The Moment You Were Gone (26 page)

‘How's Lorna?'

Ethan tried to make the question casual, blurting it out as he raised his cup of coffee to his lips, and taking a gulp before her name was properly out of his mouth, then busily lighting a cigarette. He and Harry had had an arduous game of squash (won, as usual, by Harry), and the flush that rose to his forehead when he mentioned Lorna could, he hoped, be put down to exercise.

‘Fine.' Harry picked up the chocolate-chip cookie he'd bought, broke it in two and put one half into his mouth. His next words were muffled and indistinct. ‘She was away the last couple of days, visiting her father.'

‘Yeah?' Ethan stared intently into his cup.

‘She goes quite a lot. It's a bit of a drag. But her mother died and she's the oldest of four girls. I think she feels a bit guilty that she's not there to help out any more. She's a responsible kind of person.'

This last was said with a faint suggestion of a sneer, but Ethan's heart was hammering at the thought of Lorna having a dead mother, a forlorn father, three younger sisters in need of her protection. He sighed blissfully, imagining himself accompanying her to a tiny, run-down house where the fridge was empty and the heating broken down. He would cook, clean, bring comfort and cheer to
the motherless girls, be a stout companion to the father. He would rescue them and she would love him for it.

‘How long ago?' he asked.

‘How long ago what?'

‘Did the mother die?'

‘Oh. I dunno. A year or so. Cancer, I think – it usually is, isn't it? She doesn't talk about it much. I only found out when she was on the phone to her little sister, trying to calm her down about something or other.'

‘Poor thing,' said Ethan, filled with melting tenderness.

‘Oh, boy,' said Harry, smirking in a way that made Ethan feel uncomfortable.

‘What?'

‘Nothing, nothing. Just – oh, boy.'

‘I don't know what you're on about.'

‘Ha!'

Ethan finished his coffee, stubbed out his cigarette and fiddled in his pockets for coins. ‘I guess I ought to go. Richelieu beckons.'

‘We need to find you a girlfriend.'

‘I don't want a girlfriend.'

‘Yeah, you do. You're pining.'

‘Crap.'

‘Wasting away. Smoking too many cigarettes.'

‘Look who's talking.'

‘“I hear singing and there's no one there,”' Harry warbled, in a comic falsetto, ignoring the stares.

‘Stop.'

‘“I smell blossoms and the trees are bare.”'

‘I'm really going now.'

‘“All day long I seem to walk on air.”'

‘Right. That's it.' Ethan stood up.

‘She's not a goddess, you know, Ethan.'

‘Who? What are you going on about?'

‘She's not even all that beautiful.'

‘I'll see you around. But why are you with her if you don't think she's beautiful?'

‘So you do know what I'm going on about. Lorna's nice-looking, but she's not like – like that Elizabeth on your course, for example. She's a stunner. She likes you, by the way. Why don't you ask her for a drink or something?'

Ethan stared at Harry. Elizabeth was tall, dark-haired and striking, but not a patch on Lorna. A tiny window of hope opened in his mind: if Harry didn't think Lorna was beautiful, he shouldn't be with her. And if he could talk about her so casually, as if she was dispensable rather than unique and precious, he certainly didn't deserve her.

‘ 'Bye,' he managed.

‘But hands off, Ethan. OK?'

‘I'd never – I'd never try to …' He trailed to a halt and stared at Harry. The atmosphere between them was suddenly cold.

‘I watched the way you were with her on the beach that day. Huddled up together and whispering sweet-nothings in her ear.'

‘No!' Ethan was aghast at how Harry's version dirtied the few minutes he'd spent with Lorna, which he had relived many times since. ‘We were talking, that's all.'

‘Yeah, right. That's why she kept asking about you afterwards.'

‘You're my friend, Harry! I'm not like that,' Ethan said, while he stored away the words for later: she had asked about him. Did that mean she liked him?

