Keats is sitting up in bed with her shades on. After being knocked down by a car, unconscious for hours, the first thing she tells me in a thin croaking voice is, ‘I put my bandana on and one of the nurses ran for her life like Frankenstein was on her tail.’
Typical Keats. And I’m glad for it. I do something next that she won’t like – take her into a soft embrace and hold on, my eyes squeezed as tight as I’d like my arms to be but I don’t want to hurt her. She surprises me by sinking into it without a word of fuss.
After that, I get comfy on the side of the bed. ‘How are you bearing up?’
I sense her eye roll behind her sunglasses. ‘Apparently I’ve been lucky, just cuts and some very painful bruises. I’m very hard-headed, so no serious damage to that.’
It’s my turn to be embraced but by guilt clutching me tight. ‘I’m so sorry—’
‘It isn’t your fault your dad’s a psycho wanker—’
‘Was.’ I swallow hard. ‘He’s dead.’
I tell her what happened at the Victorian building. Keats doesn’t say she’s sorry about my dad, which I’m glad of because I’m still sorting through what I feel for him now he’s gone. You don’t just switch off the tap on your love for someone because they did terrible things. I wish I could; I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Now it’s all over, I understand myself a little better. ‘I hated that trap door at our so-called job at first. But do you know what I’ve realised? What happened ten years ago meant I’ve been living with my own mental trap door for way too long. Keeping bad things locked inside creates a poison that will only keep growing.’
Keats surprises me by picking up her mobile. She fiddles with it as the stare she gives me becomes grave. ‘Philip sent me something—’
‘What?’ I can’t hold back the shock.
‘When I visited him I gave him my e-mail because he wanted me to finish his funeral programme. Firstly, he instructed me not to have the word ‘funeral’ on it. Instead he wanted me to use the word ‘celebration’. A celebration of the life of Philip Barrington.’ Keats paused, taking a deep breath. ‘And he wanted this photo to be on the front cover.’
She passes me her phone and I stare down at the photo. It’s a selfie Philip took of us with Ray snuggled between us at the gazebo in Danny’s garden during that summer. Our first paid job as adults. Our smiles are jokey and bright, the setting around us appearing to be the most innocent place in the world. I run my finger with love and devotion over his face on the phone screen as the tears sting my eyes.
‘Don’t do it,’ Keats commands with a harsh softness.
‘Do what?’
‘Cry.’ She makes the word sound like a curse. ‘No more tears, Rachel. That’s not how Philip wants to be remembered. He wants you to hang on to the great times you had.’
Keats is so right. Philip will always be my brother and I will lock him away in the good place in my heart.
‘What are your future plans?’ she asks as I pass back her phone.
I mull it over. ‘I haven’t had time to think things through. I’ve made a kinda peace with Michael. Joanie too. I suspect what’ll happen is Michael will become co-owner of Dad’s business and I’ll leave the everyday running of things to him. As for the rest,’ I shrug lightly, ‘who knows.’
Keats’s chin pushes down. Her lips silently move together as she talks to herself, which leaves me puzzled. Not for long though as she informs me, ‘I’m planning on stopping being freelance and setting up my own company. Maybe go into the gaming market too. I’ve got enough money to set up in a good part of town, although I’m wondering if it might be better to be based in my duplex.’
My brows shoot up. ‘You’ve got a duplex?’
She looks pleased with herself. ‘Yeah. By the river in Wapping. A view of Tower Bridge to die for.’ Abruptly she stops and mutters again for her ears only. I figure out she’s working through what she wants to tell me, which means it must be something she’s dreading. ‘I’ll pay good money—’
‘Good money? For what?’
‘I know you’re loaded now, but would you be my assistant cum PA cum…’ She bites her bottom lip. Then coughs that sounds like she’s being strangled. ‘Friend?’
I smile properly for the first time in a long time, the same real smile I gave Philip years ago the first day I met him. ‘You’ve got a deal.’