After You (33 page)

When people say autumn is their favourite time of year, I think it’s days like this that they mean: a dawn mist, burning off to a crisp clear light; piles of leaves blown into corners; the agreeably musty smell of gently mouldering greenery. Some say you don’t really notice the seasons in the city, that the endless grey buildings and the microclimate caused by traffic fumes mean there is never a huge difference; there is only inside and out, wet or dry. But on the roof it was clear. It wasn’t just in the huge expanse of sky but in Lily’s tomato plants, which had pushed out swollen red fruit for weeks, the hanging strawberry pots providing an intermittent array of occasional sweet treats. The flowers budded, bloomed and browned, the fresh green growth of early summer giving way to twiggy stalks and space where foliage had been. Up on the roof you could already detect the faintest hint in the breeze of the oncoming winter. An aeroplane was leaving a vapour trail across the sky and I noted that the streetlights were still on from the night before.

My mother emerged onto the roof in her slacks, gazing around her at the guests, and brushing moisture droplets from the fire escape off her trousers. ‘It really is quite something, this space of yours, Louisa. You could fit a hundred people up here.’ She was carrying a bag containing several bottles of champagne, and put it down carefully. ‘Did I tell you, I think you’re very brave getting up the confidence to come up here again?’

‘I still can’t believe you managed to fall off,’ observed my
sister, who had been refilling glasses. ‘Only you could fall off a space this big.’

‘Well, she was drunk as a lord, love, remember?’ Mum headed back to the fire escape. ‘Where did you get all the champagne from, Louisa? This looks awful grand.’

‘My boss gave it to me.’

We had been cashing up a few nights previously, chatting (we chatted quite a lot now, especially since he’d had his baby. I knew more about Mrs Percival’s water retention than I think she would have been entirely comfortable with). I had mentioned my plans and Richard had disappeared, as if he hadn’t been listening. I had been ready to chalk it up as just another example of how Richard was still basically a bit of a wazzock, but when he re-emerged from the cellars a few minutes later he was holding a crate containing half a dozen bottles of champagne. ‘Here. Sixty per cent off. Last of the order.’ He handed me the box and shrugged. ‘Actually, sod it. Just take them. Go on. You’ve earned them.’

I had stuttered my thanks and he had muttered something about them being not a great vintage and the last of the line, but his ears had gone a tell-tale pink.

‘You could try to sound a bit pleased that I didn’t actually die.’ I passed Treena a tray of glasses.

‘Oh, I got over my “I wish I was an only child” thing ages ago. Well, maybe two years or so.’

Mum approached with a packet of napkins. She spoke in an exaggerated whisper: ‘Now, do you think these will be okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t they be?’

‘It’s the Traynors, isn’t it? They don’t use paper napkins. They’ll have linen ones. Probably with a coat of arms embroidered on them or something.’

‘Mum, they’ve travelled to the roof of a former office block in east London. I don’t think they’re expecting silver service.’

‘Oh,’ said Treena. ‘And I brought Thom’s spare duvet and pillow. I thought we might as well start bringing bits and bobs down every time we come. I’ve got an appointment to look at that after-school club tomorrow.’

‘It’s wonderful that you’ve got it all sorted out, girls. Treena, if you like, I’ll mind Thom for you. Just let me know.’

We worked around each other, setting out glasses and paper plates, until Mum disappeared to fetch more inadequate napkins. I lowered my voice so that she couldn’t hear. ‘Treen? Is Dad really not coming?’

My sister grimaced, and I tried not to look as dismayed as I felt.

‘Is it really no better?’

‘I’m hoping that when I’m gone they’ll have to talk to each other. They just skirt around each other and talk to me or Thom most of the time. It’s maddening. Mum’s pretending she doesn’t care that he didn’t come down with us, but I know she does.’

‘I really thought he’d be here.’

I had seen my mother twice since the shooting. She had signed up for a new course – modern English poetry – at the adult education centre and now grew wistful at symbols everywhere. Every blown leaf was a sign of impending decrepitude, every airborne bird a sign of hopes and dreams. We had gone once to a live reading of poetry on the South Bank, where she had sat rapt and applauded twice into the silence, and once to the cinema, then on to the loos at the smart hotel, where she had shared sandwiches with Maria in the two easy chairs of the cloakroom. Both times, when we had found ourselves alone, she had been oddly brittle. ‘Well, aren’t we having a lovely time?’ she would say repeatedly, as if challenging me to disagree. And then she would grow quiet or exclaim about the insane price of sandwiches in London.

