Not Without You (52 page)

When I emerged at Hampstead, the early-evening light was beautiful. High up above the city, the pale blue sky was scudded with creamy, fluffy clouds, like a Hogarth painting, the clean above the dirty. I found the bench I’d agreed, beneath the old black-and-white road signs, smelling the roses from the old houses on the quiet walk above me. I closed my eyes, trying to remember what it had been like all those years ago. What it would be like now. I must have drifted off; I heard a tapping sound, crunching feet on sandy gravel, and then, ‘Rose?’

There was a light tap on my shoulder. I didn’t look round. I stayed still.

‘Don?’ I said. ‘Are you here?’

‘Yes, I am,’ said a voice behind me, warm, smoked with rye, kind, heartbreaking. ‘I’m here.’

I didn’t move, I couldn’t move. I heard a tapping sound again. I looked up.

Don. It was Don. He was standing next to me, feeling for the bench. His eyes were clear but unfocused; he had a stick in his hand. His dear, dear face, still so handsome, only a few lines; his tall, rangy form, remarkably upright; his smile; the neat line of his parting, his hair thick; but his eyes were unseeing. He took my fingers in his, and at his touch I gave a little cry.

‘It’s you,’ he said. ‘After all these years, Rose, it’s you.’

He sat down slowly next to me, I holding his elbow. ‘Tell me what you see,’ he said.

‘I see you,’ I told him.

‘And?’ he said. ‘You know I always wanted to come here. Wanted to meet you here.’

‘Don—’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m old, and I’m diabetic, and I drank and smoked too much,’ he said. ‘I could never get up the nerve to tell you. I can see a vague shape, you know, with this eye.’ He pointed to his left eye. ‘I can see that I’m next to someone. And I can hear that it’s you.’

I wanted to cry, with sadness, with happiness. Suddenly I wished, ferociously, that he could see me, could see how the years had taken their toll. How wizened and mean and curious I had become.

But he said, as if he heard my thoughts, ‘You’re still the same. Oh, I don’t know what you look like, and I don’t care. But you’re the same person.’

‘I tell you, I’m not,’ I said.

‘I’ve written you every day for over forty years. Until my sight went a couple of years ago I could read everything you said, and now I have software that can do it for me. I tell you, you are.’

I squeezed his hand instead, and put my head on his shoulder. ‘I can’t believe we’re here.’

‘Darling Rose.’ He kissed the top of my head. ‘We’ll always be here. And from now on, we’ll always be together.’ He paused. ‘We will, won’t we?’

I nodded, and said softly, then more loudly, ‘Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.’

‘What about your sister?’ He laughed softly. ‘I sound like a teenage boy at a party. I meant, I’ll have to meet her. I’d love to meet her.’

‘I can’t wait for her to meet you.’ I looked around, the old red brick glowing in the sun, the sky blue and clear. ‘It’s funny, I thought everything had changed. But some things stay the same. The important things.’ I squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t ever leave me. Ever again.’

‘Rose, I—’

I interrupted him. ‘No. Eve. Rose is Rose, I’m Eve again. It’s my name. It’s time to stop hiding and come out and say it.’ Suddenly a great thrill of joy rose up within me, bursting out as though I could sing. ‘Oh, Don. Stay here. Let’s stay here. We have some time. We’ll have a little garden flat here. We can walk on the Heath like I used to when I was a student. I can go into town, or anywhere, if I’m needed, if I want to work again.’

He smiled. ‘Yes. I’ll do that.’

‘What, you won’t even think about it?’

‘No. It’s the best way to make decisions. Too much thinking’s bad for a man. Let’s decide it here, right here.’

I kissed him then, unable to believe his darling face was in front of me, unable to trust that he was mine again, that I’d look after him like I’ve looked after Rose all these years, that I could have some happiness, even for a short while, because already I felt as though it had wiped everything out, the years of guilt, then misery, my dead baby, my breakdown, the years of slowly mending, Rose and I clinging to each other in our small house with our small life in the woods, until Sophie decided to track us down. And now I was ready.

‘What about Rose?’ Don said.

‘I’ll call her right now. I can’t wait to tell her. She’ll live next door. Or around the corner. It doesn’t matter. She’ll be nearby.’ I took his hand again. ‘Don, if I’ve got you it doesn’t matter if I have one more day or a year, or ten, twenty more years. This, us sitting here, now, it’s a lifetime of happiness.’

