Me Before You: After You Part 22

From now on I'm going to move on. Focus on my career.''Can you say that again?' My sister moved some of the chips from her plate on to Thom's. The pub garden had become noisier.

'Focus on my career,' I said, louder.

'No. That bit where you said I was right. I'm not sure you've said that since 1997. Thom, don't go back on the bouncy castle yet, sweetheart. You'll be sick.'

We sat there for a good part of the afternoon, avoiding Dad's increasingly cross texts demanding to know what we were doing. I had never sat with my mother and sister, like normal people, grown-ups, having conversations that didn't involve putting anything away or somebody being so annoying. We found ourselves surprisingly interested in each other's lives and opinions, as if we had suddenly realized each of us might have roles beyond the brainy one, the chaotic one, and the one who does all the housework.

It was an odd sensation, having to view my family as human beings.

'Mum,' I said, shortly after Thom had finished his chicken and run off to play, and about five minutes before he would lose his lunch on the bouncy castle and put it out of action for the rest of the afternoon, 'do you ever mind not having had a career?'

'No. I loved being a mum. I really did. But it's odd ... Everything that's happened over the past two years, it does make you think.'

I waited.

'I've been reading about all these women these brave souls who made such a difference in the world to the way people think and do things. And I look at what I've done and wonder whether, well, whether anyone would notice a jot if I wasn't here.'

She said this quite evenly so I couldn't tell if she was actually much more upset about it than she was prepared to let on. 'We'd notice more than a jot, Mum,' I said.

'But it's not like I've made an impact on much, is it? I don't know. I've always been content. But it's like I've spent thirty years doing one thing and now everything I read, the television, the papers, it's like everyone's telling me it was worth nothing.'

My sister and I stared at each other.

'It wasn't nothing to us, Mum.'

'You're sweet girls.'

'I mean it. You ...' I thought suddenly of Tanya Houghton-Miller '... you made us feel safe. And loved.

I liked you being there every day when we came home.'

Mum put her hand on mine. 'I'm fine. I'm so proud of the pair of you, making your own way in the world. Really. But I just need to work out some things for myself. And it's an interesting journey, really it is. I'm loving the reading. Mrs Deans at the library is calling in all sorts of things she thinks I might be interested in. I'm going to move on to the American New Wave feminists next. Very interesting, all their theories.' She folded her paper napkin neatly. 'I do wish they'd all stop arguing with each other, though. I slightly want to smack their heads together.'

'And ... are you really still not shaving your legs?'

I had gone too far. My mother's face closed off, and she gave me the fishy eye. 'Sometimes, it takes you a while to wake up to a true sign of oppression. I have told your father, and I'll tell you girls, the day he goes to the salon to have his legs covered with hot wax, then have it ripped off by a ruddy twenty-one- year-old is the day I'll start doing mine again.'The sun eased down over Stortfold, like melting b.u.t.ter. I stayed much later into the evening than I had intended, said goodbye to my family, climbed into my car and drove home. I felt grounded, tethered. After the emotional turbulence of the past week, it was good to be surrounded by a bit of normality. And my sister, who never showed signs of weakness, had confessed that she thought she would remain single for ever, brus.h.i.+ng away Mum's insistence that she was 'a gorgeous-looking girl'.

'But I'm a single mother,' she'd said. 'And, worse, I don't do flirting. I wouldn't know how to flirt with someone if Louisa stood behind them holding up placards. And the only men I've met in two years have either been frightened off by Thom or after one thing.'

'Oh, not ' my mother began.

'Free accounting advice.'

Suddenly, looking at her from the outside, I'd felt a sudden sympathy. She was right: I had been handed, against the odds, all the advantages a home of my own, a future free of any responsibilities and the only thing stopping me embracing them was myself. The fact that she wasn't eaten up with bitterness over our respective lots was pretty impressive. I hugged her before I left. She was a little shocked, then momentarily suspicious, patted her upper back to check for KICK ME signs, then finally hugged me back.

'Come and stay,' I said. 'Really. Come and stay. I'll take you dancing at this club I know. Mum can mind Thom.'