Treena pulled the bench across, plumping up the cushions she had brought up from downstairs. ‘It’s Granddad I worry about. He doesn’t like all the tension. He changes his socks four times a day and he’s broken two of the buttons on the remote control by over-pressing.’

‘God – there’s a thought. Who would get custody?’

My sister stared at me in horror.

‘Don’t look at me,’ we said in unison.

We were interrupted by the first of the Moving On Circle, Sunil and Leanne, emerging from the cast-iron steps, remarking on the size of the roof terrace, the unexpectedly magnificent view over the east of the City.

Lily arrived at twelve on the dot, throwing her arms around me and letting out a little growl of happiness. ‘I
love
that dress! You look completely gorgeous.’ She was sun-kissed, her face open and freckled, the tiny hairs on her arms bleached white, clad in a pale blue dress and gladiator sandals. I watched her as she gazed around the roof terrace, clearly delighted to be there again. Camilla, making her way slowly up the fire escape behind her, straightened her jacket and walked over to me, an expression of mild admonishment on her face. ‘You could have waited, Lily.’

‘Why? You’re not some old person.’

Camilla and I exchanged wry glances, and then, almost impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She smelt of expensive department stores and her hair was perfect. ‘It’s lovely that you came.’

‘You’ve even looked after my plants.’ Lily was examining everything. ‘I just assumed you’d kill them all. Oh, and this! I like these. Are they new?’ She pointed to two pots I had bought at the flower market the previous week, to decorate the roof for today. I hadn’t wanted cut flowers, or anything that might die.

‘They’re pelargoniums,’ said Camilla. ‘You won’t want to leave them up here over the winter.’

‘She could put fleece over them. Those terracotta pots are heavy to take down.’

‘They still won’t survive,’ said Camilla. ‘Too exposed.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘Thom’s coming to live here and we’re not sure he would be safe on the roof, given what happened to me, so we’re shutting it off. If you’d like to take those with you afterwards …’

‘No,’ Lily said, after a moment’s thought. ‘Let’s leave it. It will be nice to just think of it like this. As it was.’

She helped me with a trestle table, and talked a little of school – she was happy there but struggling slightly with the work – and of her mother, who was apparently making eyes at a Spanish architect called Felipe, who had bought the house next door in St John’s Wood. ‘I feel almost sorry for Fuckface. He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.’

‘But you’re okay?’ I said.

‘I’m fine. Life is pretty good.’ She popped a crisp into her mouth. ‘Granny made me go and see the new baby – did I tell you?’

I must have looked startled. ‘I know. But she said someone had to behave like a grown-up. She actually came with me. She was epically cool. I’m not meant to know but she bought a Jaeger jacket specially. I think she needed more confidence than she let on.’ She glanced over at Camilla, who was chatting to Sam over by the food table. ‘Actually, I felt a bit sad for my grandfather. When he thought nobody was looking he kept gazing at her, like he felt a bit sad at how it had all turned out.’

‘And how was it?’

‘It’s a baby. I mean, they all look the same, don’t they? I think they were on their best behaviour, though. It was all a bit “And how is school, Lily? Would you like to fix a date to
come and stay? And would you like to hold your aunt?” Like
that
doesn’t sound completely weird.’

‘You’ll go and see them again?’

‘Probably. They’re all right, I suppose.’

I glanced over at Georgina, who was talking politely to her father. He laughed, slightly too loudly. He had barely left her side since she had arrived. ‘He calls me twice a week to chat about stuff, and Della keeps going on about how she wants me and the baby to “build a relationship”, like a baby can do anything except eat and scream and poo.’ She pulled a face.

I laughed.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘It’s just good to see you.’

‘Oh. And I brought you something.’

I waited as she pulled a little box out of her bag, and handed it to me. ‘I saw it at this totally tedious antiques fair that Granny made me go to and I thought of you.’

I opened the box carefully. Inside, on dark blue velvet, was an art-deco bracelet, its cylindrical beads alternate jet and amber. I picked it up and held it in my palm.

‘It’s a bit out there, right? But it reminded me of –’

‘The tights.’

