think there’s someone in your house, they should come and look around.’
‘There isn’t anybody here but Lydia. I can’t see her but she’s here with me. I know it sounds crazy and I won’t blame you if you don’t believe a word of it, but.’ I break off the sentence, empty the sink and wonder whether I should go on.
‘Are you paranormally gifted or something?’ Sylvie asks.
I shake my head. ‘No, it’s not that. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t see ghosts, I don’t hear ghosts and I don’t expect to either. But my mother has always said that I’m very intuitive.’
‘Oh, I am too,’ Sylvie says. ‘Sometimes I’ll be talking to someone and I’ll know that they’re lying, or hiding something from me. It’s the way they fiddle with their clothes or avoid my gaze.’
That is not at all what I meant. ‘In those instances it’s revealed in people’s behaviour, but I also get it when I’m talking on the phone.’
Sylvie nods in agreement. ‘Yes, when they want to cancel a date. Then they get a bit stuttery or come up with excuses. Men in particular are so transparent.’
‘Yes, but I get it as soon as I pick up and say my name,’ I say. ‘I often know who’s calling before they’ve said anything.’
‘Oh yes, sometimes you know even before you’ve picked up,’ Sylvie laughs. ‘One of my friends always used to call me at exactly half past eight, once the news had finished. Then I’d pick up and say, “Hey Manon” straight away. She never understood how I always knew it was her.’ She grins. ‘These days I have caller recognition, but I didn’t then.’
I remain silent and begin to understand why Lydia always got annoyed with Sylvie. It doesn’t bother me because I know Sylvie better than anyone else. It’s not that she’s told me that much about herself, but her history comes across in what she doesn’t say. I know that she didn’t have an easy childhood, that she’s alone in the world.
Sylvie brings me back to earth. ‘What is it?’
‘Was I staring?’ I say with an apologetic laugh. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking that I know very little about you, for such a good friend. I know that you haven’t had it easy and that you’re not in touch with your family anymore, but you’ve never told me why.’ I fill the coffee machine with water and put a filter into the holder. ‘Ever since Lydia died, I find it very easy to imagine how lonely you must be. And I’ve still got my parents, and Raoul and Valerie.’
‘Yes.’ The smile has disappeared from Sylvie’s eyes and her voice is flat. ‘I’ve always been quite jealous of you. I’m always jealous of people who have families.’
I spoon the coffee into the filter. ‘Do you really not have anybody? No one at all?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see them anymore,’ Sylvie says. ‘I’m an only child and my father walked out on us when I was six. You might think I was too young to remember much about him, but I can actually remember quite a lot, and it hurts. I’ve never been able to understand why he left us. He never tried to explain it. Before he left he was such a good dad. I missed him so terribly, and then some.’
Her voice breaks and I reach out my hand and touch her arm to comfort her.
‘Sorry.’ Sylvie’s smile is weak. ‘I came round to help you.’
‘Perhaps it would help me more to know that I’m not the only one who has it hard,’ I say. ‘Not that I want you to be unhappy, but I’m tired of people’s sympathy. I’m a good listener too, you know.’ I touch her arm. ‘Tell me, is your mother still alive?’
‘Yes, but we’re not in touch anymore. After my father left, my mother and I were on our own for years until she met Bert.’ A shadow passes across her face. ‘He moved in with us when I was thirteen. I couldn’t stand him at first. The idea he might think he could take my father’s place made me furious. But that wasn’t Bert’s plan. He left my upbringing to my mother and
‘There isn’t anybody here but Lydia. I can’t see her but she’s here with me. I know it sounds crazy and I won’t blame you if you don’t believe a word of it, but.’ I break off the sentence, empty the sink and wonder whether I should go on.
‘Are you paranormally gifted or something?’ Sylvie asks.
I shake my head. ‘No, it’s not that. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t see ghosts, I don’t hear ghosts and I don’t expect to either. But my mother has always said that I’m very intuitive.’
‘Oh, I am too,’ Sylvie says. ‘Sometimes I’ll be talking to someone and I’ll know that they’re lying, or hiding something from me. It’s the way they fiddle with their clothes or avoid my gaze.’
That is not at all what I meant. ‘In those instances it’s revealed in people’s behaviour, but I also get it when I’m talking on the phone.’
Sylvie nods in agreement. ‘Yes, when they want to cancel a date. Then they get a bit stuttery or come up with excuses. Men in particular are so transparent.’
‘Yes, but I get it as soon as I pick up and say my name,’ I say. ‘I often know who’s calling before they’ve said anything.’
‘Oh yes, sometimes you know even before you’ve picked up,’ Sylvie laughs. ‘One of my friends always used to call me at exactly half past eight, once the news had finished. Then I’d pick up and say, “Hey Manon” straight away. She never understood how I always knew it was her.’ She grins. ‘These days I have caller recognition, but I didn’t then.’
I remain silent and begin to understand why Lydia always got annoyed with Sylvie. It doesn’t bother me because I know Sylvie better than anyone else. It’s not that she’s told me that much about herself, but her history comes across in what she doesn’t say. I know that she didn’t have an easy childhood, that she’s alone in the world.
Sylvie brings me back to earth. ‘What is it?’
‘Was I staring?’ I say with an apologetic laugh. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking that I know very little about you, for such a good friend. I know that you haven’t had it easy and that you’re not in touch with your family anymore, but you’ve never told me why.’ I fill the coffee machine with water and put a filter into the holder. ‘Ever since Lydia died, I find it very easy to imagine how lonely you must be. And I’ve still got my parents, and Raoul and Valerie.’
‘Yes.’ The smile has disappeared from Sylvie’s eyes and her voice is flat. ‘I’ve always been quite jealous of you. I’m always jealous of people who have families.’
I spoon the coffee into the filter. ‘Do you really not have anybody? No one at all?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see them anymore,’ Sylvie says. ‘I’m an only child and my father walked out on us when I was six. You might think I was too young to remember much about him, but I can actually remember quite a lot, and it hurts. I’ve never been able to understand why he left us. He never tried to explain it. Before he left he was such a good dad. I missed him so terribly, and then some.’
Her voice breaks and I reach out my hand and touch her arm to comfort her.
‘Sorry.’ Sylvie’s smile is weak. ‘I came round to help you.’
‘Perhaps it would help me more to know that I’m not the only one who has it hard,’ I say. ‘Not that I want you to be unhappy, but I’m tired of people’s sympathy. I’m a good listener too, you know.’ I touch her arm. ‘Tell me, is your mother still alive?’
‘Yes, but we’re not in touch anymore. After my father left, my mother and I were on our own for years until she met Bert.’ A shadow passes across her face. ‘He moved in with us when I was thirteen. I couldn’t stand him at first. The idea he might think he could take my father’s place made me furious. But that wasn’t Bert’s plan. He left my upbringing to my mother and
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