‘That’s great, Dad. Really.’ I stepped forward and gave him a hug.
‘Well, it’s really Will you should thank. What a smashing bloke. I’m just bloody grateful that he thought of me.’
I listened to them leave the house, the sound of Mum fussing in the hall mirror, Dad’s repeated reassurances that she looked lovely, that she was just fine as she was. I heard him patting his pockets for keys, wallet, loose change, followed by a brief burst of laughter. And then the door slammed, I heard the hum of the car pulling away and then there was just the distant sound of the television in Granddad’s room. I sat on the stairs. And then I pulled out my phone and rang Will’s number.
It took him a while to answer. I pictured him heading to the hands-free device, depressing the button with his thumb.
‘Hello?’
‘Is this your doing?’
There was a brief pause. ‘Is that you, Clark?’
‘Did you get my dad a job?’
He sounded a little breathless. I wondered, absently, whether he was sitting up okay.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am pleased. It’s just … I don’t know. I feel weird.’
‘You shouldn’t do. Your dad needed a job. Mine needed a skilled maintenance man.’
‘Really?’ I couldn’t keep the scepticism from my voice.
‘What?’
‘This has nothing to do with what you asked me the other day? About him and the other woman?’
There was a long pause. I could see him there, in his living room, looking out through the French windows.
His voice, when it came, was careful. ‘You think I’d blackmail my father into giving yours a job?’
Put like that it did sound far-fetched.
I sat down again. ‘Sorry. I don’t know. It’s just weird. The timing. It’s all a bit convenient.’
‘Then be pleased, Clark. It’s good news. Your dad will be great. And it means … ’ He hesitated.
‘It means what?’
‘ … that one day you can go off and spread your wings without worrying about how your parents are going to be able to support themselves.’
It was as if he had punched me. I felt the air disappear from my lungs.
‘Lou?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re awfully quiet.’
‘I’m … ’ I swallowed. ‘Sorry. Distracted by something. Granddad’s calling me. But yes. Thanks for – for putting a word in for him.’ I had to get off the phone. Because out of nowhere a huge lump had lodged itself somewhere in my throat and I wasn’t sure I could say anything else.
I walked to the pub. The air was thick with the smell of blossom, and people smiled as they passed me on the street. I couldn’t raise a single greeting in return. I just knew I couldn’t stay in that house, alone with my thoughts. I found the Triathlon Terrors all in the beer garden, their two tables pushed together in a dappled corner, arms and legs spilling off the ends in sinewy pink angles. I got a few polite nods (none from the women) and Patrick stood, creating a small space for me beside him. I realized I really wished Treena was around.
The pub garden was full, with that peculiarly English mix of braying students and post-work salesmen in their shirtsleeves. This pub was a favourite with tourists, and among the English voices were a variety of other accents – Italian, French, American. From the west wall they could see the castle, and – just as they did every summer – the tourists were lining up for photographs with it behind them in the distance.
‘I wasn’t expecting you. Do you want a drink?’
‘In a minute.’ I just wanted to sit there, to let my head rest against Patrick. I wanted to feel like I used to feel – normal, untroubled. I wanted not to think about death.
‘I broke my best time today. Fifteen miles in just 79.2 minutes.’
‘Great.’
‘Cooking with gas now, eh, Pat?’ someone said.
Patrick bunched both his fists and made a revving noise with his mouth.
‘That’s great. Really.’ I tried to look pleased for him.
I had a drink, and then another. I listened to their talk of mileage, of the skinned knees and hypothermic swimming bouts. I tuned out, and watched the other people in the pub, wondering about their lives. Each of them would have huge events in their own families – babies loved and lost, dark secrets, great joys and tragedies. If they could put it into perspective, if they could just enjoy a sunny evening in a pub garden, then surely I should too.
And then I told Patrick about Dad’s job. His face looked a little like I imagine mine had. I had to repeat it, just so he could be sure he had heard me right.
‘That’s … very cosy. You both working for him.’
I wanted to tell him then, I really did. I wanted to explain that so much of everything was tied up in my battle to keep Will alive. I wanted to tell him how afraid I was that Will seemed to be trying to buy me my freedom. But I knew I could say nothing. I might as well get the rest of it over while I could.
‘Um … that’s not the only thing. He says I can stay there when I want, in the spare room. To get past the whole bed problem at home.’
Patrick looked at me. ‘You’re going to live at his house?’
‘I might. It’s a nice offer, Pat. You know what it’s been like at home. And you’re never here. I like coming to your house, but … well, if I’m honest, it doesn’t feel like home.’
He was still staring at me. ‘Then make it home.’
‘What?’
‘Move in. Make it home. Put your stuff up. Bring your clothes. It’s about time we moved in together.’
It was only afterwards, when I thought about it, that I realized he had actually looked really unhappy as he said this. Not like a man who had finally worked out he could not live without his girlfriend close by him, and wanted to make a joyous union of our two lives. He looked like someone who felt outmanoeuvred.
‘You really want me to move in?’
‘Yes. Sure.’ He rubbed at his ear. ‘I mean, I’m not saying let’s get married or anything. But it does make sense, right?’
‘You old romantic.’
‘I mean it, Lou. It’s time. It’s probably been time for ages, but I guess I’ve just been wrapped up in one thing and another. Move in. It’ll be good.’ He hugged me. ‘It will be really good.’
Around us the Triathlon Terrors had diplomatically resumed their chatter. A small cheer went up as a group of Japanese tourists got the photograph they had wanted. Birds sang, the sun dipped, the world turned. I wanted to be part of it, not stuck in a silent room, worrying about a man in a wheelchair.