‘Me neither.’
Guy clears his throat. ‘Just think, it was the last sight that those executed saw on this earth.’
‘Talk about morbid.’
‘No it’s not, Cass,’ says Guy. ‘It’s where Anne Boleyn was imprisoned and executed, where the Crown Jewels were stolen. Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, was executed there, betrayed brutally by Charles I. It’s fascinating history. Imagine how haunted it must be, all those lost sad spirits wandering the grounds.’
‘Great,’ I say, easily convinced.
‘Access won’t be great,’ Dom warns.
Guy looks at his watch. ‘Let’s go anyway, give the staff a challenge. And remember,’ he smiles, turning to both Dom and me, ‘we are the Three Musketeers.’
39
I’m at work the following morning when I get the call. The moment I hear Dom’s voice I know something is terribly wrong.
‘It’s Guy,’ he says. ‘His mum … she called.’
‘Dom, what is it?’
I’m scared by his silence.
‘What did she say, Dom?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘What?’ I place a hand over my mouth.
Dom is crying now.
‘He can’t be!’ I exclaim, fighting back the tears. ‘We only saw him yesterday. He was fine.’
‘He … he … It was a train.’ Dom chokes out the words. ‘He threw … Oh, Cass, he threw himself—’
‘Stop!’ I say. The office turns silent.
‘Do you want a lift home?’ I’d asked Guy yesterday.
‘No, thanks. I’ll jump in a cab.’
‘He was on really good form,’ Dom had said as we watched him wave goodbye from the window of the black taxi. ‘I think he’s turned a corner, don’t you?’
I push my chair away from the desk, the phone cord stretched to its limit.
I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening.
‘Why didn’t he say anything?’ says Dom, his voice breaking. ‘I could have … we could have helped him.’
‘Promise me you’ll go back to medicine,’ Guy had said to me again, later in the afternoon.
‘I love you, Cass, you know that, don’t you?’
I burst into tears. ‘No,’ I say, trembling, ‘not this time. He was saying goodbye to us.’
Ticket and I leave work early and go home. I call Mum. ‘What a surprise, darling.’
‘Mum …’
‘What’s wrong? Oh God, what’s happened?’
When I tell her, three hours later she is with me in Charlie’s flat.
*
Charlie arrives home that evening with Libby. I hear them talking in the hallway. ‘Why don’t we see a film tonight?’ she suggests.
‘I’m pretty whacked,’ he says.
Charlie walks into the kitchen and looks surprised when he sees my mother there, popping a shepherd’s pie in the oven. He glances from her to me, cautiously kisses Mum on the cheek. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Charlie,’ she says solemnly.
I’m staring at the kitchen table. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks. ‘Cass? What’s happened?’
‘It’s Guy,’ my mother says quietly.
‘Guy?’
‘He killed himself. Cass found out this afternoon.’
‘Oh my God,’ he says.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Libby adds, standing at the door.
Charlie takes her outside into the hallway. ‘But she has her mum,’ she whispers. ‘Let’s go. They need their space.’
Minutes later I hear the front door shut but then he’s back. He pulls up a chair and sits next to me. ‘I’d like to stay, if that’s all right? But I can go if you’d prefer.’
‘No,’ I say, looking up at him. My eyes are puffy and red from crying. ‘I’d like you to stay.’
He moves his chair closer to mine. ‘Come here,’ he says, reaching out an arm.
I rest my head against his shoulder. He strokes my hair.
Mum lays one more knife and fork at the table.
40
Mum, Dad, Jamie, Charlie and I make our way to the front of the church, the sound of the organ filling in the solemn silence. Charlie lifts me out of my chair and helps me to sit between my parents, before taking the wheelchair to the side of the pew. When he comes back he sits next to Jamie. Edward is also here today. ‘I want to come, for you, Cass,’ he’d said touchingly. Frankie was sad to be away. She’s working in India.
