‘Something for me?’
‘Not you exactly. It’s, well, it’s a Knicks baseball cap. I bought it … a while back. That thing you told me about your sister. She never made it to 30 Rock but I thought, well, maybe Jake might like it.’
He stared at me.
It was my turn to look down at my feet. ‘It’s probably a stupid idea, though,’ I said. ‘I can give it to someone else. It’s not like I can’t find a home for a Knicks cap in New York. And it might be a bit weird, me giving you stuff.’
‘No. No. He’d love it. That’s very kind of you.’ Someone beeped a horn outside and Sam glanced towards the window. I wondered idly if Katie was waiting in the car for him.
I didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be a right answer to any of it. I tried to fight the lump that had risen to my throat. I thought back to the Strager ball – I’d assumed that Sam would hate it, that he wouldn’t have a suit. Why did I think that? The one he was wearing today looked like it had been made for him. ‘I’ll – I’ll send it. Do you know what?’ I said, when I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘I think I’d better help Mum with those – with the – there are sausages that …’
Sam took a step backwards. ‘Sure. I just wanted to pay my respects. I’ll leave you to it.’
He turned away and my face crumpled. I was glad I was at a wake where nobody would think this particular expression worthy of attention. And then, before I could straighten my face, he turned back to me.
‘Lou,’ he said quietly.
I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head. And then I watched him as he made his way through the mourners and out through the pub door.
That evening Mum handed me a small parcel.
‘Is this from Granddad?’ I said.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Granddad never gave anyone a present for the last ten years of his life. This is from your man, Sam. Seeing him today reminded me. You left it here the last time you came. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with it.’
I held the little box and had a sudden memory of our argument at the kitchen table. Happy Christmas, he’d said, and dropped it there as he left.
Mum turned away and began washing up. I opened it carefully, peeling off the layers of wrapping paper with exaggerated care, like someone opening an artefact from a previous age.
Inside the little box lay an enamel pin in the shape of an ambulance, perhaps from the 1950s. Its red cross was made of tiny jewels that might have been rubies, or might have been paste. Either way, it glittered in my hand. A tiny note was folded in the roof of the box. To remind you of me while we’re apart. All my love, Your Ambulance Sam. Xxx
I held it in the palm of my hand and Mum came to look over my shoulder. It’s rare that my mother chooses not to speak. But this time she squeezed my shoulder, dropped a kiss on the top of my head and went back to the washing-up.
27
Dear Louisa Clark,
My name is Vincent Weber – grandson of Margot Weber, as I know her. But you seem to know her by her maiden name of De Witt.
Your message came as a surprise because my dad doesn’t really talk about his mom – to be honest, for years I was led to believe that she wasn’t even alive, although I realize now that nobody ever put it in those exact terms.
After I got your message I asked my mom and she said there had been some big falling-out way before I was born, but I’ve been thinking and have decided that’s really nothing to do with me, and I would love to know some more about her (you seemed to hint that she’d been unwell?). Can’t believe I have another grandma!
Please email back. And thank you for your efforts.
Vincent Weber (Vinny)
He came at the agreed time on a Wednesday afternoon, the first really warm day of May when the streets were full of abruptly exposed flesh and newly purchased sunglasses. I didn’t tell Margot because (a) I knew she’d be furious and (b) I had a strong feeling she would simply go out for a walk until he had left. I opened the front door and there he stood – a tall blond man with his ear pierced in seven places, wearing a pair of 1940s-style baggy trousers with a bright scarlet shirt, highly polished brown brogues and a Fair Isle sweater draped around his shoulders.
‘Are you Louisa?’ he said, as I stooped to pick up the flailing dog.
‘Oh, my,’ I said, looking him slowly up and down. ‘You two are going to get on like a house on fire.’
I walked him down the corridor and we whispered a conversation. It took a full two minutes of Dean Martin barking and snarling before she called, ‘Who was at the door, dear? If it’s that awful Gopnik woman you can tell her her piano playing is showy, sentimental tripe. And that’s from someone who once saw Liberace.’ She started to cough.
Walking backwards, I beckoned him towards the living room. I pushed open the door. ‘Margot, you have a visitor.’
She turned, frowning slightly, her hands resting on the arm of her chair and surveyed him for a full ten seconds. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said decisively.
‘This is Vincent, Margot.’ I took a breath. ‘Your grandson.’
She stared at him.
‘Hey, Mrs De Witt … Grandma.’ He walked forward and smiled, then stooped and crouched in front of her, and she studied his face.
Her expression was so fierce that I thought she was going to shout at him, but then she gave what sounded like a little hiccup. Her mouth dropped open a half-inch and her bony old hands closed on his sleeves. ‘You came,’ she said, her voice a low croon, cracking as it emerged from somewhere deep in her chest. ‘You came.’ She stared at him, her eyes flickering over his features as if she were already seeing similarities, histories, prompting memories long forgotten. ‘Oh, but you’re so, so like your father.’ She reached out a hand and touched the side of his face.
‘I like to think I have slightly better taste,’ Vincent said, smiling, and Margot gave a yelp of laughter.
‘Let me look at you. Oh, my goodness. Oh, you’re so handsome. But how did you find me? Does your father know about …?’ She shook her head, as if it were a jumble of questions, and her knuckles were white on his sleeves. Then she turned to me, as if she had forgotten I was even there. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re staring at, Louisa. A normal person would have offered this poor man a drink by now. Goodness. Some days I have no idea what on earth you’re doing here.’
Vincent looked startled, but as I turned and walked to the kitchen I was beaming.
28
This was it, Josh said, clapping his hands together. He was sure he was going to get the promotion. Connor Ailes hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Charmaine Trent, who had recently been brought across from Legal, hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Scott Mackey, the accounts manager, had been invited to a dinner before he became accounts manager, and he’d said he was pretty sure Josh was a shoo-in.
‘I mean I don’t want to get too confident, but it’s all about the social thing, Louisa,’ he said, examining his reflection. ‘They only ever promote people if they think they can mix with them socially. It’s not what you know, right? I was wondering if I should take up golf. They all play golf. But I haven’t played since I was, like, thirteen. What do you think of this tie?’
‘Great.’ It was a tie. I didn’t really know what to say. They all seemed to be blue anyway. He knotted it with swift, sure strokes.