‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Margot sat in the taxi, turned mulishly away from me, Dean Martin panting on her lap. ‘Because it’s none of your business. You would have told Vincent. And I didn’t want him to feel he has to come and see me just because of some stupid cancer.’
‘What’s your prognosis?’
‘None of your business.’
‘How … how do you feel?’
‘Exactly how I felt before you started asking all these questions.’
It all made sense now. The pills, the frequent hospital visits, the diminished appetite. The things I had thought were simply evidence of old age, of over-attentive private US medical care, had all been disguising the much deeper fault line. I felt sick. ‘I don’t know what to say, Margot. I feel like –’
‘I’m not interested in your feelings.’
‘But –’
‘Don’t you dare get all goopy on me now,’ she snapped. ‘What happened to that English stiff upper lip? Yours made of marshmallow?’
‘Margot –’
‘I’m not discussing it. There is nothing to discuss. If you’re going to insist on getting all wishy-washy with me you can go stay in someone else’s apartment.’
When we arrived at the Lavery, she was out of the taxi with unusual vigour. By the time I had finished paying the driver, she was already inside the lobby without me.
I wanted to talk to Josh about what had happened but when I texted him he said he was flat out and I could fill him in that evening. Nathan was busy with Mr Gopnik. Ilaria might freak out or, worse, would insist on stopping by all the time and smothering Margot with her own brand of brusque care and reheated pork casseroles. There was really nobody else I could talk to.
While Margot had her afternoon nap I moved quietly into the bathroom and, under pretext of cleaning, I opened the cabinet and looked at the shelf of drugs, noting down the names, until I found the confirmation: morphine. I looked up the other drugs in the cabinet and searched them online until I got my answers.
I felt shaken to the core. I wondered how it must feel to be looking death so squarely in the face. I wondered how long she had left. I realised that I loved the old woman, with her sharp tongue and her sharper mind, like I loved my family. And some tiny part of me, selfishly, wondered what it meant for me: I had been happy in Margot’s apartment. It might not have felt permanent, but I’d thought I might have a year or more there at least. Now I had to face the fact that I was on shifting sands again.
I had pulled myself together a little by the time the doorbell rang, promptly, at seven. I answered, and there was Josh, immaculate. Not even a hint of five o’clock shadow.
‘How?’ I said. ‘How do you look like that after a whole day at work?’
He leant forward and kissed my cheek. ‘Electric razor. And I left another suit at the dry-cleaner’s and changed at work. Didn’t want to turn up creased.’
‘But surely your boss will be in the same suit he’s been in all day.’
‘Maybe. But he’s not the one angling for a promotion. You think I look okay?’
‘Hello, Josh, dear.’ Margot walked past on her way to the kitchen.
‘Good evening, Mrs De Witt. How are you doing today?’
‘I’m still here, dear. That’s about as much as you need to know.’
‘Well, you look wonderful.’
‘And you talk a lot of old bobbins.’
He grinned and turned back to me. ‘So what are you wearing, shortcake?’
I looked down. ‘Uh, this?’
A short silence.
‘Those … pantyhose?’
I glanced at my legs. ‘Oh, those. I’ve had a bit of a day. They’re my feel-better tights, my equivalent of a fresh suit from the dry-cleaner’s.’ I smiled ruefully. ‘If it helps, I only wear them on the most special occasions.’
He stared at my legs a moment longer, then dragged a hand slowly over his mouth. ‘Sorry, Louisa, but they’re not really appropriate for this evening. My boss and his wife are pretty conservative. And it’s a really upscale restaurant. Like, Michelin-starred.’
‘This dress is Chanel. Mrs De Witt lent it to me.’
‘Sure, but the whole effect is just a little bit …’ he pulled a face ‘… Crazytown?’
When I didn’t move he reached out his hands and took hold of my upper arms. ‘Sweetheart, I know you love dressing up, but could we keep it a little straighter just for my boss? This evening is really important for me.’
I looked down at his hands and flushed. I felt suddenly ridiculous. Of course my bumblebee tights were wrong for dinner with a financial CEO. What had I been thinking? ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and change.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Of course not.’
He almost deflated with relief. ‘Great. Can you make it super quick? I really don’t want to be late and the traffic is backed up all the way down Seventh. Margot, would it be all right if I used your bathroom?’
She nodded wordlessly.
I ran into my bedroom and started hauling my way through my belongings. What did one wear to a posh dinner with finance people? ‘Help me, Margot,’ I said, hearing her behind me. ‘Do I just change the tights? What should I wear?’
‘Exactly what you have on,’ she said.
I turned to her. ‘But he said it’s not suitable.’
‘For who? Is there a uniform? Why aren’t you allowed to be yourself?’
‘I –’
‘Are these people such fools that they can’t cope with someone who doesn’t dress exactly like them? Why do you have to pretend to be someone you’re so clearly not? Do you want to be one of “those” women?’
I dropped the hanger I was holding. ‘I – I don’t know.’
Margot lifted a hand to her newly set hair. She gave me what my mother would have called an old-fashioned look. ‘Any man lucky enough to be your date shouldn’t give a fig if you come out in a trash bag and galoshes.’
‘But he –’
Margot sighed, and pressed her fingers to her mouth, like people do when they have a lot more they’d like to say but won’t. A moment passed before she spoke again. ‘I think at some point, dear, you’re going to have to work out who Louisa Clark really is.’ She patted my arm. And with that she walked out of the bedroom.
I stood, staring at the space where she had been. I looked down at my stripy legs and back up at the clothes on my rail. I thought of Will, and the day he had given the tights to me.
A moment later Josh appeared in the doorway, straightening his tie. You’re not him, I thought suddenly. In fact you’re really nothing like him at all.
‘So?’ he said, smiling. Then his face fell. ‘Uh, I thought you were going to be ready?’
I stared at my feet. ‘Actually …’ I said.
29
Margot told me I should go away for a few days to clear my head. When I said I wouldn’t, she asked me why ever not and added that I plainly hadn’t been thinking straight for a while: I needed to sort myself out. When I admitted that I didn’t want to leave her by herself, she told me I was a ridiculous girl and that I didn’t know what was good for me. She watched me from the corner of her eye for a while, her bony old hand tapping irritably on the arm of her chair, then raised herself heavily and disappeared, returning minutes later with a Sidecar so strong that the first sip made my eyes burn. Then she told me to sit my backside down, that my sniffling was getting irritating and I should watch Wheel of Fortune with her. I did as I was told and tried not to hear Josh’s voice, outraged and uncomprehending, echoing in my head.
You’re dumping me over a pair of pantyhose?
When the programme had finished, she looked at me, tutted loudly, told me this really wouldn’t do, and that we would go away together instead.