Breathe You In (4 page)

“
Mmm
, I’m not convinced.”

I managed a small smile; Ruben’s was infectious,
wide and genuine; it created tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and
showed a neat set of teeth, though his right canine protruded a fraction. I
felt a hesitant calmness wash through me—the claustrophobia of the museum
and the shock of accidentally bumping into Ruben was fading a fraction. We
could talk a little. Right?

“They’re actually considered symbols of
immortality,” Ruben said, glancing at the departing bird.

“Why?”

He turned back to me and slipped on a pair of
shades. “Apparently the ancients believed peacock flesh didn’t decay after
death.” He shrugged. “Which of course, it does, but it’s a nice thought.”

Again I looked at his chest. His name badge was
squint. Not all flesh decayed after death. Some lived on. Some could allow
others to live on.

“
Er
…is the café this
way?” I asked, my voice croaky.

“Yes, are you meeting someone there?” He glanced
at my left hand. I was clutching the strap of my handbag over my breast. “Your
husband?”

Instinctively I looked at my wedding band. I’d
been unable to remove it. In my mind I was still married. Matt was still my
husband. We hadn’t divorced. He’d gone, but not because he’d wanted to.

“My husband is dead.”

Ruben shifted his head back, as though the
bluntness of my words had been a quick slap to his face.

It was the first time I’d said it like that.
Usually I skirted around the question—not that it had been asked many
times, I wasn’t in the habit of meeting new people—usually I preferred to
say Matt had had an accident, or he’d passed away, or that I was a widow.

But with Ruben, something had just made me say
it how it was. Matt was dead. There was no way to fluff it up. Death didn’t
come in a soft pink box with flowers and perfume. It was black and hard and
seeped into every cell of your body. But Ruben knew that, right? He’d faced
death. He must have. Although he was the lucky one. He’d stared it in the face
and then lived to tell the tale.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, removing the shades
he’d only just put on and folding in their thin arms. He shifted his feet and
stared down at the gravel. “That’s tragic.”

I bit my bottom lip. Did he really think it was?
If Matt hadn’t died he wouldn’t be alive. My tragedy was Ruben Strong’s
salvation. “Yes, it is.”

I twisted and turned to the ornate white bandstand.
Several stout men with brass instruments appeared to be getting ready to
perform

“Can I buy you a drink?” Ruben asked suddenly. “Tea,
coffee, or maybe even a Coke or something, if it’s too hot for tea, that is?”

I looked at him again. This was so far off what
I’d intended.

“To apologize,” he said, “for your mishaps with
the bombs and the killer peacock. Not the best impression of our old
establishment.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ruben by the way, Ruben Strong.”

I hesitated for a moment then reached out. Warm
flesh surrounded my fingers, hard and firm but with a gentleness about it.
Alive flesh, flesh that was nourished with oxygen and vitamins and everything
else it needed by Matt’s strong organs.

“Katie Lansdale,” I said. Did he know Matt’s surname?
No, of course not, anonymity was a buzzword the transplant coordinator had
slung around constantly, but even so, I looked for a reaction.

There was nothing, not even a flicker.

“Pleased to meet you, Katie.”

“Yes, please,” I said, “I mean, yes please to
the cup of tea. It would be very much appreciated.”

He smiled, released my hand and gestured toward
the bandstand. “The café is just beyond there. We should be able to sit in the
shade. They’ve moved the outside seats beneath the cover of trees. They don’t
normally, but it’s just been too hot.”

“I agree.” I stepped forward, and he kept pace
with me.

“Is this your first visit to the park and the
museum?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s brought you here?”

“I’m thinking of moving to Northampton.” Jesus,
why had I said that?

“Where from? I mean, where are you living now?”

“Leicester.”

“Not too far then.”

“No, not really.” I paused. “Do you like living
here?”

He stooped, picked up a crushed can that was
littering the pathway then tossed it into a nearby bin, perfect shot. “Yes,
very much. The town is reasonable for shopping, the property cheap enough, and
I like to catch the train to London every now and then and visit the museums or
go and see a show.”

“Museums are your thing then?”

He laughed, slipped his shades back on. “They
are these days. I used to be based at nearby Silverstone, the racetrack,
helping out with McLaren’s Formula One team. But I had to cut back my hours
about five years ago.” He paused. “Something came up and I needed to slow down,
take a bit of time out.”

I wondered whether or not to question him
further. Clearly what had happened was his heart problem. No good having a
dodgy ticker and working in a high-energy, fast-paced racing environment. That
would finish him off pretty quickly. I decided against any probing. It didn’t
seem polite, and I wasn’t sure if I were ready for details. “And you like
working in the museum here?”

He looked at me and pushed his hand through his
hair, feathering it between his fingers. Was he surprised that I hadn’t questioned
him about his drastic career change?

“Yeah, it’s okay. Could do with some cash spent
on it, but the people are nice. The ones that work here and who visit.” He
grinned. “Take you for example.”

I glanced down at my dress, made sure it wasn’t
gaping and showing too much of my skin. It was okay.

“So, um, what line of work are you in?” he asked
as we walked past the end of the row of birds and onto the lawn.

“I’m a sales assistant in a cosmetic store. Not
the most taxing of jobs or one with enormous room to climb the corporate
ladder, but I like it.”

“Sounds interesting.” He shoved his hands in his
trouser pockets and continued to stride over the lawn.

“It’s okay. The people are nice, and like you
just said, that makes all the difference. Plus I’m passionate about organic
beauty and reducing carbon footprint, which is what Skin Deep is all about.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of them.” He lightened his
voice. “In fact, I got my mother one of their gift sets for her birthday this year.
She’s all for saving the planet and steering away from chemicals. I bought it from
the branch in town.”

