I flick my eyeballs back. “You might have mentioned it. Twenty hundred times.”
We drank in companionable silence until I confessed. “Y’know, I wasn’t impressed when we first met.”
“You don’t say. Didn’t you send someone into the fashion cupboard to get me a belt?”
“Just a belt?”
Jim topped up the drinks. “Just for the record, you had me at ‘Oh no!’”
Had to hand it to him, he made me laugh. “How long have you been waiting to spring that line?”
“Long enough.”
“I’m too old for you.”
“You’re just right for me. Love you more than my guitar, Boss.”
“Now I know you lie.”
“Would I lie to you?” He sang the line but was deadly serious and I needed to get back to safer ground.
“You get the girls’ vote: Cece, Suz and Kate
love
you.”
“They want to adopt me not date me.”
I knocked back my drink and changed the subject. “Who do I call in the middle of the night? London’s not exactly across the street.”
“Come with me,” he said, more serious than ever, leaning forward.
I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “The weekend? Forever?”
“Just do it. Leave Edinburgh with me.”
I tried to make light of his offer and motioned for another drink. “You know I would. It’s just…”
He put up his hand to silence me. “I’ve seen you at rock bottom. I happen to think that’s a bonus–no bad surprises from now on. I’m looking at
you
not the wreckage.”
“It’s the new me. Head over heart.”
Too shrewd to beg, he raised his glass. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
I meant what I said though: head over heart. Too many mistakes have been made because I don’t think love through. I understood Suzanne completely when she said she would never have left Ted if we hadn’t forced her hand. When it came to Harrison, I had no pride. I would have taken him back in a heartbeat. Of course, I have never confessed this to anyone but you.
For now, I decided to remain in Edinburgh because I didn’t trust what my heart was telling me and Jim paid the price for this. I would return to London but not yet–everything eventually.
My mother could stand in the flight path of precision-guided munitions
and withstand the shock; she was built that way. Saying that, when I told her about Gee and Harrison, I was aware that such a revelation had shaken the most hardened target. Telling her over the phone wasn’t great either–but, somehow, remarkably, she remained intact. Ferociously upset but still standing.
What’s more, she didn’t attempt to defend Gee, which surprised me; I expected loyalties to be equally divided, a mother’s prerogative. And, while I valued her support, I told her to go to Gee. Go to Ben–her grandson needed her, whereas I had Cece, Suzanne and Kate.
Meanwhile, McCarthy had been in regular contact since Tom Roberts showed up on my doorstep. He knew, of course, what had happened with Gee, of course he did. I haven’t talked to my sister since–now the police and lawyers are involved.
When the dust settled there was no good reason to see McCarthy again. I called him from the office one afternoon.
“Let’s go for coffee,” I said. We didn’t arrange a time or a place because I knew he’d turn up on the street. Sure enough, two sunrises later, I found him outside the apartment, eyes to the sky and a smile on his face as he leaned against the wall. We headed across the street to the coffee shop–where it began and where it would end.
McCarthy wanted coffee. I stopped him before he reached the counter. “Let me,” I said.
Now it was my time to observe as he wandered outside and sat in the sunshine, legs stretched, relaxed. One last look. Returning with our drinks, I said, “This white stuff, it’s called
milk
.”
He grinned. “For girls.”
I pointed to my coffee. “Heated but not frothed with three small shots of espresso.”
“Me–Americano forever.”
I sat opposite him. We had come such a long way. So much under the bridge.
“Thank you,” I said.
He raised his cup. “You bought them.”
“No, I mean,
thank you
.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“Did you know about my sister?”
“Yes, I did. At least, I had my suspicions.”
“From the beginning?”
“From the phone records.”
But he didn’t fool me. Someone who had been there, seen it all. Biding his time–facts before accusations.
I exhaled hard. “So Harrison called Gee, not me.”
“I had someone go through his phone records. One number flagged up: registered to the name Walker.”
“You thought it was me.”
“My guy on the case did. Lori
Walker
. Widow, not wife.”
I blushed; our acidic first encounter.
