When Kate left the cinema, she walked, blindly, not knowing where she should be going. She was numb, barely aware of the blisters that were rubbing against the backs of her borrowed shoes and of the fact that it had been raining. At the entrance to the Leicester Square Underground, she stopped. This station offered a route home for her, but also a black tunnel. Her phone vibrated; she shut it off, tried to shut off the thought of the train hurtling out of the darkness. At this moment she could see no futures available to her, no possible means for her to continue to exist.
Knowing only that she must keep moving, she found herself at the river. On Waterloo Bridge she stopped and leaned over the barrier, not caring that she was covering herself in filth. Her mind was flying, detached from her body. How this body had failed her; how many more times could she allow it to fail her? No longer did she want to punish it. She wanted to relieve its suffering.
The water was clouded and foaming at the river’s edges where debris, feathers, cans, pieces of plastic were caught on the stony shore. She closed her eyes and allowed the pressure of the stone barrier against her stomach to deepen the nausea until she thought she would throw up over the edge of the bridge and into the Thames. The river would swallow up her vomit, could swallow her up, too. A lorry hurtled along the bridge behind her.
Not now.
If she stepped back now, she would only be robbing herself yet again of what Lewis had taken from her, of what Zara’s film had also taken—her agency. Of course it would be a kind of freedom, too, to take that step back, or that leap—but what was the point in making such a choice if she disappeared in silence? It was this thought that carried her to the south end of the bridge, and she stood there with her back to the river, head in her hands. If only in this moment, in this small way, she could direct her own path, and for now, this would have to be enough: deciding to step away from the bridge, to cross the road, to walk, and to continue walking.
When she got to Andrew’s door, she leaned on the bell and let it ring. The sun hadn’t yet set, but she didn’t know what time it was. She kept ringing, but there was no answer. Only now did she remember that Andrew was out celebrating, that of course he wouldn’t be at the flat. But there were footsteps inside and then Shona opened the front door. She looked at Kate, the streaks of makeup, and without waiting for her to speak, took her inside.
“Andrew isn’t here,” she said, though she knew Kate knew this already.
“I forgot,” Kate said. She was standing unsteadily in the hallway, unsure whether to stay. Shona was wearing fresh makeup she realized. “Are you going to the dinner?”
Shona checked her watch. “I’m meeting them for drinks. Do you want to come with me?” She looked at Kate again, glanced down at the hems of the pink trousers she had lent her. “Why don’t you come and sit for a minute?”
Kate sat at the kitchen table, trying to focus on her hands, while Shona got her a glass of water.
“I don’t know you that well,” said Shona, sitting down next to Kate. “But if you want to talk, we’ll talk. Or if you just want to sit, we’ll sit.”
Kate nodded. “I don’t want to come to the party,” she said.
“OK. Do you want to stay here?”
“Yes, please.”
“You want me to stay with you?”
“No, it’s OK.”
“You want me to call Andrew?”
“No,” Kate said firmly.
“He’ll want to know something’s up.”
“Don’t call him,” Kate said. “Please. I don’t want to talk. I’m just tired.”
“I can see that,” said Shona. She reached across, put her hand on Kate’s chin, lifted it, and looked at her. “Hold your head up. And I mean this with kindness.”
Shona’s gaze was direct; Kate nodded, sat up just a little.
“You sit here,” said Shona, getting up. “I gotta do my hair, and that’s gonna take half an hour at least. I’ll come check on you.”
“I think it looks nice,” Kate said.
“Then you really do need some sleep,” Shona said. “Go to bed. Get some rest.”
Kate went to Andrew’s room and got under his covers, leaving the door open and the light on. Her head was swimming, her body tugged under by the ebbing adrenaline, and she fell quickly asleep. She woke, briefly, to the sound of the door gently closing. Her eyes flickered long enough for her to register that it was dark outside and that somebody had turned the light out, before slipping under again.