmed around me and something in me shifted too. Either I could go home and mourn yet another thing I had lost, or I could embrace an unexpected freedom. It was as if a light had gone on: the only way to avoid being left behind was to start moving.
I went home, made myself a coffee and stared at the green wall. Then I pulled out my laptop.
Dear Mr Gopnik,
My name is Louisa Clark and last month you were kind enough to offer me a job, which I had to turn down. I appreciate that you will have filled your position by now, but if I don’t say this I will regret it for ever.
I really wanted your job. If the child of my former employer hadn’t turned up in trouble, I would have taken it like a shot. I do not want to blame her for my decision, as it was a privilege to help sort things out for her. But I just wanted to say that if you ever need someone again I really hope you might consider getting in touch.
I know you are a busy man so I won’t go on, but I just needed you to know.
With best wishes
Louisa Clark
I wasn’t sure what I was doing but at least I was doing something. I pressed send, and with that tiny action, I was suddenly filled with purpose. I raced into the bathroom and ran the shower, stripping off my clothes and tripping on my trouser legs in my hurry to get out of them and under the hot water. I began to lather my hair, already planning ahead. I was going to go to the ambulance station, and I was going to find Sam and I was –
The doorbell rang. I swore and grabbed a towel.
‘I’ve had it,’ my mother said.
It took me a moment to register that it was actually her standing there, holding an overnight bag. I pulled my towel around me, my hair dripping onto the carpet. ‘Had what?’
She stepped in, closing the front door behind her. ‘Your father. Grumbling incessantly at me about everything I do. Acting as if I’m some kind of harlot just for wanting a little time to myself. So I told him I was coming here for a little break.’
‘A break?’
‘Louisa, you have no idea. All the mumping and grumping. I can’t stay set in stone, you know? Everyone else gets to change. Why can’t I?’
It was as if I’d come halfway into a conversation that had been going on for an hour. Possibly in a bar. After hours.
‘When I started that feminist consciousness course, I thought a fair bit of it was exaggerated. Man’s patriarchal control of woman? Even the unconscious kind? Well, they only had the half of it. Your father simply can’t see me as a person beyond what I put on the table or put out in bed.’
‘Uh –’
‘Oh. Too much?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Let’s discuss it over some tea.’ My mother walked past me and into the kitchen. ‘Well, this looks a bit better. I’m still not sure about that green, though. It washes you right out. Now, where are your teabags?’
My mother sat on the sofa and, as her tea grew cold, I listened to her litany of frustration and tried not to think about the time. Sam would be arriving for his shift in half an hour. It would take twenty minutes to get over to the ambulance station. And then my mother’s voice would lift and her hands would end up somewhere around her ears and I knew I was going nowhere.
‘Well, I need to be there for the start of term in September. Granny thought it would probably be best if I moved quite soon. Maybe next week?’
‘Next week?’ I felt winded. ‘What – what does your mum say?’
‘She’s just glad I’m going back to school, especially since Granny’s paying. She had to tell the school a bit about my last school and the fact that I didn’t take my exams, and you can tell she doesn’t like Granny much, but she said it would be fine. “If that’s actually going to make you happy, Lily. And I do hope you’re not going to treat your grandmother the way you’ve treated everyone else.” ’
She cackled at her own impression of Tanya. ‘I caught Granny’s eye when she said that, and Granny’s eyebrow went up the tiniest bit but you could totally see what she thought. Did I tell you she’s dyed her hair? A sort of chestnut brown. She looks quite good now. Less like a cancer patient.’
‘Lily!’
‘It’s all right. She laughed when I told her that.’ She smiled to herself. ‘It was the kind of thing Dad would have said.’
‘Well,’ I muttered, when I’d caught my breath, ‘sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.’
She shot me a look. ‘Don’t say it like that.’
‘Sorry. It’s just … I’ll miss you.’
She beamed, an abrupt, brilliant smile. ‘You won’t miss me, silly, because I’ll still be back down in the holidays and stuff. I can’t spend all my time in Oxfordshire with old people or I’ll go mad. But it’s good. She just … she feels like my family. It doesn’t feel weird. I thought it would, but it doesn’t. Hey, Lou …’ She hugged me, exuberantly. ‘You’ll still be my friend. You’re basically the sister I never had.’
I hugged her back and tried to keep the smile on my face.
‘Anyway. You need your privacy.’ She disentangled herself and pulled a piece of gum from her mouth, folding it carefully into a torn piece of paper. ‘Having to listen to you and Hot Ambulance Man shagging across the corridor was actually pretty gross.’