I clutch the service sheet, still unable to comprehend that it’s for my friend. There is a picture of Guy on the front with his name inscribed underneath: Guy Daniel Pearson. I stare at the image in front of me; it’s a face I hardly recognise. His cheeks are fuller and he smiles confidently. However, it’s the eyes I am drawn to; they are full of life and hope. His parents are two rows in front of us. His mother, Angie, is wearing a cream jacket with a pale green silk scarf. I want to hug her and tell her how sorry I am. Shortly after Guy had killed himself, his mum told Dom and me that Guy had written to them. When they’d returned from their Sunday lunch, expecting to find Guy at home, instead they found a letter addressed to them on the kitchen table. He’d left instructions that he wanted no one to wear black at his funeral. He’d also thanked them from the bottom of his heart and asked for their forgiveness. Dom and I realise now why he’d been on such good form. For the first time since the accident he felt in control.
The church is becoming crowded and chairs are now being placed at the end of pews and in the side aisles. I turn to see if I recognise any of the faces but then realise that I’d never met any of Guy’s other friends. There’s a group of young men standing at the back. I wonder if any of them are the ones from the City who didn’t know what to say when he had spilt his espresso in the café.
I see Dom and Miranda arriving and Charlie beckons them over as I’d asked him to save them both a seat. Mum clutches my hand; her skin feels cold.
‘Dom,’ I say when finally he reaches us, my heart lifting, ‘Paul’s here.’ I gesture to the back of the church. To my surprise, Georgina, our ward nurse, is there with him.
*
I try desperately to hold it together when the coffin is carried in, knowing that it’s Guy lying inside. How can I have spent the day with him only five days ago and yet now be here, saying goodbye, for ever? I stare at the coffin again. Its hard surface is covered with a wreath of white lilies.
The congregation stands to sing the first hymn, ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways’. Dom and I, alone, remain seated.
After the first reading we’ll hear Philip’s address. Guy used to talk a lot about his close friend because so much of his childhood and memories included him. He even kept an old passport photograph of the two of them in his wallet, taken when they were teenagers fooling around. They had been inseparable until Philip had married. He is sitting with his wife Lisa and their two young boys. I remember Guy telling me how much he liked Lisa even if she had dragged his best friend off to the country to start a family.
Philip walks to the front. He’s solid in build, tall with dark hair, ruggedly handsome like Guy. Guy used to say they were often taken for brothers. He holds his notes and as we wait for him to begin he looks around the church, as if giving himself time to prepare.
‘I will never forget what my father said to me just before he died,’ he starts. ‘That it’s not about the length of time you live in this world; it’s the quality of the time that counts. We are here today to celebrate Guy’s life and there is so much to be thankful for. I have been lucky enough to know Guy since the age of five. The first thing he said to me was that he was going to be a pilot and fly across the whole world. He also told me he was going to marry a belly dancer.’ He smiles, as if he can see Guy in front of him now. ‘We went to school and college together; we even decided to go into the same career. Guy loved working in the City and climbed the ladder rapidly because he was ambitious. He had this great energy for life. He only had to walk
into a room and the mood instantly changed. Guy was never boring. He commanded a room, filling it with warmth, fun and humour.’
Philip turns his notes over before he continues, more strongly, ‘Guy excelled in everything but was never arrogant or boastful. He rarely sang his own praises. He loved sport: cricket, tennis, football, rugby, skiing. He was good at them all and completely fearless. I had to pretend I wasn’t scared of the black runs or the bungee jumping. I envied his daring spirit. He’d think nothing of approaching the prettiest girl in the room to ask her on a date. He used to tell me I was far too cautious. “Life’s too short,” was his motto.’ He stops, drawing breath. ‘Well, Guy’s life was far too short. This injury was one of the cruellest things that could have happened to him.’
I press one hand into another, anxious about what he is going to say next. Will he bless the fact that Guy no longer has to endure a life in a wheelchair?
