My shins were starting to hurt, so I rearranged myself, stretching out across the lower half of the bed.
‘Did you see how he looked at me?’ Suzanne murmured, still looking at the notes on the wall, her voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach me. ‘Nothing’s changed. I’m still . . .’ I heard her pause, then sigh. ‘Just me.’
‘How come he was here?’ I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but couldn’t quite help myself. ‘Did you know he would be?’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘God, no. I can’t . . .’ She stopped, breathed in sharply, then continued. ‘I don’t know why he was here, or why I didn’t know he would be. I guess it must be a conference weekend. He used to have those a lot, all over the country, for work, you know?’ She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and let out a sigh. ‘God, I can’t get over how he looked at me.’
‘Did you think things would have changed?’ I asked carefully.
‘Not really. But you always hope, you know?’
I absolutely did not know. Thank God.
‘Was that why you moved here? So things would change?’
‘No. We moved here because I’d have died otherwise.’ She said this bluntly, still not looking at me. ‘It would have been a bonus if things had changed, if he’d had this amazing change of heart and stopped treating me like I was the cause of all the problems in his life.’ She closed her eyes briefly, shook her head slightly and sighed. ‘But then again, “Penny Lane” is his favourite Beatles song, and I went and put the sheet music up on my wall. So maybe I’m just as fucked up as he is.’
‘You don’t seem very fucked up,’ I said, trying to be reassuring, assuming that was my role in this conversation.
To my surprise she laughed. ‘Oh my God. Thank you! Can you write that down so I can put it on my wall?’
I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or making fun of me. Was I being ridiculous? How could I tell? I wished Rosie was here. Even when she was at her most prickly, talking to her was easy.
I was still trying to figure out how to arrange my face when Suzanne thrust a Post-it pad and a pen at me. She was serious.
I hesitated, then began to write, deciding as I did so to stop trying to fish for clues about her past and settle on a safe topic. I landed on, ‘What’s your favourite Beatles song?’
‘”Here Comes the Sun”,’ she said without hesitation. ‘But “Across the Universe” and “Blackbird” are high up too. What about you?’
‘”Let It Be”,’ I said, more because it was the first song that came to mind rather than because it was actually true.
She looked almost disappointed. ‘Really? Everyone says “Let It Be”.’
‘Only the people who don’t say “Here Comes the Sun”.’
‘Touché,’ Suzanne’s whole face broke into a grin and she looked animated for the first time since we’d left the cinema. I mentally pocketed this nugget for future reference. If in doubt, talk about the Beatles.
She fixed the Post-it note to her wall, close to the sheet music for Penny Lane. She was still smiling.
‘I’m flattered I’m going to be on your wall,’ I said, looking at the jumble of her life spread across the room, which now, however inexplicably, included me.
Before Suzanne could respond, there was the sound of the front door opening and closing and then footsteps across the hall.
‘Suzie?’
‘We’re in here,’ Suzanne called.
Sarah’s face appeared around the door. Her hair was wet and she looked anxious. ‘How are you?’ She came into the room and leaned her head slightly to shake droplets from her hair.
‘You heard?’ Suzanne asked, avoiding the question. There was something in her voice I couldn’t translate.
‘Your dad called your mother, and she called me.’ Sarah glanced at me, and even though she smiled I could see the tension in her face. ‘Hello, Caddy.’
‘I should probably go home,’ I said, realizing that Sarah probably wanted to talk to Suzanne without me in the way.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Sarah offered.
‘Oh, that’s OK,’ I said automatically. ‘It’s not far.’
‘But it’s pouring,’ Sarah protested, pointing at her own wet hair. ‘I can’t have you walking home in the rain.’
‘Why don’t you stay for dinner?’ Suzanne suggested. ‘Maybe it’ll have stopped raining later.’
‘I’m sure Caddy needs to be getting home,’ Sarah said pointedly.
Suzanne ignored this and fixed me with a surprisingly hopeful look. ‘Stay for dinner?’
I thought of the way she’d squeezed my hand on the bench, like I was the last tether on a sinking ship. My handwriting on a piece of yellow paper on her wall.
I stayed for dinner.