He watched her leave through the revolving doors as he was getting into his taxi. Watched her hair bouncing on top of her head, watched her arms swing as she walked, watched the little wiggle of her bum as she put one foot in front of the other. How was it possible that she was leaving with a massive smile on her face and he was leaving annoyed that he was leaving. Annoyed that he was off to some new lobster and champagne bar in Soho with Heidi who had a really irritating habit of laughing at everything he said even if it wasn’t funny.
The look on her face as she’d walked out the bar had resembled, infuriatingly, the one on his father’s face when Will had told him the company was effectively a worthless shambles. Like someone expecting from the world awe and delight and having their dreams ground into the mud.
Will’s words had snapped in his father a gentle, child-like core of optimism and enthusiasm. A core Will couldn’t mend even by working ten times harder, by pushing and pushing. He had slowly turned the great drifting tanker of a business round with his bare hands, setting it back on course so they started to see a tiny, slow drip of profit, yet his dad always knew he wasn’t doing it out of love for his cherished company, but out of guilt for suggesting they sell it off and leave.
‘Wait!’ Will found himself saying to the taxi driver who was just indicating to turn onto Piccadilly. ‘Wait one second.’
‘Holding up the traffic, mate,’ the cab driver said over his shoulder.
‘OK, well just pull up where you can.’ Will rubbed his forehead with his hand.
When Jane had left him at The Rivoli Bar, both him and the barman watching bemused as she stalked away, a piece of paper had floated to the floor from the sheaf of diary entries she had stuffed in her too-small bag.
He’d jumped off his stool to get it before the passing waiter picked it up.
‘You want another?’ the barman had asked as he’d sat back on the stool. ‘You’ve got three minutes,’ he had joked and Will had sighed.
‘I have three minutes, you’re right,’ he’d said, and finishing what was left in his glass, he’d flattened out the piece of paper and had a read to see which page it was.
I made Fred borrow his dad’s car. We drove out to the address I’ve been sending the letters. I saw James. I stood on some boxes by the wall and I looked over the fence and I saw him. He was in the garden. It’s cold and he was there with a blanket over his legs in a wheelchair just staring into nothing. Fred kept telling me to hurry up but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to shout because I could see people in the distance but I didn’t want to not shout because it was my chance. He was just staring. And all I could think was let me in, let me talk to him because I think I could talk to him. I think I could make him hear me. But maybe I couldn’t.
He looked so awful. And then this woman came along, about my age looking perfect – it seems years since I’ve seen someone look perfect – and she sat next to him and she handed him a glass which he lifted to his mouth as if he was doing it without thinking. I watched but I didn’t shout.
In the end Fred was making so much noise with his hissing for me to come on that we left. I was sick the whole drive home. I think it was the baby saying I should have tried harder.
I told Bernard and he said that we had to go again. (Without Fred this time). Bernard’s driver took us. This time we went to the front gate and rang the bell. The butler came out, told me to wait where I was. I was all ready to make my case. To tell them to just let me have five minutes with James. Not for me but for him. Because I know I can help. I know I can. I was ready to say that it wasn’t for me but it was for him. I would sit for five minutes and then I would leave. And they wouldn’t have to see me again if he didn’t want to. They would never have to see the baby, just five minutes.
But then his dad came down the path with two huge dobermans and said if I didn’t leave immediately he’d set the dogs on me.
I didn’t get to say anything.
28th November 1944
Everything just gets worse. One of Hitler’s rockets hit in New Cross. Fred was there to see his grandfather. He goes every week to take him food. It was awful. He hadn’t told his parents he was going because they don’t approve of the grandfather and only I knew he was there. I had to go and tell them and his mum can’t even look at me because of the baby. The whole thing was awful. Fred came back just shaking. Couldn’t stop. He came and slept on the boat with me because his parents had been so angry that he’d gone in the first place. What’s wrong with people? As I was just dozing off I heard him tell me that he loved me. That the fear of death had made him realise that we must say what we feel. He loved me and had since we were kids. God damn it. That’s the last thing I need. I pretended I was asleep. Just lay rigid and then did a couple of snores which he could probably tell were fake.
29th November 1944
Today the wedding of James Blackwell and Miss Prudence Reese had two lines in the newspaper.
I’m shattered.
For the second time that day Will had thought of that summer with his grandmother, Prudence. The dark, bleak house that James Blackwell had almost escaped. The life his grandfather had lost with this Enid who made him laugh.
‘Your three minutes is up, mate,’ the barman had said with a nod at the clock.
‘Shit.’ Will had folded up the paper and tucked it into his top pocket, then searched for his wallet and handed the barman his credit card.
Minutes later, he was in the cab that had now pulled over on Piccadilly pissing off the passing traffic as it blocked one lane.
Every day of Will’s iPhone diary had a dot on it to mark it busy. Every single day. He was looking at it as the taxi driver was asking him what he should do. There were too many images in his head. His father so disappointed in his office. Prudence’s cold stare from the window. Heidi laughing as she drank champagne and ate lobster rolls. Jane leaning back and forcing him to read the pages, telling him what to do – that hadn’t happened for a while. Nor, for that matter, had being walked out on in a bar.
He watched her disappearing up the street, a carefree bounce in her step. How was she suddenly so happy?
He looked back down at the dots on his phone.
‘Mate, I’m going to have to move on,’ the cabbie said.
‘OK.’ Will nodded and put his phone in his pocket.
He was jealous he realised then, turning back around for one last glimpse of Jane bobbing through the crowds. He was jealous of her freedom.
‘Actually no, pull over again,’cWill said and the taxi driver did a big show of raising his hands and sighing but cut back across to the kerb.
Jealous. He hadn’t been jealous for a while.
He’d also strangely enjoyed their back and forth banter. She’d amused him, which happened very rarely nowadays, and he did feel slightly guilty for misjudging the situation. The least he could do, he supposed, was show her around London – impress her with his hidden gem knowledge of the city – make her trip up here worthwhile.
His rational side said don’t be so ridiculous, his voice said, ‘Do you know what? I’m actually going to get out here. Sorry. Here’s a tenner and my card. If you get a ticket for stopping here, forward it to my office. Thanks. Sorry again.’
It was like the thoughts of being trapped, of losing something that might be interesting, overtook him and suddenly Will was back on the street outside The Ritz, but now he was jogging because he needed to catch up with Jane and she was already almost at Fortnum and Mason.