“That’s where I’m going to be working.” Since
when had I become a liar? I’d never told such whoppers before. It was
completely out of character for me.

“The one on Abington Street?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Was it? Bloody hell, I had no
idea.

“And why are you moving?”

A trombone blasted out a low note, and I waited
until the sound had dissipated before speaking. “I feel ready for a change.” As
the words had come out of my mouth I realized that I did. I wasn’t really
lying, I was just speaking from my soul. I needed a change, a new start. I was
fed up of being the young widow who people still felt sorry for but were
starting to ask if I was ready to date again. I needed to move away from the
bricks and mortar that had played home to my nights of crying and sobbing, of
staring into space wondering ‘why me’. Yes, I needed something else—something
other than grief and loss.

This ‘something else’ caught my breath, and I
paused and turned to the band. Unable to keep moving in the direction I was
going. A new tilt had been put on my world. Was my path about to change? Had I
come to a crossroads?

Yes. I had a choice to make.

That new knowledge was like getting socked in
the stomach. It made my head spin and my fists clench.

“They play every afternoon,” Ruben said, also
stopping and gesturing to the congregation of suited, elderly gentlemen
settling with their instruments in the bandstand.

I was glad of the moment to collect myself. Let
that new, positive feeling find a place to settle. It was too delicate to
examine right now. I’d have to sift through it later, untangle the threads and scrutinize
the options. Carefully, I put a lid on it, not completely, just as if I were
letting a pot simmer on the stove.

“That’s nice,” I said. “That they like to play.”
Now we were closer I could see that a coat of paint wouldn’t do the bandstand
any harm; the color was peeling and there was some rust showing on the ornate
swirls around the pillars.

He laughed. “You haven’t heard them yet.”

I looked up at him, watched the way he touched
that fuzz of hair that ran in front of his ears.

“So do you really want tea or would you prefer something
cold?” he asked.

“Tea is perfect.”

“Coming right up.” He pointed to a scattering of
chairs and tables beneath several ancient oak trees. About half were occupied. “You
go and grab us a seat, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

I did as Ruben had told me, pleased to have a
moment alone with my new imposturous thoughts. It was only just cooler in the
shade; there was no breeze, the leaves in the trees above me were perfectly
still.

I watched Ruben as he went to the window of the
café rather than going inside—kind of like a walk-through for park-goers.
He was the only customer, and within a minute he was walking over carrying a
tray. No time at all for me to examine that bubbling pan of ideas.

Forcing myself not to stare at his tall frame
and the way his long legs made short work of the distance between us, I turned
my attention to a chip of wood on the bench, poked at it with my thumbnail
until it spiked upward in a little splinter.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d join me in a cream bun,
but I bought a couple anyway.” He placed the tray down, sat opposite me and
propped his shades on the top of his head.

The tray held a can of Coke and a white teapot
with a stringy label hanging out from beneath the lid—PG Tips. A matching
cup, saucer and little jug of milk sat at its side. On a larger plate were two
decadent cakes; thick choux pastry bursting with cream, smothered in snow-white
icing and topped with glossy red cherries.

“They look calorie-laden,” I said.

“I skipped lunch.” He shrugged. “I don’t
normally skip meals or indulge in this much cholesterol, but they say a little
of what you fancy does you good.”

“
Mmm
, you’re right.”
The cakes were calling to me. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had a cream bun
or even had the desire for one. Having an appetite was off my radar these days.

“Do you take sugar?” He pushed several sachets
my way.

“No thanks, but yes, I think I will join you in
a cake.”

“Good,” he said, passing me a saucer with Park
Café written on it. “I would have felt piggy eating alone.”

I took a plate and a bun and, unable to resist,
sank my teeth into it. “Oh wow,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand as the
combination of cool cream and light pastry blended with soft icing melted on my
tongue.

“Good eh?” His eyes widened, and he bit into his
own.

“Seriously amazing.” I bit off another chunk.
What a delicious treat.

He chewed then swallowed, looked at me and
grinned. “I like a girl who can appreciate food.”

“Well, I don’t normally…” My words tailed off.
He’d think I was mad if I said I didn’t normally enjoy food just forced myself
to eat to keep people off my back about my weight loss. “I mean, I don’t
normally indulge in cream, but like you said, a little of what you fancy.” I
forced myself to put the cake down and poured my tea, added a splash of milk.

He popped the ring pull on his can of Coke and
took several deep swallows. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he glugged, and he shut
his eyes, as though appreciating the cold drink.

I sipped my tea then continued to eat.

“So when are you moving here?” he asked.

“In a week.” My mouth wasn’t my own. It was
running away with me. In a bloody week, what was I on about? Moving house so
fast was impossible, wasn’t it?

“That soon?”

“Yes, I’m going to look at a flat later.”

The band started, and we both glanced over. Some
deep base tune that I vaguely recognized had started up. They were all lies,
the flat thing and the job thing. But perhaps I could turn it into reality. Actually
make Northampton my new start. My something else. Who was to say I couldn’t go
and look at a flat before I headed back up the motorway? I could, if I wanted
to.

Damn, I couldn’t keep a rein on these thoughts. They
were like a horse desperate to get out of the stable. I should feel terrible
but I didn’t. It felt good, this boost, this propeller starting up beneath me.
And besides, what did it matter, these untruths? It wasn’t as if I was going to
see Ruben again, not after today, and if they helped me take a brave new step,
then that was okay.