‘It may only be a year, darling. Do you really want to take me on?’ He moves away a little. ‘I’m not even sure I should move. What if—’

‘Life’s full of what-ifs. What if you’d said no to Jerry. What if we’d gone home together from Big Sur. What if I’d won the Oscar, what if I hadn’t lost the baby, what if Rose hadn’t fallen in the stream, what if Sophie hadn’t moved into my house, what if. You can live your life with what-ifs.’ My fingers squeeze his hand so tightly he smiles. I kiss his dear face. ‘I’ll look after you. We can go to New York, visit your friends, we can spend a few months here, a few months there, we don’t have to make any decisions about this or that. Just live, Don, live for today. Oh darling, we can do what we want.’ The world is opening up to me, peeling off layer upon layer. ‘When I had to, for Sophie, I ran up to town, got on a Tube, walked through Soho, strolled into a hotel and then a hospital bold as brass, didn’t I? All in one day. After years of … of nothing. A weekly trip to the shops, to the library maybe. Well, if I can do all those things … I can pretty much do anything. And I won’t go on without you. If I’ve got you, and Rose, and you’ve got us, and she’s got us, that’s more than most people have.’

He is very still, then he feels for my fingers and takes them in his. I love him, I love him so much. ‘What about this movie they want you for?’ Don says. ‘Will you do it?’

I put my hand on my chin. ‘Just maybe,’ I say. I give a little smile and turn to him. I don’t know how much he can see at all, but Don smiles too. And I feel the years drop away from me, the sun on my hair. His warm hand in mine. We sit in silence on the bench. He puts his head on my shoulder. I am strong.

I FLY INTO LA, two days later. I’d forgotten how funny the city looks from the air. The mountains, the ringed ocean, and draped over the land a sprawl of humanity, arranged with no thought or planning. As we land, I gaze across the ocean to the horizon. I’m back.

It’s strange, but when they announce they have to disembark a passenger with medical needs first, everyone applauds.

‘Why are they clapping?’ I say, as one of the medical attendants, impassive-faced, lays me back on a stretcher.

Tina says solemnly, ‘I think they’re glad you’re OK.’

As I’m carried out of the plane (I’m sure I could walk, but Tina has way overstated my medical needs to the insurance company, clearly) people appear from further down the plane, calling out to me. I’m still the number one celebrity news story. No one’s got a picture yet, but they certainly are trying.

‘There she is.’ ‘Don’t crowd her.’ ‘Hey, Sophie.’ ‘You look great.’ ‘Feel better, Sophie!’

Some guy has a phone out, and takes some photos. A woman in her thirties admonishes him. ‘Put that away!’ she shouts, as I descend the steps. I look up, and there are faces at every oval window, waving, clapping, and I can hear stamping of feet too. A little girl right up at the front blows me a kiss.

T.J. is waiting in a blacked-out jeep for me on the tarmac. He and one of the nurses help me into the car. I watch the people at the window of the plane, still confused.

‘That’s so weird,’ I say. ‘Why are they doing that?’

From the front of the car T.J. shakes his head and says, ‘You’re crazy. They’re doing it ’cause they like you, Sophie.’ He shrugs and then reaches back and pats my hand. ‘Hey. It’s good to see you. Let’s get you back home.’

As I stand in the hall, looking around my house, the jasmine climbing up the clapboard outside, the old pool clear turquoise, everything pristine and beautiful, I can’t help but think of Eve. On the flight home I reread the pages she gave me, the day I found her and Rose. Her letters to Don, his to her. Her essays about her time in Hollywood. How she came back here once more, only to leave, and never return. Now I am back, and everything has changed, and she’s the person who would understand.

Two helicopters throb constantly overhead and even though all the doors are shut the sound is penetrating, a constant whirr drilling into my head. I limp slowly into the den, to make sure the doors onto the terrace are closed against the noise. And I stop, and stare.

The room is filled with flowers. Not white roses, this time. Flowers of every colour, bouquets, plants, bunches tied with string, a huge riot of colour. There’s even a row of lavender bushes shaped into an S. They hide the furniture in the room.

Tina sneezes. ‘I’m going to make sure your bags are OK,’ she says. ‘Oh, by the way—’ she points to the corner of the room. ‘Carmen and Deena have been sorting some mail out for you. You might want to check it out.’ She gives me a little smile, and walks out.

