Читать книгу The Drowning Child - Alex Barclay - Страница 23

Ren showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror.

Ugh.

She grabbed her bag and did a quick no-makeup makeup job. She blasted her hair with the hairdryer, ran her fingers through it, left it down. It was five inches below her shoulders.

I have long hair now.

The last time I got this cut, Ben was alive.

Stop. It hurts. And it changes nothing.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Your mascara. Go.

Her cell phone rang. Gary.

‘Hey,’ said Ren.

‘You ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Meet you outside. Paul and Sylvie are at the bar.’

Ren went out into the hallway. Gary appeared from his room, freshly showered.

Handsome.

‘Look, I know how you feel about Sylvie,’ said Gary, as they walked to the elevator.

Jesus, why are we talking about her again?

‘How I feel about her is irrelevant,’ said Ren. How I feel about Karen – your wife of almost twenty years – is ultimately too. ‘I do want you to be happy,’ said Ren. ‘Just … I can’t see how this is doing it for you.’

‘I thought I was going to die in that shooting,’ said Gary. ‘When I was laying there and I thought it was all over, I kept thinking about Sylvie. I—’

‘In what way?’ said Ren.

‘What? What do you mean—’

‘I’m serious,’ said Ren. ‘Were you thinking about how much you loved her and didn’t want to die because you’d never see her again? Or were you thinking, If I’m going to die, I want the love of my life by my side, and the face you saw was Sylvie’s? Or were you running through the showreel – thinking of her ass?’

‘Jesus, Ren—’

‘I just feel no one else will ask you the difficult shit. Your buddies aren’t going to—’

‘No one else knows.’

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Well, that must be exhausting.’ She paused. ‘Does Sylvie think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’

He nodded.

‘And how’s that working out for you?’ said Ren. What is wrong with me? I feel mean.

Gary said nothing.

‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘I get it. Do you think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’

He gave her a side glance, but didn’t answer.

They arrived at the bar. Sitting on the arm of a sofa, dressed in a navy-blue suit, was Paul Louderback, his arms folded, his long legs crossed. He looked like he was cut-and-pasted from an elegant drawing room. He saw Ren, smiled warmly, stood up.

My heart …

He’s married.

Ben is dead.

Nice.

Standing beside Paul, with her back to them, was Sylvie Ross, her thick sandy hair in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a white shirt, slim-fit gray pants, pointed black heels.

Great ass. Poor shoe choice.

Sylvie turned around, and her face lit up as she saw Gary over Ren’s shoulder.

God, is that what that looks like?

I still don’t know if you and Paul Louderback have slept together. Do I need to sleep with Gary to even this all out?

Everyone greeted each other, everyone was professional.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Gary and Ren filled Sylvie and Paul in on the case over dinner.

‘Paul – you’ll be taking charge of the command center,’ said Gary. ‘I’m guessing the best thing for Sylvie to start with tomorrow is talking to Caleb Veir’s friends.’

Paul nodded.

‘Sure,’ said Sylvie. ‘Not a problem.’

She is freakishly intense with him.

Oh, now – I get it: yes, Gary nearly died, and Sylvie realized – uh-oh – how much she loves him.

It appears to be an alarming amount.

Sylvie started to pour Ren more wine. Ren held up her hand. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

Gary and Paul both stared at her.

‘Thanks, guys,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks.’

An hour later, Sylvie was the first to excuse herself. Gary left thirty minutes later.

When they were gone, Paul made a show of checking his watch. ‘Half an hour … standard time for one lover to ask another to wait before running up to join them?’ There was a sparkle in his eye.

‘Behave,’ said Ren.

‘Come on …’

I’m committing to nada.

‘So, are they?’ said Paul.

‘No, they’re not,’ said Ren.

‘OK,’ said Paul, with no conviction.

‘And no one should use the word “lover”.’

‘I have definitely heard you say “I’m a lover, not a fighter”.’

‘No one other than me, then …’

He smiled. ‘Now that I have cornered you alone,’ he said, ‘how are you doing? Really doing? You were very quiet over dinner.’

‘I was enjoying everyone else,’ said Ren. ‘I’m finding it hard to raise my game.’

‘You were perfectly pleasant, but …’

‘Struggling – I know.’

‘That’s understandable, after what you’ve been through.’

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. ‘I keep crying randomly.’ You don’t cry. Tears well, you blink, they’re gone. And you think the feelings go with them.

‘It’s not random,’ said Paul. ‘We’re talking about your boyfriend, your friends, your colleagues—’

‘It’s all so weird,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not a widow; Ben and I weren’t “long-term loves”. Just a year. But I did love him.’

You don’t know what love is. You’re not a victim. You don’t know how to love. And he doesn’t want to hear about love.

‘Have you thought about grief counseling?’ said Paul.

‘I’d rather shoot myself in the ass.’

‘Vivid,’ said Paul.

Ren smiled, took a drink. ‘But enough about me – how are you doing? How’s Marianne?’

‘Well,’ he said, drawing out the word, ‘the easy answer would be “great” …’

Oh, no, no, no, no. Do not appear available to me.

‘Shall I go on?’ he said.

‘Please do.’ Not.

‘It’s a dramatic move, getting back with your ex-wife,’ said Paul. ‘It’s exciting at the start, everyone is happy – the kids, our families, our friends – well, most of them – but then, the door is closed at night, everyone’s going about their business, and we’re just there, the two of us, and …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s like what people say about funerals: once it’s over, everyone disappears and you’re left on your own and … Jesus Christ, Ren – I can’t believe I just started talking about funerals. That was the most—’

Ren shook her head. ‘Stop. I get it. I know what you’re saying. Don’t tiptoe around me or I will shoot myself in the ass. Just, be normal. Please don’t look at me like I’m a victim. I can’t deal with that. Relax in the knowledge that I know you’re not an insensitive prick.’

‘OK,’ said Paul. ‘OK. I’m sorry. Thanks.’

‘No need to be,’ said Ren. Tears welled in her eyes again. ‘Ugh. This is getting ridiculous.’

‘Stop …’

‘I just … lost so many people I loved,’ said Ren.

Paul reached out and squeezed her hand. She looked up at him through tears.

At least I have you.

‘Well, I’m still here,’ said Paul. He blushed. ‘Not saying that you love me, or loved me, but, I just mean … what’s wrong with me tonight?’

Ren laughed, and wiped her eyes.

Of course I loved you. In my own special and fearful way. But I have no idea what it is I’m feeling right now.

Safe?

‘You … unsettle me, Ren Bryce.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Maybe I like being unsettled.’

Ren laughed. I beg to differ.

‘Why are you laughing?’ said Paul.

‘It was just your delivery …’

She checked her watch. It was 11 p.m. ‘OK, I’m wide awake. I’m going to take a drive.’

‘What?’ said Paul. ‘Now?’

Ren nodded. ‘Every second counts.’

And every second out there is one less second I spend alone in my bed with nothing but my own mind to fuck me.

‘Do you want company?’ said Paul.

Mos def not. ‘No, thank you.’

Ren drove out of the parking lot and read the sign: left was Tate, right was Lake Verny.

The Crow Bar will still be open. I can ask about John Veir, I can check out Seth Fuller.

I can throw myself into the beautiful, icy, moonlit water.