‘He told me that the only good thing to come out of his accident was that he’d met two of his closest friends, Cass and Dom.’ I look up and catch Philip’s eye. ‘He talked about you a lot,’ he says, looking straight at me, and then to Dom. ‘He loved you both. You managed to restore so much of the old Guy, but in the end a light went out in his eyes. He could no longer fight.’
Philip discards his notes. ‘Guy was one of the most important people in my life; he was the brother I’d never had; the friend who carried me when I was tired. I wish I could have helped him more. He would be amazed to see so many friends here today. You see, he had no idea of his worth.’ Philip looks at Guy’s parents. ‘He loved you so much for still believing in him as your son. He was grateful for your support. He thought he’d let you down.’ Guy’s mother shakes her head.
‘He called himself a cripple,’ he says passionately. ‘“I’m nothing more than a useless, washed-up cripple.” But … but … we …’ – Philip’s voice breaks – ‘we are not saying goodbye to a cripple today. I am saying goodbye to my closest, most loyal friend. I’ll miss him. I’m sorry,’ he says. He clears his throat and from some place deep within he regains strength to say, finally, ‘I am going to run the marathon next year to raise money for Spinal Cord Injury, in memory of him.’
Philip returns to his seat. ‘What’s wrong, Papa?’ asks one of his children.
Mum clutches my hand again. I look across to Charlie, tears in his eyes.
41
Alone in my bedroom, I listen to the ringing tone. My heart is beating fast. I haven’t spoken to Sarah for months. I think of us back at King’s. We were inseparable during our first year. Some of my best memories were Sarah and I gently mulling over tea together in the campus café between lectures or drinking cheap wine post lectures in the campus bar. Maybe she’ll screen the call? Perhaps it’s too late for us to pick up the pieces.
‘Cass,’ she says awkwardly. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine,’ I say without thinking. ‘Actually, I’m not fine. I’m not good.’
‘Oh. Right.’
I glance at the framed photograph of Guy on my bedside table. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.’
‘I’ve tried to call you, many times.’
‘I know.’ I’m on the verge of tears.
‘Cass, what’s wrong?’ she asks, sounding more like the Sarah I used to know.
‘Are you free?’
‘Now?’
‘It’s important.’
*
Sarah meets me in the patisserie café close to Barons Court tube station. She’s wearing a beige cap, jeans and a baggy jumper. Her thick brown hair is much shorter than when I’d seen her last, cut into a bob.
She kisses me on both sides of the cheek before sitting down next to me.
We order some tea. Neither one of us wants anything to eat.
‘I was surprised you called,’ she says, stirring sugar into her tea. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Last week, a friend of mine, he … He committed suicide.’
She stops stirring. ‘I’m so sorry. Who was it?’
‘Guy.’
‘The friend you made in hospital?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘He threw himself in front of a train.’
‘Oh, Cass, I don’t know what to say.’
‘That’s been our trouble, hasn’t it? Not knowing what to say.’
Both of us are quiet.
Sarah inhales deeply. ‘With you and me, I didn’t know how to deal with it, I felt so guilty that here I was, carrying on at King’s and—’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s mine.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘It’s nobody’s fault,’ I suggest.
Sarah nods tearfully.
‘Life’s too short,’ I say, thinking of Guy. ‘I miss you.’
‘Me too.’
Sarah and I remain in the café until closing hours, downloading our lives since we last met. I tell her about Guy and our time in hospital together. I tell her about our final lunch. We cry together, for Guy and for our broken friendship. Sarah smiles when I recall Guy’s plan in the car park, blocking in the woman with the Mercedes. I fill her in about my job at Back Up. I also mention Charlie’s support. ‘I couldn’t have got through this last week without him.’
‘He sounds lovely,’ she says. ‘You seem close.’
I tell her he’s going out with Libby. ‘Which is fine.’
Sarah looks at me with affection. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’
I stop pretending. Sarah knows me too well. We talk about Charlie. It’s a relief to admit to myself once more that my feelings haven’t gone away. If anything, they have deepened since Guy’s death.
