Jennifer Stirling smiles again. “Not quite. I am human. But I will say that I never became emotionally involved with anyone. After Boot, I—I didn’t really want to be close to anyone else. There had been only him, for me. I could see that very clearly. And, besides, I had Esmé.” Her smile broadens. “A child really is a wonderful consolation.”
They have reached the top. The whole of north London stretches beneath them. They breathe deeply, scanning the distant skyline, hearing the traffic; the cries of dog walkers and errant children recede beneath them.
“Can I ask why you kept the PO box open for so long?”
Jennifer leans against the cast-iron bench, thinks before replying. “I suppose it must seem rather silly to you, but we had missed each other twice, you see, both times by a matter of hours. I felt it was my obligation to give it every chance. I suppose shutting down that box would have been admitting it was finally over.”
She shrugs ruefully. “Every year I’ve told myself it’s time to stop. The years crept by without my noticing how long it had been. But somehow I never have. I suppose I told myself it was a rather harmless indulgence.”
“So that was actually it? His last letter?” Ellie gestures somewhere in the direction of St. John’s Wood. “Did you really never hear from him again? How could you bear not knowing what happened to him?”
“The way I saw it, there were two possibilities. Either he had died in Congo, which was, at the time, too unbearable to contemplate. Or, as I suspect, he was very hurt by me. He believed I was never going to leave my husband, perhaps even that I was careless with his feelings, and I think it cost him dearly to get close to me a second time. Unfortunately I didn’t realize how dearly until it was too late.”
“You never tried to have him traced? A private investigator? Newspaper advertisements?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. He would have known where I was. I had made my feelings plain. And I had to respect his.” She regards Ellie gravely. “You know, you can’t make someone love you again. No matter how much you might want it. Sometimes, unfortunately, the timing is simply . . . off.”
The wind is brisk up there: it forces itself into the gap between collar and neck, exploits any hint of exposure. Ellie thrusts her hands into her pockets. “What do you think would have happened to you if he had found you again?”
For the first time, Jennifer Stirling’s eyes fill with tears. She stares at the skyline, gives a tiny shake of her head. “The young don’t have a monopoly on broken hearts, you know.” She begins to walk slowly back down the path so that her face is no longer visible. The silence before she speaks again causes a small tear in Ellie’s heart. “I learned a long time ago, Ellie, that ‘if only’ is a very dangerous game indeed.”
Meet me—Jx
We’re using mobiles? X
I have a lot to tell you. I just need to see you. Les Percivals on Derry Street. Tomorrow 1 pm x
Percivals?!? Not your usual thing
Ah. I’m all surprises these days Jx
She sits at the linen-clad table, flicking through the notes she has scribbled on the Tube, and knows in her heart that she can’t run this story, and that if she doesn’t, her career at the Nation is over. Twice she has thought of running back to the apartment in St. John’s Wood and throwing herself on the older woman’s mercy, explaining herself, begging her to let her reproduce her doomed love affair in print. But whenever she does, she sees Jennifer Stirling’s face, hears her voice: The young don’t have a monopoly on broken hearts, you know.
She stares at the glossy olives in the white ceramic dish on the table. She has no appetite. If she doesn’t write this story, Melissa will move her. If she does write it, she’s not sure she’ll ever feel quite the same about what she does or who she is. She wishes, again, that she could talk to Rory. He would know what she should do. She has an uncomfortable feeling that it might not be what she wants to do, but she knows he would be right. Her thoughts chase each other in circles, argument and counterargument. Jennifer Stirling probably doesn’t even read the Nation. She might never know what you did. Melissa is looking for an excuse to elbow you out. You really don’t have a choice.
And then Rory’s voice, sardonic: Are you kidding me?
Her stomach tightens. She can’t remember the last time it wasn’t tied in knots. A thought occurs: surely if she can find out what happened to Anthony O’Hare, Jennifer will have to forgive her? She might be upset for a while, but surely, ultimately, she will see that Ellie has given her a gift? The answer has dropped into her lap. She’ll find him. If it takes her ten years, she’ll find out what happened to him. It’s the flimsiest of straws, but it makes her feel a little better.
Five minutes away. Are you there? Jx
Yes. Table on ground floor. Chilled glass waiting. Ex
She lifts a hand unconsciously to her hair. She still hasn’t been able to work out why John doesn’t want to go straight to her flat. The old John always preferred to go directly there. It was as if he couldn’t speak to her properly, see her even, until he had got all that pent-up tension out of the way first. In the early months of their relationship, she had found it flattering, and later a little irritating. Now some small part of her wonders whether this restaurant meeting is to do with them finally going public. Everything seems to have changed so dramatically that it isn’t beyond the new John to want to make some kind of public declaration. She notices the expensively dressed people at the neighboring tables, and her toes curl at the thought.
“What are you so fidgety about?” Nicky had said that morning. “This means you’ve got what you wanted, doesn’t it?”
“It’s just . . .”
“You’re not sure you want him anymore.”
“No!” She had scowled at the phone. “Of course I want him! It’s just that everything’s changed so swiftly I haven’t had a chance to get my head around it.”
“You’d better get your head around it. It’s entirely possible that he’s going to turn up to lunch with two suitcases and a couple of screaming kids in tow.” For some reason this idea had amused Nicky hugely, and she had giggled until it had become a little annoying.
Ellie had the feeling that Nicky still hadn’t forgiven her for “messing things up,” as she put it, with Rory. Rory had sounded nice, she said repeatedly. “Someone I’d be happy to go to the pub with.” The subtext: Nicky would never want to go to the pub with John. She would never forgive him for being the kind of man who could cheat on his wife.