‘The tights. It’s a thank-you. Just – you know – for everything. You’re about the only person I know who would like it. Or me, for that matter. Back then. Actually, it totally goes with your dress.’

I held out an arm and she put it on my wrist. I rotated it slowly. ‘I love it.’

She kicked at something on the ground, her face briefly serious. ‘Well, I think I kind of owe you some jewellery.’

‘You owe me nothing.’

I looked at Lily, with her new confidence and her father’s eyes, and thought of everything she had given me without
even knowing it. And then she punched me quite hard on the arm. ‘Right. Stop being all weird and emotional. Or you’re totally going to ruin my mascara. Let’s go downstairs and fetch the last of the food. Ugh, did you know there’s a Transformers poster gone up in my bedroom? And one of Katy Perry? Who the
hell
have you got as a new flatmate?’

The rest of the Moving On Circle arrived, making their way with varying degrees of trepidation or laughter up the iron steps – Daphne stepping onto the roof with loud exclamations of relief, Fred holding her arm, William vaulting nonchalantly over the last step, Natasha rolling her eyes behind him. Others paused to exclaim at the bundle of white helium balloons, bobbing in the thin light. Marc kissed my hand and told me it was the first time something like this had taken place the whole time he had been running the group. Natasha and William, I noticed with amusement, spent a lot of time talking alone.

We put the food on the trestle table and Jake was on bar duty, pouring the champagne and looking curiously pleased at the responsibility. He and Lily had skirted around each other at first, pretending the other was invisible, as teenagers do when they’re in a small gathering and conscious that everyone will be waiting for them to speak to each other. When she finally made her way over to him she shoved out her hand with exaggerated courtesy and he looked at it for a moment before giving a slow smile.

‘Half of me would like them to be friends. The other can think of nothing more terrifying,’ Sam murmured into my ear.

I slid my hand into his back pocket. ‘She’s happy.’

‘She’s gorgeous. And he’s just split up with his girlfriend.’

‘What happened to living life to the full, mister?’

He let out a low growl.

‘He’s safe. She’s now tucked away in Oxfordshire for most of the year.’

‘Nobody’s safe with you two.’ He lowered his head and kissed me and I let everything else disappear for a luxurious second or two. ‘I like that dress.’

‘Not too frivolous?’ I held out the pleats of the striped skirt. This part of London was full of vintage-clothes stores. I had spent the previous Saturday lost in rails of ancient silks and feathers.

‘I like frivolous. Although I’m a bit sad that you’re not wearing your sexy pixie thing.’ He stepped back from me as my mother approached, bearing another pack of paper napkins.

‘How are you, Sam? Still healing up nicely?’ She had visited Sam twice in hospital. She had become deeply concerned at the plight of those left to rely on hospital catering and brought him homemade sausage rolls and egg-mayonnaise sandwiches.

‘Getting there, thanks.’

‘Don’t you do too much today. No carrying. The girls and I can manage just fine.’

‘We should probably start,’ I said.

Mum glanced again at her watch, then scanned the roof terrace. ‘Shall we give it another five minutes? Make sure everyone gets a drink?’

Her smile – fixed and too bright – was heartbreaking. Sam saw it. He stepped forward and took her arm. ‘Josie, do you think you could show me where you’ve put the salads? I just remembered I didn’t bring the dressing from downstairs.’

‘Where is she?’

A ripple passed through the small crowd by the table. We turned towards the bellowing voice. ‘Jesus Christ, is it really up here, or is Thommo sending me on another wild-goose chase?’

‘Bernard!’ My mother put down the napkins.

My father’s face appeared above the parapet, scanning the rooftop. He climbed the last of the iron steps and blew out his cheeks as he surveyed the view. A light film of sweat shone on his forehead. ‘Why you had to do the damn thing all the way up here, Louisa, I have no idea. Jaysus.’

‘Bernard!’

‘It’s not a church, Josie. And I have an important message.’

Mum gazed around her. ‘Bernard. Now is not the –’

‘And my message is –
these
.’

My father bent over and with exaggerated care pulled up his trouser legs. First the left, and then the right. From my position on the other side of the water tank I could see that his shins were pale and faintly blotchy. The rooftop fell silent. Everyone stared. He extended one leg. ‘Smooth as a baby’s backside. Go on, Josie, feel them.’