Sarah has a boyfriend called Matt. He’s a doctor. ‘He’s a science nerd, just like me. He has ginger hair too,’ she whispers.
I smile. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’
‘You will. Soon.’ She stops, thinks. ‘Actually, Cass, what are you doing tonight?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Matt’s having a house-warming party.’ She must register my hesitancy, as she goes on to say, ‘Don’t worry if it’s too soon after Guy, I’d completely understand.’
‘What floor is it on?’
‘Second, but I’m sure Matt could lift you. He knows about you,’ she says warmly. ‘You wouldn’t have to explain.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Listen, I’ll go home but if you suddenly feel like coming out, call me.’
‘It would be nice to meet him,’ I say, warming up to the idea of a few drinks.
‘After everything that’s happened recently, maybe a night out is exactly what you need.’
*
When I return home I find Charlie in the sitting room, reading the papers. I tell him about Sarah, and how well our afternoon went. ‘I’m going out with her tonight.’
‘That’s great,’ he says.
‘I’m going to a party.’
‘A party?’
‘Don’t look so worried.’
‘I’m not. So whose party is it?’
I explain it’s Sarah’s new boyfriend. ‘It’s good to meet new people,’ I tell myself as much as Charlie. ‘It’ll be fun. How about you?’
‘I’m staying in.’
‘You’re not seeing Libby?’
‘No. Cass …’
‘Right, well, I’d better get ready. Need to call Sarah.’
‘Cass?’
I turn.
‘Don’t go,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Why don’t we rent a film and order some takeaway? Just chat, you know?’
‘I think I need a night out.’
Charlie runs a hand through his hair. ‘But you look knackered. Are you sure you want to go to some party—’
‘Charlie, leave it.’
‘You won’t know anyone and—’
‘I’ll know Sarah.’
‘Guy’s funeral was only a couple of days ago, and—’
‘I don’t need this right now! I’m allowed a night off, OK! I can’t sleep, can’t eat, I’m having nightmares, I can’t think straight—’
‘That’s why—’
‘I need to go out and forget about him, for one fucking night!’
Ticket barks.
‘Keep quiet!’ Charlie shouts at him, finally losing his cool. ‘I am trying to help Cass! You and me, Ticket, we’re on the same side, buddy!’
Ticket hangs his head, slopes off to his basket by the fireplace.
‘Ticket, I’m sorry, sweetheart, everything’s just fine,’ I say, before turning back to Charlie. ‘Can I leave Ticket here? With you?’
‘Fine. Have a good time.’
‘Thanks.’ I’m about to say, ‘I won’t be late,’ but decide against it.
42
The taxi pulls up outside a block of flats. Sarah clambers out first and we wait while the ramp is installed. She takes out her mobile, texts Matt. ‘He’ll be down in a minute,’ she reassures me.
‘Will you know anyone here?’ I ask her, anxiously looking up to the second-floor window, where music is playing.
‘A few. Don’t worry, it’s really casual.’
A tall, attractive man with freckles and ginger hair, wearing jeans and a blue-checked shirt, approaches us, a skip in his stride. ‘You must be Cass,’ he says. ‘Great to meet you! Right.’ He flexes his muscles, reminding me of Charlie. ‘Are you ready for a fireman’s lift?’
*
I see a room full of strange faces. A man steps over my footrest to lean over and give Sarah a kiss. All I can see is his flies.
‘Cass, this is Duncan,’ Sarah says. ‘Matt’s brother.’
He looks down at me briefly, smiles, before asking Sarah if she’s going to his gig next Saturday night.
‘Duncan’s in a band,’ she fills me in.
‘Oh, great,’ I reply, raising my voice to be heard above the music. ‘What kind of stuff do you play?’
‘You’re kind of rock, aren’t you?’ Sarah answers for him.
‘Yep. How about a drink?’ he asks her, before saying he has a couple of spare tickets going if she wants them. They’re playing at the Andover Arms.
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