I look over to where she’s gestured and stare. I hadn’t noticed what else is on the floor. Like Santa’s grotto, there are ten or so sacks, all filled to the brim, cards, postcards, letters spilling out onto the carpet. I kneel on the ground, my fingers fumbling on the envelopes, as I tear them open: more bad news, more hatred? Give it to me now. I can take it. I open the first one, written in crazy felt-tip pen writing, every letter of my name a different colour. I swallow. I don’t know if I want to read this.

Dear Sophie,

My name is Sophie too. I love
The Bride and Groom
. I want a dress like yours wen I am older. I am sorry you are ill. I love your films, you are pretty. Get well soon love Sophie aged 8 and a half

I pick up another.

Dear Sophie,

I’ve never written a letter like this before: I just wanted to say that I was really sad to hear about your accident and I hope you get better soon. My friends and I have a Sophie Leigh club where, no matter where we are, we meet in New York when you have a new movie out, and then we go drink rose wine (
has
to be rose) and catch up afterwards. Last time my friend Selina flew in from Buenos Aires just to see
The Blue and Gold Dress
with us. I guess we all really love your movies, and you’ve brought us together. Every time I’m feeling down, if I switch on the TV and one of your movies is on I always feel better. So take care of yourself, and get well soon.

Yours,

Melissa Fitzpatrick

Hi Sophie,

My daughter was extremely ill last year and spent a lot of time in hospital. The only thing that cheered her up was watching DVDs of your films on her laptop. She is back at home now and getting much better every day, but when she heard about your accident she, and I, wanted to write to give you our love and send you our thanks. What happened to you is terrible. If you ever want a break, please come to Bournemouth. You’d be very welcome.

Love from Joyce and Eliza Darling

Hello lady,

I love your films, you’re funny. It sucks what happened to you. I want to send you love and strength. Remember what Martin Luther King Jr said. ‘We must constantly build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear.’ Peace.

Lila,

Long Beach

Tears run down my face, and I brush them aside, smiling. I seem to spend my whole time in tears, lately. I pick up the next letter. There must be a thousand pieces of mail here. How am I going to answer them all?

Hi Sophie,

Can you send me a photo of your face? My Friend Misha says it is messed up and you will never see again and all the bones have been Sucked Out of It. Get Well Soon Zac

Yeah, Zac – maybe not.

I’m looking up and smiling again, and then something outside catches my eye.

I scream. There’s someone lying there. At the noise Tina comes rushing in, to find me laughing, clutching my face, a sack of letters spilling out onto the carpet behind me

It’s Deena. She is asleep on the terrace. She’s dragged my favourite rug – sourced from Turkey by a specialist LA interiors company – out by the pool and there she lies, her nut-brown, stick-like body almost naked and immobile, glistening with oil in the midday sun. Her mirrored shades are the blue of the sky.

‘Oh, my God,’ says Tina, dashing forwards and shaking her. ‘Deena! Deena, you can’t be here. What are you doing here? I told you to leave.’

Deena doesn’t move.

‘Deena!’

She shakes her one more time. My heart contracts, my stomach lurches.

‘Deena!’ I call, and I hobble forwards, ignoring the helicopters.

We crouch down beside her. I pull off her glasses. Her eyes are closed. And then they open, slowly. Tina and I groan with relief.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ Deena says. She pulls the shades back over her face. ‘You’re back.’ I nod, and she grimaces as she looks at me. ‘Wow. OK. They really messed you up.’ She closes her eyes again. ‘So how you doing?’

I shake her. ‘Deena, are you OK?’

‘Sure … Sure …’ she mumbles. ‘Tired.’

‘She’s out of it,’ Tina hisses.

She bends down and touches Deena’s shoulder lightly.

‘Leave her,’ I say. ‘She’s sleeping it off. Whatever it is.’

Deena props herself up on her elbows, and looks up at the helicopters. There’s two overhead, one lower than the other, lights twinkling in the sun. ‘Hey, guys,’ she says, looking upwards. She raises her middle finger. ‘Sit on this, you fuckers!’ she yells. ‘Screw you! Screw the hell out of you you fucking idiots!’

Tina and I turn away from the cameras, but Deena calls to us, ‘They won’t use that, trust me. It doesn’t go with their story.’ She stands up in one fluid movement, opens the miniature fridge that stands under the canopy and pulls herself out a beer. ‘You guys want one?’