My sister laughed, and closed the door of the car as I started it. 'Yeah. You dancing? Like that's going to happen.' She was still laughing as I drove away.

Six days later I returned home after a late s.h.i.+ft to a nightclub of my own. As I came up the stairs of my block, instead of the usual silence, I could hear the distant sound of laughter, the irregular thump of music.

I hesitated for a moment outside my front door, thinking that in my exhausted state I must be mistaken, then unlocked it.

The smell of weed hit me first, so strong I almost reflexively held my breath rather than inhale. I walked slowly to the living room, opened the door and stood there, not quite able to believe at first the scene that confronted me. In the dimly lit room, Lily was lying along my sofa, her short skirt rucked up somewhere just below her bottom, a badly rolled joint midway to her mouth. Two young men were sprawled against the sofa, islands amid a sea of alcoholic detritus, empty crisps packets and polystyrene takeaway cartons. Also seated on the floor were two girls of Lily's age; one, her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, looked at me with her eyebrows raised, as if to question what I was doing there. Music thumped from the sound system. The number of beer cans and overflowing ashtrays told of a long night.

'Oh,' Lily said, exaggeratedly. 'Hi-i-i.'

'What are you doing?'

'Yeah. We were out, and we sort of missed the late bus, so I thought it would be okay if we crashed here. You don't mind, do you?'

I was so stunned I could barely speak. 'Yes,' I said tightly. 'Actually, I do mind.'

'Uh-oh.' She began to cackle.

I dropped my bag with a thump at my feet. I gazed around me at the munic.i.p.al rubbish dump that had once pa.s.sed as my living room. 'Party's over. I'll give you five minutes to clear up your mess, and go.'

'Oh, G.o.d. I knew it. You're going to be boring about it, aren't you? Ugh. I knew it.' She threw herself back on the sofa melodramatically. Her voice was slurred, her actions thickened with what? Drugs? Iwaited. For one brief, tense moment, the two men looked steadily at me and I could see they were a.s.sessing whether to get up or simply to sit there.

One of the girls sucked her teeth audibly.

'Four minutes,' I said slowly. 'I'm counting.'

Perhaps my righteous anger gave me some authority. Perhaps they were actually less brave than they appeared. One by one they clambered to their feet and sloped past me to the open front door. As the last of the boys left, he ostentatiously lifted his hand and dropped a can on the hall floor so that beer sprayed up the wall and over the carpet. I kicked the door shut behind them and picked it up. By the time I got to Lily, I was shaking with anger. 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're playing at?'

'Jesus. It was just a few friends, okay?'

'This is not your flat, Lily. It is not your place to bring people back as you see fit ...' A sudden flashback: that strange sense of dislocation when I had returned home a week ago. 'Oh, my G.o.d. You've done this before, haven't you? Last week. You had people home and then left before I got back.'

Lily climbed unsteadily to her feet. She pulled down her skirt and ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the tangles. Her eyeliner was smudged, and she had what could have been a bruise, or perhaps a hickey, on her neck. 'G.o.d. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything? They were just people, okay?'

'In my home.'

'Well, it's hardly a home, is it? It's got no furniture, and nothing personal. You haven't even got pictures on your walls. It's like ... a garage. A garage without a car. I've actually seen homelier petrol stations.'

'What I do with my home is none of your business.'

She let out a small belch and fanned the air in front of her mouth. 'Ugh. Kebab breath.' She padded to the kitchen where she opened three cupboards until she found a gla.s.s. She filled it and gulped down the water. 'And you haven't even got a proper television. I didn't know people still had eighteen-inch televisions.'

I began to pick up the cans, shoving them into a plastic bag. 'So who were they?'

'I don't know. Just some people.'

'You don't know?'

'Friends.' She sounded irritated. 'People I know from clubbing.'

'You met them in a club?'

'Yes. Clubbing. Blah blah blah. It's like you're being deliberately thick. Yes. Just some friends I met in a club. It's what normal people do, you know? Have friends they go out with.'

