Me and Mr Jones (24 page)

She checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror and faked a smile. Her eyes were as hard as diamonds. For a split-second she wondered what the hell she was getting herself into, and whether she should just start the engine and drive away again, fast.

This is madness, Em. What good can come of it? Go back into town and get your wretched sandwich before you do anything you regret.

She tamped the thoughts down and got out of the car.
Remember me, Nicholas? You soon will.

The art history building felt distinctly empty when she stepped inside. No footsteps, no voices, no ringing telephones. Then it clicked. Of course. Easter was approaching, term must be out; the students had evidently all buggered off back to their parents’ houses with bin bags of smelly washing in tow. She hesitated, feeling self-conscious with no crowds of students to hide amidst. Would the staff be away too, putting their feet up in their own homes or sunning themselves on distant beaches?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Her heart stepped up its pace as she went over to the main reception desk. A printed note on the counter informed Emma that the office was closed for the next two weeks, and that all enquiries should be taken to the main reception.
I don’t think so.

She glanced around, trying to gather her thoughts. The whole notion of turning up here had been so impulsive that she’d barely had time to plot a convincing cover story. In the car, she’d decided she would gush out some nonsense about being on campus to meet an old friend, but the closer she came to Larsson’s office, the thinner and more easily picked apart the lie began to feel.
Yes, I was just randomly walking past your office door – what a coincidence! How ARE you these days? It must be years . . .

Hmmm. He’d have to be stupid to fall for that one. And she’d have to be stupid to think it might suffice.

Her eye fell on the staff pigeonholes behind the desk, an old-fashioned wooden construction, rectangle built upon rectangle, the exact same place she’d handed in essays herself once upon a time, as well as secret love notes, tucked deep into the shadowy corners, saying,
I dreamed about you last night
and
When can we see each other again?

The thought of her round, curling handwriting, the adornments of biroed hearts, gave her a pang inside. She’d been such an innocent, after all. Practically still a child.

She skimmed the names – PROFESSOR K. MALLORY, DR V. KHAN, M. CURTIS – and then there was his, printed black on white, DR N. LARSSON, and her legs suddenly felt boneless. He’d been here all these years, right where she’d left him.

Leaning slightly over the reception desk, she eyed the trays of paperwork, the files, the Rolodex – all abandoned for two weeks, according to the printed notice. What information might she find stored there? she wondered, adrenalin rising in her like sap. What might she be able to unearth about dear old Nicholas?

The sudden sound of footsteps behind her made her jump and she whirled around, feeling shifty, only to see . . .

Whoa. His presence hit her like a physical blow as he approached along the corridor, as dapper and smart as he’d ever been. His hair was now shot through with seams of silver-grey, and his frame was somehow smaller than she remembered, but his eyes were still so piercing they made her shiver.
Dr Larsson, I presume
.

‘Can I help you?’ His voice was just how she remembered: brisk and dry, with only the faintest trace of the Norwegian fjords beneath, hinting at snow and ice and wolves. That voice had once whispered the dirtiest of things into her ear, had been low and witty and suggestive. She felt a stirring in her knickers at hearing it again. But he hadn’t recognized her.

She gulped, as if she’d been caught stealing. ‘I . . . I was looking for . . . for Dr Khan,’ she lied with atrocious fluency. ‘I . . . Hey. Wait. Have we met before?’

God, this was awful. She was fake and wooden and completely unconvincing. This was not at all the scene she’d envisaged.

He paused and frowned, and she was just about to gabble an apology and sprint away, when his face cleared.

‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘It’s you. It’s you, isn’t it, ah . . .’ He struggled to remember her name, gaping helplessly.

‘Emma,’ she said. ‘Oh, my goodness. Nicholas. I mean . . . Mr Larsson.’

‘Dr Larsson now,’ he said, the pride unmistakable. His eyes were steady on hers, blue slivers of ice. Amused blue slivers, she noted, as if he too was now recalling their rumpled encounters upstairs in his office with a certain fondness. ‘Well, well, well. And you’re here to see Dr Khan, are you?’

