It had never occurred to me that the lies to protect her would have continued after his death. I despised Laith Torrington and everything he stood for, but not for one second had I expected that he would stoop as low as this.
‘Leo?’ Molly prompted me very gently. She was trying to tread lightly, assuming I was still hurting over the loss of my friend. But I wasn’t – not really. Ten years had passed, and I’d seen plenty of other horrors in those years to harden me. My hesitation was only because I had just walked into a situation expecting to find sadness, only to discover it was an ethical minefield instead. I didn’t take sugar but to busy myself, I reached for the sugar bowl and scooped a half-spoonful into my coffee then stirred slowly before I looked up at her.
‘I have no idea what to say to you, Molly,’ I admitted.
‘But you know something I don’t? Did you know he was sick?’
I stirred the coffee again, just so I had somewhere else to look – somewhere safely away from her pleading blue eyes. ‘Yes,’ I muttered. This time the simple word was layered with truth. Yes, I knew he was sick – he was sick, in the grip of a monstrous addiction that resisted any treatment any of us could throw at it. I had expected that she would ask me the details of his spiral downwards into addiction and that would have been difficult enough. This scenario was a whole new level of complicated. I cleared my throat.
‘You need to ask Laith and Danielle these questions, Molly.’
‘I can’t – I’ve tried, honestly – I’ve pushed them as hard as I can. They won’t – or they can’t – talk about it. They won’t even talk about him at all.’
The dread in my gut had turned to a churning. I pushed the coffee away towards the middle of the table before I slid my chair back and rose. ‘Look, I’m really sorry I can’t help you, but these are things you need to discuss with your parents, not with me.’ I slid my wallet out of my pocket. After some awkward fumbling with the sling, I dropped a note onto the table that would cover both coffees; then I dared to glance at Molly’s face one last time. Her eyes were narrow and her lips pursed – Molly Torrington was pissed off. It wasn’t the first time I’d left a member of the Torrington family in that state, but I felt a pang of remorse.
Molly rose too, and she stared at me. ‘Leo,’ she stated calmly, but with some determination. ‘I deserve to know, and no one else is going to tell me but you.’
I thought about the last argument I’d had with Laith at the hospital. I remembered Declan’s body cooling on the bed behind him and Danielle, lying over her son, wailing. I remembered Laith’s breath on my face and his spittle on my skin as he lost control of his emotions. I remembered the battle I’d fought with myself to resist an overwhelming urge to lash out at him – I could have taken him. With one punch or a well-placed kick, I could have silenced those cruel words that were barbs into my raw, grief-stripped emotions.
‘You filthy piece of scum! You did this to him. He would never have known where to buy this shit if it wasn’t for your bastard abo family!’
But it wasn’t my problem. It wasn’t my place to tell her. It wasn’t going to help her even if she did know. I was tempted to just walk out and leave her standing there. Then I glanced at Molly and saw the desperation in her eyes. I sighed. ‘This isn’t a conversation for a café.’
Molly winced, but it was only a fleeting expression – she immediately flagged down a waiter.
‘Can we get these coffees into takeaway cups?’
3
Molly – July 2015
Leo wakes again just after lunch and this time from the moment his eyes open, it’s obvious that he is much more alert. When I lift his glasses to his face, his hands meet mine and the contact feels strangely awkward. I realise that he wants to position his glasses without assistance and I smile to myself; this stubborn, independent man is the Leo I’ve known and loved.
‘Hi, Leo,’ I murmur softly.
‘Hello,’ he says, and I am startled by the hoarse and oddly formal word. Leo exhales deeply and for a moment his eyes close. His hands drop from his face to his throat, and when he opens his eyes again he croaks, ‘Throat sore. Water?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, and frantically press the call button for the nurse. Immediately I hear footsteps and Alda appears. One of the youngest nurses, she speaks only a little English. Alda’s dark eyebrows raise when she sees Leo and she beams at me and claps. ‘He is awake!’
These weeks in Rome have only taught me basic Italian, but I’ve become a world-class expert at plucking English words from the tangle of a heavy accent. ‘And he’s speaking,’ I say. Suddenly I realise just how amazing and wonderful this is and I feel a tear running down my cheek. I swipe at it with the back of my hand but I needn’t have bothered. He’s clueless when it comes to his own emotions, but Leo has never been left uncomfortable by tears. Having spent most of his adult life reporting from war zones, he is well accustomed to suffering.