After You (17 page)

Six days later I returned home after a late shift 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 municipal rubbish dump that had once passed as my living room. ‘Party’s over. I’ll give you five minutes to clear up your mess, and go.’

‘Oh, God. 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? I waited. For one brief, tense moment, the two men looked steadily at me and I could see they were assessing 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
hell
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 God. 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. ‘God. 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 glass. 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 glass into the washing-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 pass 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.

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 nobody 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, 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.

The family is okay. The rich are never normal (!) but these are good people. Minimal drama.

You’d have your own room and bathroom. We’d share a kitchen with the housekeeper. She’s all right. Bit older. Keeps herself to herself.

Hours regular. Eight – at worst ten – a day. You get time off in lieu. You might want to learn a bit of Polish!

I finally fell asleep as it grew light, my mind full of Manhattan duplexes and bustling streets
.
And when I woke up, an email was waiting for me.

Dear Ms Clark,

Nathan tells me you might be interested in coming to work in our household. Would you be available for a Skype interview on Tuesday evening at 5 p.m. GMT (midday EST)?

Yours sincerely,

Leonard M. Gopnik

I stared at it for a full twenty minutes, proof that I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. And then I got up and showered, made myself a strong mug of coffee and typed my reply. It wouldn’t hurt to have the interview, I told myself. I wouldn’t get the job, if there were lots of highly professional New York candidates. But it was good practice, if nothing else. And it would make me feel as if I were finally doing something, moving forward.

Before I left for work, I took Will’s letter carefully from the bedside table. I pressed my lips to it, then folded it carefully and put it back in the drawer.

Thank you
, I told him silently.

It was a slightly thinned-out version of the Moving On Circle that week. Natasha was on holiday, as was Jake, for which I was mostly relieved and a tiny bit put out in a way I couldn’t reconcile. The evening’s topic was ‘If I could turn back time’, which meant that William and Sunil hummed or whistled the Cher song unconsciously at intervals for the entire hour and a half.

I listened to Fred wishing he had spent less time at work, then Sunil wishing he’d got to know his brother better (‘You just think they’re always going to be there, you know? And then one day they’re not’), and wondered if it really had been worth coming.

There had been a couple of times when I’d thought the group might actually be helping. But for an awful lot of the time I was sitting among people I felt I had nothing in common with, droning on for the few hours they had company. I felt grumpy and tired, my hip ached on the hard plastic chair, and I thought I might have got just as much enlightenment about my mental state if I had been watching
EastEnders
. Plus the biscuits
were
rubbish.

Leanne, a single mother, was talking about how she and her older sister had argued about a pair of tracksuit bottoms two days before her sister had died. ‘I accused her of taking them, because she was always nicking my stuff. She said she hadn’t, but then she always said she hadn’t.’

Marc waited. I wondered if I had any painkillers in my handbag.

‘And then, you know, she got hit by the bus and the next time I got to see her was at the morgue. And when I was looking for dark clothes to wear to her funeral, you know what was in my wardrobe?’

‘The tracksuit bottoms,’ said Fred.

‘It’s difficult when things are unresolved,’ said Marc. ‘Sometimes for our own sanity we just have to look at the bigger picture.’

‘You can love someone and also call them a prat for nicking your tracksuit bottoms,’ said William.

That day I didn’t want to speak. I was only there because I couldn’t face the silence of my little flat. I had a sudden sneaking suspicion I could easily become one of those people who so crave human contact that they talk inappropriately to other passengers on trains or spend ten minutes picking things in a shop so they can chat to the assistant. I was so busy wondering whether it was symptomatic that I had just discussed my new physio support bandage with Samir at the mini-mart that I tuned out Daphne wishing she’d come back from work an hour earlier that particular day, then found she had dissolved, quietly, into tears.

‘Daphne?’

‘I’m sorry, everyone. But I’ve spent so long thinking in “if onlys”. If only I hadn’t stopped off for a chat with the lady at the flower stall. If only I’d left that stupid bought ledger and come home from work earlier. If only I’d just got
back in time … maybe I could have persuaded him not to do what he did. Maybe I could have done one thing that persuaded him life was worth living.’

Marc leaned forward with the box of tissues and I placed it gently on Daphne’s lap. ‘Had Alan tried to end his life before, Daphne?’

She nodded and blew her nose. ‘Oh, yes. Several times. He used to get what we called “the blues” from quite a young age. And I didn’t like to leave him when they came because it was like … it was like he couldn’t hear you. Didn’t matter what you said. So quite often I would call in sick just to stay with him and jolly him along, you know? Make his favourite sandwiches. Sit with him on the sofa. Anything, really, just to let him know I was there. I always think that’s why I never got a promotion at work when all the other girls did. I had to keep taking time off, you see.’

‘Depression can be very hard. And not just on the sufferer.’

‘Was he on medication?’

‘Oh, no. But, then, it wasn’t … you know … chemical.’

‘Are you sure? I mean depression was under-diagnosed back in –’

Daphne lifted her head. ‘He was a homosexual.’ She said the word with its five full, clearly defined syllables, and looked directly at us, a little flushed, as if daring us to say anything in return. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. But he was a homosexual, and I think he was sad because he was a homosexual. And he was ever such a good man and he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me, so he wouldn’t have … you know … gone off and done things. He would have felt I’d be shamed.’