‘Just thought I'd warn you, in case.'

‘You didn't need to.'

‘Fine. So it's clear.'

‘Clear.'

They met by chance in the bookshop. Ethan often spent hours in there, picking books that caught his interest off the shelves and reading them while he leant against a pillar in his coat and scarf. He had read the whole of
Homage to Catalonia
earlier in the week, and a sizeable portion of an idiosyncratic history of salt. Today he'd come in from the wind and rain to take refuge in the warm comfort of the shop. He was cold and tired – probably cold because he was so tired – and at a loose end. He had no plans for the rest of the day and didn't want to go back to his room yet, where he knew he would not work but instead would brood, eat cold baked beans or Pot Noodles and smoke too many cigarettes.

He picked a collection of Raymond Carver's short stories from the shelves, and a psychology book about the trustworthiness of intuition, then wandered further into the interior of the shop, where the wind didn't sweep over him every time the door opened. At the children's section, in an alcove at the back, he saw half a shelf of thin, brightly coloured Dr Seuss books and pulled several out, smiling to himself. Strange, bright-eyed, outraged, baffled creatures; fish with smiles; turtles and long-haired, long-legged, spindly hump-backed waifs and mongrels.
Such skippety rhymes.
The Cat in the Hat
. He opened the book and found the picture he remembered of two children looking in a woebegone fashion out of the window at the rain. Then along comes the cat, walking on its hind legs with a glint in its eye, to wreak havoc and bring fun. ‘Fun is good,' it says. That was what his mother used to say, laughing over her shoulder at his frowning, captivated father.

He flicked through the pages, and his early years seemed to return to him. Tucked up in bed with his mother sitting beside him, sleeves rolled up and slippers on her feet.
Green Eggs and Ham
: he'd loved that book. And here was
Horton Hatches the Egg
, the story of a patient elephant sitting on an egg in the place of the feckless mother-bird, and finally, after pages of adversity and woe, hatching out an elephant-bird. His father would always say that the book was about being a stepfather, really: it's love, not biology, that counts. His mother had read all these to him when he was little, over and over again. They'd known whole chunks off by heart, and he could still remember fragments, as if they were hard-wired into his brain. Probably when he was on his deathbed he would still be able to recite, ‘Bump, Bump, Bump, have you ever seen a Wump? We have a Wump with just one Hump …' He opened up
One Fish
,
Two Fish
and found the poem, murmuring it to himself out loud: ‘“But we know a man called Mr Gump, and Mr Gump has a seven-humped Wump …”'

‘“So if you want to go Bump, Bump, just jump on the Hump of the Wump of Gump,”' a voice joined in. ‘Do you always go about reciting things, Ethan?'

He turned, open-mouthed and flame-faced. ‘Lorna.'

‘Because this time I can compete. “Sighed Maisy the lazy bird, hatching her egg, I'm bored and I'm something and I've something or other and rum-te-tum …”'

‘“I'm tired and I'm bored and I've kinks in my legs, from sitting just sitting here …”'

‘OK – “Day after day. It's work, how I hate it, I'd much rather play …”' I don't know any more. Except “An elephant's faithful …”'

‘“… one hundred per cent.”'

They stopped, grinning at each other, then abashed and awkward.

‘Hi,' he said.

‘So you like Dr Seuss too.'

‘My mother used to read them to me. Things you love when you're little – you never forget them, do you? They stay with you.'

‘My mother used to read them to me, too,' said Lorna. ‘And one day I'll probably read them to my kids – if I have any, that is. Handing things down.' She took one from his hand and looked at its jacket.
Thidwick the Kind-hearted Moose
. ‘Except I always used to insist that Thidwick was a goat, not a moose.'

‘That must have played havoc with all the rhymes.'

‘I guess so.'

‘I'm sorry about your mother,' Ethan said awkwardly.

‘Thanks.' She pushed the book back into its space on the shelf.

‘Was it recent?'