‘Uh . . . Yes. He wanted to talk to me about . . . some business,’ she blustered haltingly.

The ice chips narrowed, his mouth twisted. ‘Ah. Unfortunately she’s abroad for a week, I believe. It’s the Easter vacation here now.’

She. V. Khan was a she. Own-goal to Emma. ‘We haven’t actually met, just been in contact via email,’ she lied, feeling a blush creep through her skin. ‘Not to worry, though, it can wait. I’ll . . .’ She shrugged, not wanting the conversation to end so soon. She hadn’t managed to steer things round to reminiscing and good times yet.

‘Listen,’ he interrupted, not seeming to hear her ramblings. He touched her arm and her breath caught in her throat. ‘Why don’t we get a coffee?’

History seemed to be peeling back as, minutes later, Emma trotted across campus beside him.
Well, well, well. Haven’t we been here before?

A chill went through her, even though it was a bright, clear spring day. Flowers were blooming, the trees were in leaf. It was the season of fertility, after all.

‘How funny to be here with you again, after so long,’ she found herself saying demurely as she slipped off her jacket in the coffee bar. She knew all about men like Larsson. He had never been able to say no.

Chapter Twenty

Izzy was in the darkest place she’d ever been. Despite the numbing bliss of the morphine and whatever other drugs they were sticking in her, despite the kind attentiveness of the nursing staff and the novelty of being looked after by somebody (a whole team of somebodys), she ached all over, inside and out. Gary was dead. She would never see him again. He had scared her and hurt her, but there was a part of her, just the tiniest shard, that still loved him for the Gary he’d once been, the one person who’d really understood her, the father of her children. She couldn’t believe he was gone, just like that, in a single, final heartbeat.

‘Can you give us a contact number for his family, love?’ the police officer asked when he came in to question her.

She had to shake her head. ‘He doesn’t have any family,’ she replied dully. ‘Only me and the girls.’ A funeral would need to be organized, she realized, friends told, official paperwork dealt with, only she didn’t have the energy to think about any of that right now.

Telling the girls was the worst ordeal of her life. Their little faces as they appeared in the ward – cowed and anxious, holding tightly to Alicia’s hands . . . that alone was enough to rip her heart in two. They deserved better than this. Better parents, a better life full stop. She’d messed everything up, just like she always knew she would.

‘Hey!’ she said softly as Willow burst free from Alicia and ran over to her, burying her dark head in Izzy’s chest. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Oh, I missed you. Are you okay?’

‘Mummy, what happened?’ Willow asked. ‘When will you be better?’

Hazel was there too in the next second, looking uncharacteristically worried. ‘Mummy, are you very, very poorly?’ she asked, shifting from foot to foot, eyes huge and round.

Alicia pulled the curtains around Izzy’s bed for some privacy, then mouthed that she’d leave them to it and made a discreet exit.

Izzy patted the side of the bed and they both scrambled up to sit beside her. ‘Well, I had an operation on my leg this morning, but it’s going to take a while to heal up. Maybe a few months.’

‘You’re going to be in hospital for a few months?’ Willow wailed instantly.

‘No! Hopefully I’ll be out tomorrow but they want to keep me in today because I bumped my head in the accident. They need to make sure nothing’s wrong. Check I’ve still got a brain in there, you know. Then I’ll be out, only I’ll have to walk with crutches, while my leg’s mending.’

‘And will we go home then?’ Hazel asked.

Izzy took a deep breath. ‘Not straight away, no,’ she admitted. ‘Not back to our flat. I don’t think I’d be able to go up and down the stairs very fast with crutches, do you?’ She was doing her best to sound upbeat, as if this was merely the latest episode in a marvellous adventure they were all having, but both girls looked anxious. ‘We’ll find somewhere different,’ she went on quickly. ‘Alicia’s said we can stay with them first of all, then we’ll go somewhere else, just us three.’

She felt tired having to think about such practicalities. The nurses had been unanimous in saying she needed looking after for a while, that she couldn’t be expected to manage single-handedly straight away. Going home was not an option. However wonderful Alicia was being, for the first time in ages Izzy had found herself wishing that she had a mum to lean on.

