‘What if he is suffering?’ she asked him.
‘Has anyone suggested that?’
‘No.’
‘They’d be able to tell,’ he said, fragments of his training coming back. ‘Raised cortisol levels, that sort of thing.’
‘They would?’ She stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Yes,’ he reassured her.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t mean to lay it all on you.’ She picked up her drink. Her nails were short, painted a deep crimson.
‘It’s fine. And your daughter?’
‘Ruby. She’s great. She’s going to a performing arts school, over in Liverpool. She loves it.’ She smiled; he felt the warmth of it. Saw the dimples either side of her mouth. ‘She’s doing so well.’
‘Bit of a hike.’
‘She stays during the week.’
‘You’re on your own,’ he said.
Her face seemed to sharpen. Perhaps she had a partner now, or a boyfriend. What did he know?
‘I go to Luke’s most evenings. Watch telly there with him. Ruby’s back at the weekends.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I let her lie in.’
‘The trial,’ he said. ‘We were told the middle of October.’
She nodded. ‘Ruby wants to go.’
‘We’re witnesses, Val and I.’
‘Oh God,’ she said.
He cleared his throat. The toddler wrenched away from his mother and careened into Andrew’s thigh. ‘Hello,’ said Andrew. The child was plump, red-faced, a blob of snot bubbling in one nostril. Andrew recalled the weight of Jason at that age: piggybacking him once his legs got tired, Jason’s hands wrapped around his neck, burbling in Andrew’s ear, his breath sweet and moist. Andrew’s back growing warm and damp where Jason clung to him.
‘Grandad.’ The toddler stopped wailing, stared at Andrew. God, Andrew thought, he’d never be that now. No children in his life. It wasn’t like he could borrow his nephew and niece or suddenly change the family dynamics to play a greater role in their lives.
‘Sorry.’ The mother prised the child away. ‘That’s not your grandad,’ she said to the toddler.
‘Someone asked me if I had any kids the other day, a patient,’ Andrew said, sorrow coursing deep and slow within him. ‘I didn’t know how to answer.’ Jason in his crocodile wellies and Batman suit in the garden, a compass in his hand. Turning slowly, then faster, spinning like the needle, spinning round the world.
Louise sucked in a breath.
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ he said. They were harder – the glorious light and fine blue skies a savage counterpoint to the brooding, choking burden of grief.
‘We’re on to the weather now?’ Louise said wryly.
He laughed.
She checked her watch once more.
‘We could do this again,’ he said. His guts tightened.
She picked up her cigarettes.
‘Just coffee, talk,’ he said.
‘Why?’ She tilted her head. He saw himself reflected in her glasses. His hair was receding.
‘No one else understands,’ he said.
He watched her consider this. A couple sailed past, riding a tandem. Then a car, its windows down, the heavy bass of music pulsing through the air.
‘Just coffee,’ he said, trying to persuade her.
‘I preferred the pub,’ she said.
He grinned, nodded, ridiculously grateful.
‘I’ll ring you,’ she said. She hitched her bag on to her shoulder as she stood. She was soon lost from sight. Andrew sat there, reliving the conversation and feeling lighter, younger, more alive than he had for weeks.
Emma
It was the best time of her whole life. Even the annoying bits – the delay to the outbound flight, the shower conking out and the mosquito bites – didn’t really bother her. Or Little Kim and Laura arguing about where to go for cocktails or whether to meet up with the Geordie lads who had been flirting at the pool.
The week unspooled in the golden glow of chatter and preparation. Most of their time was spent getting ready: ready for the beach, ready for lunch, ready for a trip into town to hit the shops, ready for dinner and the nightclubs. Emma let the chatter, the gossip and plots, the jokes and anecdotes flow around her. She happily played the role of judge as one Kim or the other or Laura modelled options for what to wear or how to have their hair. She had brought a novel to read but barely opened it; even at the beach or lounging around the pool it was easier to close her eyes and listen to the others. Blonde Kim could talk for England; she even talked in her sleep, Little Kim said.
Emma’s playsuit was in mock denim. She felt a bit self-conscious, didn’t like the way her bum looked, but she got a couple of sarongs and used those like skirts tied over it to walk about in. The Kims assumed she wore it instead of a bikini because she was a bit overweight, so that was okay.
One night they were eating on a rooftop terrace. They had shared a mixed platter and were having kebabs and salad when a couple of older men who had finished their meal came over.
‘Fancy a nightcap, girls?’ the taller one asked. He was muscly and tanned and wore a gold chain. His friend had a shaved head and tattoos all over his arms.
‘No,’ said Laura. ‘Not aiming for bed any time soon.’
Blonde Kim giggled.
‘Shame, that,’ the man said. He had a hard look in his eyes like he didn’t like them even though he had stopped to talk. He reminded Emma of her dad. ‘And here’s us at a loose end. Mate of ours runs the Blue Dolphin, get a real good discount.’
‘Tequila slammers half-price,’ said his sidekick.
‘Ta, no,’ said Laura. ‘We’ve plans.’
Emma saw the first man swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. ‘What about you?’ He spoke directly to Emma. She felt her face catch fire.
‘We’ve all got plans,’ Laura said.
‘All right, gobby!’ The bloke turned on Laura.
Emma was back on the bus, the same ripple of terror driving through her, the tone and the language signalling violence.
‘Fuck off, leave her alone,’ said Little Kim.
The man glared at them, then snorted, shook his head, sneering to his companion. ‘Leave it, Tony, load of lezzers, in’t they.’ And he stalked away, his friend hurrying after him.
‘Good night, Grandad,’ Laura yelled after them, and Blonde Kim hooted. Emma felt herself relax, felt the tension ease away. If she’d been on her own… but she hadn’t. She was with her mates. Her mates!
Laura caught her eye and winked, and Emma laughed, masking the tears that had threatened.
‘Here come the girls!’ announced Laura, and raised her arm. Emma and the other two touched palms with her, a joint high-five. Emma thought she would burst with happiness.
She sent postcards home, to Mum and Dad and Gran, and she got Mum and Dad a really nice vase, in the local style, to take back.
They blew all the money they had left on their last night. Cocktails and dinner at the fish place and then Club Dionysus. There was a Dutch DJ playing dance music. The bass was so strong that Emma could feel it going right through her, thundering in her chest and her belly, shuddering with each beat.
The place was packed, but there were loads of bar staff on and Emma was served really quickly. When she got back with the spritzers, the Kims and Laura were talking to a boy dressed like a sailor, who moved away.
‘Who was that?’ Emma asked Laura.
‘The candy man,’ Laura laughed. She opened her palm. Emma saw four small pills, each with a little lollipop picture on. She felt a bit weird. She had never taken Ecstasy.
Laura plucked one up and swigged it back. The Kims each reached out in turn. Emma bit her lip. What if she had a bad reaction, collapsed and died on her holiday?
‘It’s really nice,’ Laura said in her ear. ‘Get all loved up.’
The music changed and a whoop went up from the crowd. A sea of arms rose in the air. Emma picked up the pill, took it.