“Thank you for letting me speak to her first, before the police did. I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”
“Honestly? You had the best chance of getting her to talk. Let us do the paperwork.”
“You never think it will happen to you.”
“No one ever does.”
“How did I not notice?”
“You trusted him.”
I sipped my coffee. “Completely.”
“That’s how it should be.”
Just like that, I thought about his wife. Her presence was felt–how fortunate she was to be married to a man like McCarthy. Maybe he was the lucky one.
He interrupted my thoughts. “You going to be okay?”
“I am. I plan to remain in Edinburgh a while, focus on the job. Then we’ll see.”
“If you ever get in a fix, call me.”
I smiled. There was nothing suggestive in his tone. “I do not intend to get in a fix again,
ever
, but thank you.”
I rummaged under the table and nervously handed over a plastic bag. “Parting gift?”
He looked inside. “Shit.”
Three guns: Kate’s, Rosalind Thomson’s and the one belonging to Tom Roberts.
“It’s excessive, I know.”
“
Illegal
, more like.”
“They’re not mine. I don’t want them.”
McCarthy didn’t make light of it. “This is dangerous shit, Lori.”
“No one got hurt,” I added lamely. I thought about Neil Moritz taking four bullets through the heart and felt a surge of sympathy; his head full of mistakes.
“You got lucky. Lose control of a firearm in a situation… bang, bang it’s over. Then there’s the not-so-small matter of gun legislation–hello, jail?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lecture over, he leaned towards me. “You okay?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “I was until about a minute ago.”
“No more surprises?”
I swallowed too much coffee scalding the roof of my mouth. “The hell hope not.”
“I’m looking out for you.”
“I know you are. I’m fine–I’m going to be alright.”
There it was again, the eye-tracking goggle stare. I had no doubt he could see through me. I wanted to tell him how I felt about him. Confess and be done.
“There is…” Words surged but stopped.
Eyebrow raised, McCarthy questioned. “Yes?”
Then it was gone. Moment over as the burner flame went out. We were going nowhere and I had to accept the truth. I could complicate it or I could move on.
I didn’t divulge. McCarthy didn’t pursue. There will always be secrets we will keep.
We finished our coffee in companionable silence. Eventually McCarthy said, “You’ve always had my undivided attention.”
I smiled, no tension between us. “I know that.”
The creases around his eyes confirmed he was a man of good humour. He looked as though he hadn’t known much personal misfortune in his life. When I think back to that moment, I realise he looked well loved.
It’s not that I don’t think what might have been, I absolutely do. Doesn’t everyone at some stage and age:
in another lifetime; what if–
We walked down the street until we reached his car. I stuck out my hand to say a formal goodbye but he kissed me on the cheek instead, pulling me into a hug–not police procedure for sure but there would be no official complaint from me.
We stand with toes touching and I smile, face pressed into the soft cotton cloth of his white shirt. I feel a strong hand on the back of my head, while the other comes to rest on the small of my back. For thirty seconds we stand on the street breathing in sync as cars drive to somewhere until he whispers,
“I remember
everything
–”
I smile and step back putting distance between us. I’m still smiling as I set off walking down the street towards Holyrood. I’m okay.
Chapter Forty Five
The Simple Truth
Letting McCarthy go was surprisingly easier than I thought. I’m over him. I can’t say the same about Jim.
Corset
was a time-draining job but we talked–always talked. Now Jim was leaving for London, his head was elsewhere. He’d moved on, whereas I was stuck in the same place; vine-tangled in Harrison and unable to shake him loose even though I’d accepted his posthumous status as a scandalous man. People were making progress. I was not.
“Jim’s moving on.” I said this to Kate, Cece and Suzanne. We were having afternoon tea at Ribbons and Cece had set the table with fine bone china, petit fours and cream scones.
“Literally and figuratively, I gather?” said Kate, never one to miss a trick.
Cece listened, adjusting cups so the handles faced the same way before giving me her full attention. “Ain’t that what you wanted, honey?”
“This is true.”
