sometimes her efforts were misguided.
“Well, I can’t just blot out Russell. I’ve tried. No matter how attractive and talented Carl is. Besides, he definitely has his own issues. How many times, Em?”
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine. Look, we’re here now. The café has stunning views and I could do with a coffee. Hopefully, there won’t be too many of these giant posters on the way.”
We went to the café and treated ourselves to a cappuccino. It was a beautiful spring day with very clear skies. We managed to find a couple of stools facing the window so had a panoramic view of the skyline, its buildings looking like pages from a history book.
“I’m really, really, really sorry,” Emily said.
“It’s okay,” I said, rubbing her back for reassurance.
“I think I have this rose-tinted view of life. I just want you to be happy.”
“Well, if I’ve learnt anything over the last few months, it’s how wonderful my best friend is. Whatever you do, I know you’re looking out for me.”
“Shucks, you’re making me blush.” She playfully shoved me, so I shoved her back.
We settled down and Emily checked her phone for emails.
“That’s weird,” she said. But she didn’t add to it. Instead, she busied herself on her phone. I tried to see what she was doing. She was following a link to a website.
“Oh, wow.” she said.
“What?”
“Forgive me. I told Jemima that you had a date with this Carl Rask. She’s really into her art, knows all about him. She sent back this link. I didn’t know this about him.”
Her face went all serious.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s nothing really. Just a curious fact.”
“Tell me,” I begged.
“It’s nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s just that he’s been married once, and had another long-term relationship.”
But I could tell by the tone in her voice that she hadn’t finished, that there was more.
“And both women committed suicide.”
I was shocked. At first, my face just froze.
Emily obviously saw my discomfort. “I feel terrible for the guy. Apparently, both women gassed themselves. And before you ask, he didn’t murder them. He was out of the country on both occasions.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” I said.
“It reminds me of a poet I read about when I was at school — Ted Hughes. Same thing happened to him. Both the women in his life killed themselves.”
“Yeah, I remember reading about that. I think his mistress said that Ted Hughes made love like a butcher going about his work.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “Sounds… I don’t know if that’s erotic or just makes me hungry.”
“I’m trying to imagine it. But images of a horror movie keep flashing up in my head.”
“You’ve got to feel sorry for the guy,” Emily said. “Carl, I mean. That’s a lot to go through. A lot to carry around with you.”
“It must be.”
I tried to imagine myself in the same position. What if I’d returned to the apartment and Russell had been lying on the floor? I don’t think I’d have recovered. The guilt would have been horrible. We all know that we shouldn’t blame ourselves when something like that happens. People who reach that point, where suicide is the only option, are difficult to help. Even skilled professionals sometimes can’t get through to them. But I suppose human nature makes us blame ourselves.
“I don’t know how anybody would deal with that.”
I was drifting with my thoughts when I heard a voice behind me. It was assured and resonant. “Deal with what?”
I nearly fell off my stool. It was Carl Rask. He was dressed head to toe in black again. But his black hair looked more ruffled than I’d seen it.
Emily’s jaw dropped. When she recovered, she pointed at the poster that hung in the café. Then, as if in some catatonic state, she just managed to get out the words: “That’s you.”
Carl looked round at the poster. “Yes, it is.”
The poster only showed half his
“Well, I can’t just blot out Russell. I’ve tried. No matter how attractive and talented Carl is. Besides, he definitely has his own issues. How many times, Em?”
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine. Look, we’re here now. The café has stunning views and I could do with a coffee. Hopefully, there won’t be too many of these giant posters on the way.”
We went to the café and treated ourselves to a cappuccino. It was a beautiful spring day with very clear skies. We managed to find a couple of stools facing the window so had a panoramic view of the skyline, its buildings looking like pages from a history book.
“I’m really, really, really sorry,” Emily said.
“It’s okay,” I said, rubbing her back for reassurance.
“I think I have this rose-tinted view of life. I just want you to be happy.”
“Well, if I’ve learnt anything over the last few months, it’s how wonderful my best friend is. Whatever you do, I know you’re looking out for me.”
“Shucks, you’re making me blush.” She playfully shoved me, so I shoved her back.
We settled down and Emily checked her phone for emails.
“That’s weird,” she said. But she didn’t add to it. Instead, she busied herself on her phone. I tried to see what she was doing. She was following a link to a website.
“Oh, wow.” she said.
“What?”
“Forgive me. I told Jemima that you had a date with this Carl Rask. She’s really into her art, knows all about him. She sent back this link. I didn’t know this about him.”
Her face went all serious.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s nothing really. Just a curious fact.”
“Tell me,” I begged.
“It’s nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s just that he’s been married once, and had another long-term relationship.”
But I could tell by the tone in her voice that she hadn’t finished, that there was more.
“And both women committed suicide.”
I was shocked. At first, my face just froze.
Emily obviously saw my discomfort. “I feel terrible for the guy. Apparently, both women gassed themselves. And before you ask, he didn’t murder them. He was out of the country on both occasions.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” I said.
“It reminds me of a poet I read about when I was at school — Ted Hughes. Same thing happened to him. Both the women in his life killed themselves.”
“Yeah, I remember reading about that. I think his mistress said that Ted Hughes made love like a butcher going about his work.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “Sounds… I don’t know if that’s erotic or just makes me hungry.”
“I’m trying to imagine it. But images of a horror movie keep flashing up in my head.”
“You’ve got to feel sorry for the guy,” Emily said. “Carl, I mean. That’s a lot to go through. A lot to carry around with you.”
“It must be.”
I tried to imagine myself in the same position. What if I’d returned to the apartment and Russell had been lying on the floor? I don’t think I’d have recovered. The guilt would have been horrible. We all know that we shouldn’t blame ourselves when something like that happens. People who reach that point, where suicide is the only option, are difficult to help. Even skilled professionals sometimes can’t get through to them. But I suppose human nature makes us blame ourselves.
“I don’t know how anybody would deal with that.”
I was drifting with my thoughts when I heard a voice behind me. It was assured and resonant. “Deal with what?”
I nearly fell off my stool. It was Carl Rask. He was dressed head to toe in black again. But his black hair looked more ruffled than I’d seen it.
Emily’s jaw dropped. When she recovered, she pointed at the poster that hung in the café. Then, as if in some catatonic state, she just managed to get out the words: “That’s you.”
Carl looked round at the poster. “Yes, it is.”
The poster only showed half his
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