‘A year ago, more or less. Is that recent or is it a long while? I don't know.'

‘Time's odd like that, I guess. It goes slowly and quickly all together. It seems pretty recent to me, though.'

‘She was ill for a long time before she died. We knew it was coming, like a juggernaut rumbling over a hill – but you're never ready, however much you think you are. She certainly wasn't ready. She thought she would hold on till we all left school, and she said she was going to insist on having at least one grandchild before she went.'

‘I'm sorry,' Ethan repeated. ‘Were you close?'

‘Yes. But in a different way by the end – I couldn't be a raging adolescent or anything when I knew she was dying, so there was a way in which we didn't share the things we would have. I thought I had to protect her; now I think she would have preferred it if I'd let her protect me. I almost stopped her being a real mother to me, so in a way she was gone before she was gone or something. I don't know. Why am I telling you all this? I hardly know you. Most people don't ask – they just mumble something and change the subject.'

‘You must miss her.'

‘Are you going to buy any of these?'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to –'

‘I don't want to cry in a bookshop, that's all.'

‘OK. Well, I wasn't going to buy them. I just read them in here.'

‘Don't they mind?'

‘I don't think they notice. I like it here, among all the books. I like the smell and all the nooks and crannies. And the thought that there are hundreds of thousands of ideas and images and facts packed away and you just have to open the pages to find them.'

‘I'll leave you to it, then.'

‘No. No, look, Lorna –'

‘What?'

‘How about if I buy you some of these Dr Seuss books? For the memories.'

‘Don't be daft.'

‘Really. Unless you've still got them.'

‘I haven't but –'

‘Please let me, then. For you to read to your children one day.'

‘Ethan!'

‘I'd like to. Really. Let me.' In his eagerness, he took several and held them out to her. ‘Which ones are your favourites?'

‘OK. You can buy me one if I buy you one.'

‘But –'

‘Take it or leave it.'

‘All right, then. I accept.' He gave a small bow and she smiled at him with her generous mouth, and her beautiful almond-shaped eyes shone and he saw how smooth and pale her skin was and how delicate her collarbone and … He gulped. ‘Which one will you have?'

‘Oh, that's so hard.'

‘Take two, three. As many as you like!'

‘It's got to be
One Fish, Two Fish
.'

‘Right.'

‘What about you?'

‘The same.'

‘The same?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then we can't lend each other our copies.'

‘Were we going to do that? Then I'll choose something else. Of course. Um,
Horton Hatches the Egg
.'

‘Good. I was hoping you'd choose that one.'

‘You were?' He almost took her in his arms right then.

They queued to pay and then, rather formally, they handed the books to each other.

‘Thank you,' said Ethan, gravely.

‘And thank you.' Lorna hesitated. ‘Do you want a cup of coffee?'

‘Oh.' He remembered Harry, heard his words: ‘Hands off.' Saw his cold eyes. ‘I don't think I can …'

‘Don't worry.' She half turned from him. ‘It was just a thought.'

‘No! Actually, I'd love to.'

‘If you're busy …'

‘No. I'm not busy. Not at all. Nothing happening. Coffee's perfect. There's a lovely place down the road. I go there a lot. They do the best chocolate cake. I sometimes have it for breakfast.'

Out in the street, he walked beside her and thought, his heart bursting with terrified pride, that people who saw them might assume they were together. Her shoulder brushed his; her right hand nearly touched his left; little wisps of her hair blew against his cheek. He matched his stride to hers so they were walking in rhythm. In the coffee shop, he ordered a double espresso for himself, a cappuccino for her and a slice of chocolate cake to share. Then they sat opposite each other in a dark booth in the smoking area at the back of the café. He looked at the tiny band of froth on her upper lip, a crumb of cake on her cheek, then down at her hands, which lay on the table
a few inches from his own. If he moved his a bit he could touch her. If he shifted forward in his seat, their knees might meet.