“But…” Kate quizzed, eyebrow arched.
“I suppose, well, I’m used to having him around more.” I shrugged. Jim fizzed about the place Berocca bright, energising me out of a sleep-deprived state. Now he was head-down writing or interviewing, cordial as ever but with a difference: it was as though someone had taken the batteries out of the office atmosphere.
“You still talk?” asked Suzanne.
“We do. Not as much.”
Cece turned on her Sherlock Holmes stare. I knew she was scrutinising me from the scuff on my shoe to once-manicured nails now bitten. “So now what?”
“I get used to it.”
Cece exhaled noisily through her nostrils. “You get
used
to it?”
“She gets used to it,” Kate confirmed, reaching for the teapot. “Tea?”
“I know
exactly
what this is about,” said Cece after a second, holding her cup out for Kate. “Lori’s like me–we expect to fall in love in a New York minute. You think because this didn’t happen between you and Jim, it’s not
real
, right? But there are exceptions to the rule.”
“What happened to the Burton-Taylor whatever?”
“You wouldn’t understand, Kate.”
“There’s a reason for that. I’m not insane.”
I handed Kate my cup and reached for a cake.
Cece turned to me. “Tell her I’m right?”
I did the Kate eye roll. “I’ve had a reality check, remember? Head over heart.”
The truth is, I never did experience the chemical supercharged rush of emotions with Jim–the oxygen-starved sensation when he wasn’t around. I didn’t even
like
him when we first met. This couldn’t be more different to the reaction I had when I first met Harrison. And McCarthy. Perhaps this is a sign. Fools rush in.
I know that I miss Jim. I don’t like missing him.
“So now what?” persisted Cece.
“Nothing. I’m here. He’s leaving for London.”
She batted a hand at me. “Toosh! Planes, trains and automobiles–”
I thought about this when I returned to the office. Jim waiting for me to catch up, me stuck in a moment. Not even a chocolate martini could move me. That was just it: it wouldn’t happen until it happened; couldn’t avoid, force or fake it.
The phone ringing puts a stop to these thoughts and an unexpected smile on my face. I guess I’m still that someone who believes in signs–can’t help it.
Message for Lori Walker: Elvis James is downstairs in reception.
Oscar Wilde I disagree:
the truth is rarely pure and never simple
. Rarely pure, perhaps, but always simple. We are the ones who like to complicate it.
There are no great mysteries in life. My mother and father taught me this: complications are down to abnormal and uncontrolled cell division, inflammatory diseases of membranes, gene variants with risk factor and so on and on. Whether you can be saved or not is a different matter.
Harrison fell in love with someone else. Ted Holmes disappeared and found someone else. Cece’s business wasn’t cursed–she handed responsibility to someone too young and inexperienced. Kate’s husband did love his wife and children, he simply didn’t love himself. And I wasn’t being chased by ghosts or The Watcher, just someone who needed me to know the truth.
I had one last go at persuading Jim to rethink his position. He’d worked his six weeks’ notice and it had gone in a flash. Too quick.
Head over heart regardless, I didn’t want him to go; my wingman, my writer, my shock-absorber friend.
It was his last shift and, as usual, we were the last to leave the office. I tested his resolve. “You’ve made up your mind?”
“Definitely yes.”
“What if I asked you to stay?”
“I’d say it wasn’t the right decision for
you.
”
“I’m allowed to change my mind.”
“Yes, but only for the right reasons.”
“But…”
He grinned. “Lori, I
know,
okay? I’m cool. Know this, though, you will miss me even though I don’t wear a suit.”
“I’m
over
the suit.”
He shut down his iMac for the last time and picked up one dictionary and two pencils; the sum of his entire desk. “I have to go.”
“I need more time but I don’t want you to leave. I’m serious.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said, hitching up his over-sized jeans, heading for the lift. “I’m waiting for you to catch up.”
I see him disappear through the swing doors, confident frontman walk, without a backward glance. I watch the doors bounce off each other until there is silence. And I swear if I was still that heart-over-head girl, it might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.