She threw the gla.s.s into the was.h.i.+ng-up bowl I heard it crack and stalked resentfully out of the kitchen.

I stared at her, my heart suddenly sinking. I ran next door to my room, and opened my top drawer. I riffled through my socks, looking for the little jewellery box that contained my grandmother's chain and wedding ring. I stopped and took a deep breath, telling myself I couldn't see them because I was panicking. It would be there. Of course it would. I began picking up the contents of the drawer, carefully checking through them and throwing them onto the bed.

'Did they come in here?' I shouted.

Lily appeared in the doorway. 'Did what?''Your friends. Did they come in my bedroom? Where's my jewellery?'

Lily seemed to wake up a little. 'Jewellery?'

'Oh, no. Oh, no.' I opened all my drawers, began dumping the contents on the floor. 'Where is it? And where's my emergency cash?' I turned to her. 'Who were they? What were their names?'

Lily had gone quiet.

'Lily!'

'I I don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't know? You said they were your friends.'

'Just ... clubbing friends. Mitch. And ... Lise and I can't remember.'

I ran for the door, belted along the corridor and hurled myself down the four flights of stairs. But by the time I reached the front door the corridor and the street beyond were empty, but for the late bus to Waterloo sailing gently, illuminated, down the middle of the dark road.

I stood in the doorway, panting. Then I closed my eyes, fighting back tears, dropping my hands to my knees as I realized what I had lost: my grandmother's ring, the fine gold chain, with the little pendant she had worn from when I was a child. I knew already I would never see it again. There were so few things to pa.s.s down in my family, and now even that was gone.

I walked slowly back up the stairs.

Lily was standing in the hallway when I opened the front door. 'I'm really sorry,' she said quietly. 'I didn't know they would steal your stuff.'

'Go away, Lily,' I said.

'They seemed really nice. I I should have thought '

'I've been at work for thirteen hours. I need to find out what I've lost and then I want to go to sleep.

Your mother is back from her holiday. Please just go home.'

'But I '

'No. No more.' I straightened up slowly, taking a moment to catch my breath. 'You know the real difference between you and your dad? Even when he was at his unhappiest he wouldn't have treated anyone like this.'

She looked as if I'd slapped her. I didn't care.

'I can't do this any more, Lily.' I pulled a twenty-pound note from my purse and handed it to her.

'There. For your taxi.'

She looked at it, then at me, and swallowed. She ran a hand through her hair and walked slowly back into the living room.

I took off my jacket, and stood staring at my reflection in the little mirror above my chest of drawers. I looked pale, exhausted, defeated. 'And leave your keys,' I said.

There was a short silence. I heard the clatter as they were dropped on the kitchen counter, and then, with a click, the front door closed and she was gone.

CHAPTER S IXTEEN.

I messed it all up, Will.

I hauled my knees up to my chest. I tried to imagine what he would have said if he could see me then, but I could no longer hear his voice in my head and that small fact made me even sadder.

What do I do now?

I understood I could not stay in the flat that Will's legacy had bought me. It felt as if it were steeped in my failures, a bonus prize I had failed to earn. How could you make a home in a place that had come to you for all the wrong reasons? I would sell it and invest the money somewhere. But where would I go instead?

I thought of my job, the reflexive way my stomach now clenched when I heard Celtic pan pipes, even on television; the way Richard made me feel useless, worthless.

I thought of Lily, noting the peculiar weight of the silence that resulted when you knew without doubt that n.o.body but you would be in your home. I wondered where she was, and pushed the thought away.

The rain eased off, slowing and ceasing almost apologetically, as if the weather were admitting it hadn't really known what had got into it. I pulled on some clothes, vacuumed the flat, and put out the bin-bags of party-related rubbish. I walked to the flower market, mostly to give myself something to do. Always better to get out and about, Marc said. I might feel better for being in the thick of Columbia Road, with its gaudy displays of blooms and its slow-moving crowds of shoppers. I fixed my face into a smile, frightened Samir when I bought myself an apple ('Are you on drugs, man?') and headed off into a sea of flowers.

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, gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ts 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?'