peering up at me through the windscreen of his BMW. Startled, I checked my watch: ten-forty. He was late. I had been in the flat almost two hours, and I still hadn't accomplished what I came here for. I waved at Adam, then hurried into the bedroom and rummaged for nightclothes.
I found a large old shirt that she could only have slept in; she certainly never wore it out. I felt very uneasy going through her drawers; her bras and knickers brought out thoughts in me that I would rather have kept buried, and which, in any case, were more than a little inappropriate when the woman you were thinking of was in a coma. I found a dressing-gown folded away in a corner of the wardrobe, some warm socks in a drawer, loose calf-length trousers, and a sweatshirt. I grabbed a toothbrush, a hairbrush. There was a leather case on top of the wardrobe, and I jammed everything in. I closed the windows, grabbed the zoetrope, and carried the bag down to the car, double-locking the front door behind me.
*
“So this guy Whatshisname—”
“Karel.”
“Karel. He's got a key?”
“Yes.” I was weary. “I'll have to get someone in to change the locks tomorrow.” I didn't really want to talk about it, but Adam was doing his best to be supportive and I didn't want to seem ungrateful.
Verity's suitcase was on the back seat. Next to it, in two halves, was the zoetrope. It looked impossibly fragile. The paper hoop was so light that it bounced off the seat with every bump. The base was solid enough, but the thin wire spindle jiggled subtly in time to the vibrations of the engine. I hadn't designed it with travel in mind. I had made it for her birthday, inspired by a drunken evening of reminiscence. When I gave it to her, she had hugged me. She laughed and she cried. And when she spun it and looked through the slits at the tiny world frozen inside, her eyes were as large and glossy as they had been all those years ago. To her it was ancient history, but once I had reminded her she had been swept up in the idea all over again. We'd sat in silence, both staring into a long-gone past, me staring at her, she through the open window into the dark, gazing at somewhere far away.
“And he nicked the money right in front of you?”Adam shook his head. “Amazing.”
We rode in silence for a while.
“Sounds like she has some rough friends,” he said reflectively.
“She has pretty bad taste in men,” I admitted.
He glanced sideways at me. “Yourself excluded, Harry.” He laughed. I snorted back, to show I appreciated it. Sort of. Adam peered at me again. I had a feeling he was about to say something I wasn't going to like—again.
“She did care about you, you know, Harry.”
I snorted again. “How would you know?”
“Point,” Adam conceded. “I can't claim I know . But you only have to think about it. She spent an evening with you once every two weeks, minimum. And there's all the things you've told me—she listens to you, she doesn't care if you're up or down, she still wants to see you. You always said she was there for you, no matter what. She cared, trust me.”
I really didn't want to hear this. I tried to concentrate on the road, the ceaseless loom and whip-past of trees, bollards, signposts... and failed.
“Trouble is,” Adam went on, “there's caring and then there's caring .”
I said nothing. Tried to think nothing. He was only trying to help. But I wished he would stop, until later. I knew that one day I was going to have to face all this—but for now, even a glimpse of the truth was unbearable.
“Hey,” he said. “You think Whatshisname's the reason she jumped?”
“Karel, he was called.” I could see what Adam was thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to accept that Verity had ever really... cared for such a bastard. It was a horrible idea, and I didn't want to think about it. “Listen, Adam—”
He held up a hand to forestall me. “Didn't mean to open wounds, Harry. Sorry. How about some music?” He
I found a large old shirt that she could only have slept in; she certainly never wore it out. I felt very uneasy going through her drawers; her bras and knickers brought out thoughts in me that I would rather have kept buried, and which, in any case, were more than a little inappropriate when the woman you were thinking of was in a coma. I found a dressing-gown folded away in a corner of the wardrobe, some warm socks in a drawer, loose calf-length trousers, and a sweatshirt. I grabbed a toothbrush, a hairbrush. There was a leather case on top of the wardrobe, and I jammed everything in. I closed the windows, grabbed the zoetrope, and carried the bag down to the car, double-locking the front door behind me.
*
“So this guy Whatshisname—”
“Karel.”
“Karel. He's got a key?”
“Yes.” I was weary. “I'll have to get someone in to change the locks tomorrow.” I didn't really want to talk about it, but Adam was doing his best to be supportive and I didn't want to seem ungrateful.
Verity's suitcase was on the back seat. Next to it, in two halves, was the zoetrope. It looked impossibly fragile. The paper hoop was so light that it bounced off the seat with every bump. The base was solid enough, but the thin wire spindle jiggled subtly in time to the vibrations of the engine. I hadn't designed it with travel in mind. I had made it for her birthday, inspired by a drunken evening of reminiscence. When I gave it to her, she had hugged me. She laughed and she cried. And when she spun it and looked through the slits at the tiny world frozen inside, her eyes were as large and glossy as they had been all those years ago. To her it was ancient history, but once I had reminded her she had been swept up in the idea all over again. We'd sat in silence, both staring into a long-gone past, me staring at her, she through the open window into the dark, gazing at somewhere far away.
“And he nicked the money right in front of you?”Adam shook his head. “Amazing.”
We rode in silence for a while.
“Sounds like she has some rough friends,” he said reflectively.
“She has pretty bad taste in men,” I admitted.
He glanced sideways at me. “Yourself excluded, Harry.” He laughed. I snorted back, to show I appreciated it. Sort of. Adam peered at me again. I had a feeling he was about to say something I wasn't going to like—again.
“She did care about you, you know, Harry.”
I snorted again. “How would you know?”
“Point,” Adam conceded. “I can't claim I know . But you only have to think about it. She spent an evening with you once every two weeks, minimum. And there's all the things you've told me—she listens to you, she doesn't care if you're up or down, she still wants to see you. You always said she was there for you, no matter what. She cared, trust me.”
I really didn't want to hear this. I tried to concentrate on the road, the ceaseless loom and whip-past of trees, bollards, signposts... and failed.
“Trouble is,” Adam went on, “there's caring and then there's caring .”
I said nothing. Tried to think nothing. He was only trying to help. But I wished he would stop, until later. I knew that one day I was going to have to face all this—but for now, even a glimpse of the truth was unbearable.
“Hey,” he said. “You think Whatshisname's the reason she jumped?”
“Karel, he was called.” I could see what Adam was thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to accept that Verity had ever really... cared for such a bastard. It was a horrible idea, and I didn't want to think about it. “Listen, Adam—”
He held up a hand to forestall me. “Didn't mean to open wounds, Harry. Sorry. How about some music?” He
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