‘Does that sound okay?’ she asked when neither girl reacted. ‘Has it been all right staying there with Matilda?’

Willow nodded. ‘Alicia’s really nice.’

‘The house is
massive
,’ Hazel whispered, then perked up a fraction. ‘And they’ve got a Wii. I’m really good at
Mario Kart
now, you know.’

‘Good,’ said Izzy, stroking her hair fondly. ‘That’s great news.’

‘Matilda was pleased too,’ Willow said. ‘She didn’t want her mummy to go to Paris anyway, she told me.’

Izzy did a double-take, the words spiking into her like darts. ‘She didn’t – oh
no
. Was Alicia meant to go to Paris? This weekend?’

‘Yes,’ Hazel replied, shrugging. ‘But she said we were more important.’

‘Oh God,’ Izzy croaked. Not only had she called in the most enormous favour from this woman she barely knew, but in doing so she’d wrecked her special birthday treat. Izzy had never seen Alicia so bright-eyed and excited as when she’d told her about the trip, the other week in the pub. How could she have forgotten?

Hazel leaned against Izzy’s legs, her long hair fanning across the sheet. ‘Has Daddy been to see you again?’ she asked.

Izzy stiffened. Here we go. ‘Er . . .’ she began. She was still spacey from the anaesthetic and hadn’t slept at all well the night before. Could she seriously do this conversation now? She paused, her mind churning through the pros and cons. It was tempting, frankly, to take the coward’s way out and palm Hazel off with a simple ‘no’, or even lie, make up some story about how he’d gone away and wouldn’t be coming back . . . It wasn’t all that far from the truth, really, was it?

But no. She couldn’t lie to them.

‘Actually, there’s something I need to tell you about Daddy,’ she said. She took Willow’s hand and held it tightly. ‘When I was in the car crash, it was Daddy who was driving. And I’m really sorry to say that . . . he was badly hurt too.’

‘Is he in the hospital as well?’ Willow asked, sitting very still.

‘No, love.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m afraid to say that Daddy . . . Daddy died in the car crash. He’s . . .’ Oh God. How should she do this in a way that wouldn’t completely crush their little worlds? ‘He’s . . . up in heaven with the angels now.’

There was a moment of shocked silence before Hazel erupted into an absolute frenzy of weeping, clutching at Izzy’s legs. ‘I want Daddy back!’ she screamed. ‘I want him BACK!’

Tears spilled down Willow’s face. She had gone completely white. ‘Is it true, Mummy? He’s really dead?’

Izzy nodded, trying to enfold them both to her. ‘I’m so sorry, chicken. I know how much you loved him. It’s really, really sad.’

‘I never got to say goodbye,’ Hazel railed, rearing up, eyes glittering. ‘And you never even let him into our house, Mummy. Why didn’t you let him in?’

The guilt was unbearable. ‘I was cross with him,’ Izzy managed to say. ‘I thought he might hurt us.’

‘Daddy would never hurt
me
,’ Hazel cried hotly, wrenching herself out of Izzy’s arms. ‘He wanted to take us for
pizza
!’

‘Darling—’ Izzy tried to reach for her, but she pulled away.

‘You’re wrong. Daddy’s not dead. You’re WRONG!’

‘Hazel . . .’ But she’d already scrambled off the bed, fighting through the curtains with a choking cry, before vanishing from sight.

‘I’ll go after her,’ Willow said, and disappeared.

Izzy could hardly breathe with anguish, just gripped the bed sheet helplessly, wishing she could run after Hazel too, catch her in a huge hug, hold her and hold her, assure her that everything would be okay, that Mummy was here and would never leave . . .

But instead, she was stuck in this stupid bed, with her stupid leg, and couldn’t do anything other than wait. She wanted to scream with frustration. She wished she’d lied now, wished she hadn’t bludgeoned them with the terrible truth. As if they didn’t have enough to cope with right now, what with her being trapped in hospital and them uprooted from home. What had she been thinking?