‘William Shaw.’ She tapped the name into the computer.
Alex started to give extra information, his graduation year, college, but she looked up with a mildly patronizing smile and said, ‘It’s okay, I have him.’ She busied herself for a second, telling her computer that William Shaw need no longer be invited to reunions or asked for donations. Then she screwed up her face slightly and said, ‘What a coincidence. That’s two deaths we’ve heard about this week and they’re both from the same year.’
‘How sad,’ said the younger woman, like they were talking about old men. ‘I wonder if they knew each other.’
‘I suppose they might well have done. It makes you stop and think, doesn’t it, how you never know what a day might bring?’
‘True,’ said the younger one, her expression lost somewhere between thoughtful and vacant.
Alex continued to stand there, listening to them talking to each other as if he wasn’t even in the room with them. He felt light-headed, his chest tightening. He wanted to ask who the other person was but was unable to, and not even sure if he wanted to hear it.
Rob had persuaded him that nothing was wrong, that Will had died of an overdose, that it had always been on the cards, that it was ludicrous to suggest any other explanation. And it was ludicrous but he had an uneasy feeling that he would ask for a name and it would be Matt or Natalie. How would Rob explain it then?
‘Are you okay? Would you like to sit down?’
Alex looked at the younger woman and said, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She was looking at him like he was drunk. He turned to the other woman and said, ‘The other person.’
‘You know Robert Gibson,’ she said, ‘the journalist?’
‘I mean, the other person who died. Who was it?’
‘Robert Gibson,’ she said, irritated at having to repeat herself.
Alex laughed, a laugh that seemed to put a strain on his heart, clawing the muscle. The woman looked disgusted now but Alex said, ‘You don’t understand, I had lunch with Rob Gibson last week in London. So clearly, you’re mistaken.’
‘I think you must be mistaken,’ she said, patience fraying. ‘The Robert Gibson I’m talking about was a reporter in Kosovo so I find it highly unlikely that you would have been having lunch with him in London.’
He said something but couldn’t be sure what it was. Maybe it had been nothing intelligible because the woman’s annoyance was edged with confusion now. And he felt drunk himself, his balance, his perception of space, the whole world distorting, retreating from him.
He felt himself fall, the slow creaking fall of a large tree expertly felled. He couldn’t see anything as he fell, could hear only a distant version of the woman speaking. Something crashed against the side of his head and the woman in the distance asked him desperately what he thought he was doing.
When he came round, both of the women were looking at him, concerned now. ‘He’s coming round,’ the younger one said, and he smiled, a response that seemed to increase the look of concern on their faces. It took him a moment to realize he was on the floor and they were looking down at him, crouched either side of his body, a moment more to take in that the side of his head hurt badly.
‘Are you okay? I think you fainted.’
‘I’m fine. I think I hurt my head.’
The older woman glanced at the side of his head, grimacing slightly as she said, ‘You caught the edge of the desk as you fell. It’s not bleeding but it’s already swollen.’
‘Like an egg,’ said the other one.
‘Can you get up?’
‘I think so.’ He got slowly to his feet, the two women guiding him up without really helping him, moving him backwards into a chair then.
‘I’ll get you some water,’ said the younger one and left the room. He lifted his hand and touched the bump just behind his temple, disturbingly like an egg, just like she’d said.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Alex said.
The older woman looked regretful herself and said, ‘Don’t be silly.’ She paused then before adding, ‘So I gather you knew Robert Gibson?’
He closed his eyes, remembering what had brought on the fainting fit or whatever it was. The concept of Rob being dead still jarred. Will’s death hadn’t shocked him but Rob had been too full of life, too recently.
‘I had lunch with him. He’s only been in Kosovo a few days.’
‘He was hit by mortar fire. He was taking cover with another journalist and the building they were in was hit by a mortar shell. They were both killed. It was in the paper, the day before yesterday I think.’ He opened his eyes again and she smiled helplessly. ‘How awful that you’ve lost two friends so close together.’
He nodded and then the younger woman came back in with a cup of water. She gave it to him but stared at the side of his head rather than making eye contact.
‘Thanks.’
He sipped at the water, warm and tasting of dust, as the older woman said, ‘This gentleman knew Robert Gibson. That’s two of his friends have died.’