Lily is going.
Going where?
To live with her grandmother. I feel strange. She’s so happy about it. Sorry. I don’t mean to talk about Will-related things all the time, but I can’t really talk to anyone else.
Lily packed her bag, cheerfully stripping my second bedroom of nearly every sign she had ever been there, apart from the Kandinsky print and the camp bed, a pile of glossy magazines and an empty deodorant canister. I dropped her at the station, listening to her non-stop chatter and trying not to look as unbalanced as I felt. Camilla Traynor would be waiting at the other end.
‘You should come up. We’ve got my room really nice. There’s a horse next door that the farmer across the way says I can ride. Oh, and there’s quite a nice pub.’
She glanced up at the departures board, and bounced on her toes, suddenly seeing the time. ‘Bugger. My train. Right. Where’s platform eleven?’ She began to run briskly through the crowd, her holdall slung over her shoulder, her legs long in black tights. I stood, frozen, watching her go. Her stride had grown longer.
Suddenly she turned and, spotting me by the entrance, waved, her smile wide, her hair flying up around her face. ‘Hey, Lou!’ she yelled. ‘I meant to say to you. Moving on doesn’t mean you loved my dad any less, you know. I’m pretty sure even he would tell you that.’
And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Her smile was like his.
She was never yours, Lou.
I know. It’s I suppose she was the thing I felt was giving me a purpose.
Only one person can give you a purpose.
I let myself absorb these words for a minute.
Can we meet? Please?
I’m on shift tonight.
Come to mine after?
Maybe later in the week. I’ll call you.
It was the ‘maybe’ that did it. There was something final in it, the slow closing of a door. I stared at my phone as the commuters swarmed around me and something in me shifted too. Either I could go home and mourn yet another thing I had lost, or I could embrace an unexpected freedom. It was as if a light had gone on: the only way to avoid being left behind was to start moving.
I went home, made myself a coffee and stared at the green wall. Then I pulled out my laptop.
Dear Mr Gopnik,
My name is Louisa Clark and last month you were kind enough to offer me a job, which I had to turn down. I appreciate that you will have filled your position by now, but if I don’t say this I will regret it for ever.
I really wanted your job. If the child of my former employer hadn’t turned up in trouble, I would have taken it like a shot. I do not want to blame her for my decision, as it was a privilege to help sort things out for her. But I just wanted to say that if you ever need someone again I really hope you might consider getting in touch.
I know you are a busy man so I won’t go on, but I just needed you to know.
With best wishes
Louisa Clark
I wasn’t sure what I was doing but at least I was doing something. I pressed send, and with that tiny action, I was suddenly filled with purpose. I raced into the bathroom and ran the shower, stripping off my clothes and tripping on my trouser legs in my hurry to get out of them and under the hot water. I began to lather my hair, already planning ahead. I was going to go to the ambulance station, and I was going to find Sam and I was –
The doorbell rang. I swore and grabbed a towel.
‘I’ve had it,’ my mother said.
It took me a moment to register that it was actually her standing there, holding an overnight bag. I pulled my towel around me, my hair dripping onto the carpet. ‘Had what?’
She stepped in, closing the front door behind her. ‘Your father. Grumbling incessantly at me about everything I do. Acting as if I’m some kind of harlot just for wanting a little time to myself. So I told him I was coming here for a little break.’
‘A break?’
‘Louisa, you have no idea. All the mumping and grumping. I can’t stay set in stone, you know? Everyone else gets to change. Why can’t I?’
It was as if I’d come halfway into a conversation that had been going on for an hour. Possibly in a bar. After hours.
‘When I started that feminist consciousness course, I thought a fair bit of it was exaggerated. Man’s patriarchal control of woman? Even the unconscious kind? Well, they only had the half of it. Your father simply can’t see me as a person beyond what I put on the table or put out in bed.’
‘Uh –’
‘Oh. Too much?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Let’s discuss it over some tea.’ My mother walked past me and into the kitchen. ‘Well, this looks a bit better. I’m still not sure about that green, though. It washes you right out. Now, where are your teabags?’
My mother sat on the sofa and, as her tea grew cold, I listened to her litany of frustration and tried not to think about the time. Sam would be arriving for his shift in half an hour. It would take twenty minutes to get over to the ambulance station. And then my mother’s voice would lift and her hands would end up somewhere around her ears and I knew I was going nowhere.
