‘I met him in Clapham Junction like you said but I didn’t say we walked straight back.’ My mind’s sifting through the details, remembering what Rich said at the bus stop and the questions Tallis has already asked me. My eyes alight on Rich’s damp trouser legs. I feel righteous as the story builds. Rich and Tilly should not have to go through this on top of losing Izzy. ‘We went up to the common. Rich said he wanted to think but I thought I’d better keep him company because he was pretty upset.’
Tallis is writing everything down so quickly his pen is scratching through the paper.
‘Which common was this?’ I can tell by the way he says it that Rich has given him an answer. The skin on the back of my neck begins to tingle. Both Clapham and Wandsworth Commons are a walk from that bus stop. I look at Rich but he’s staring at the floor. The stress muscle in his jaw is pumping. He must be furious with me for doing this. But I have to – for him and Tilly. I’m still scarred by the nights I cried for my mum and nobody came. It’s why I attach myself so tightly to people. I can’t bear for Tilly to feel the same. I look at Rich again and think of all the parties and festivals we’ve been to on Clapham Common; the afternoons we all used to spend lolling beneath the trees, tucking into packets of Pringles and sculling cheap wine. There’s no way he’d go there to think. I take a deep breath and look Tallis squarely in the face.
‘Wandsworth,’ I say, and from the look in his eye I know I’ve got it right.
Twenty-Eight
Friday 22 February
1.27 p.m.
I dither over what to wear like I’m going to a job interview. The last funeral I went to was my mum’s. Today I feel like I need to put on a suit of armour. I’d prefer an invisibility cloak. But since I can’t have that, I need something to hold me up. Some days I feel like Izzy’s still here – the way those who lose an arm or leg report feeling the missing limb long after it’s been removed. Then I remember. I find myself waking in the middle of the night, panting, wondering what I could have done differently. But at the back of my mind, the thought that life feels easier without her is blossoming. And that makes me feel worse than the fact she’s gone.
In the end I settle on a fitted black knee-length dress with full sleeves. It gapes a little around the neck and there’s at least an inch spare at the waist. I haven’t eaten today – I’ve been finding food hard to stomach since that night. I remember how cock-a-hoop Izzy was when she got food poisoning on her honeymoon. I picture her in the kitchen, standing under the skylight, pulling her jeans away from her waist to expose her bronzed abs. On me, weight loss just makes clothes look gappy.
The wake is being held back at Izzy’s house. I’m not sure it’s the best idea – Tony and Glenda won’t go and after what happened was splashed all over the local papers, I doubt people will feel comfortable there. But Jenny’s got a crack team of caterers who bring everything from the food to the crockery and cutlery and take it all when they go. No more local teens with wonky eyeliner. She’s determined to make an event of it. I don’t know if I can manage seeing people; imagining what they must think of me. Or if I can face Rich.
He was so furious with me for lying to the police. He never thought they’d charge him. He’s an eternal optimist. He said that me jumping in had painted him into a corner; that they couldn’t have held him on the back of something as circumstantial as a phone call. It worked though – the police released him without charge. In the inquest, the coroner ruled death by accident or misadventure, despite what Glenda said. She was furious.
I’m hoping if I sit at the back and don’t hang around, I won’t have to face Izzy’s parents today. I know they haven’t forgiven me for standing up for Rich that night. Not that they know the half of it. They just want someone to blame.
My hands shake as I try to do up my dress. If I don’t hurry I’m going to be even later than I wanted to be. I yank the zip so hard the metal bites into the skin of my back. The sting feels like a release. I slip my feet into my least battered pair of black heels, shrug on a dark coat and go into the sitting room to get my bag. The flat looks shabby without Ed’s stuff. The wall still bears the stripes of paint from when we were trying to choose a colour and the carpet’s coming up in the corner where the sofa used to be and you can see the skirting boards are patchy. There are gaping holes on the shelves where his books used to be. Like a mouth missing half its teeth. It should make me miss him, I suppose. He’s called a few times in the weeks since it happened, trying to see if I’m okay. But I feel nothing. All I can think about is the last time Izzy came here. How she said she was trying to look out for me. She was right in the end. And I didn’t listen. One more thing in the ballad of our friendship to feel guilty about. I’m developing quite a list.
I’m halfway out of the front door when I see Rob leaning over the hedge, trying to reattach the gate to its hinges.
‘Don’t bother,’ I say sourly. ‘It’s been like that for weeks.’
I turn to check I’ve closed the door properly, blocking him out of view. This is so typical of Rob. He used to explode in fits of rage when we were kids and then disappear until the dust had settled. If he thinks he can waltz in and act like nothing’s happened, he’s got another thing coming. ‘What are you doing here? You haven’t come to fix the gate.’
He digs his hands in his pockets and scuffs the floor with his feet. ‘I’ve come to say sorry.’
‘For which bit? Sorry for the fact that my best friend died and you didn’t even bother to call me back? Or sorry about the fact that my engagement broke down and you didn’t call then either?’ It feels good to get angry. ‘Or could it be that you’re finally sorry that you got so wound up about something so stupid in the first place? I mean, last time I checked the world was still turning. The sky didn’t cave in just because it got out that your girlfriend’s pregnant.’
In fact, Izzy’s attempt to get the news out fell flat. Other than Sydney’s official confirmation of the pregnancy (her stumble luckily didn’t have any ill effects) and a blurry shot of her in the airport, the story totally disappeared. It helps that one of the One Direction boys impregnated someone around the same time. I wonder if Izzy would be disappointed if she knew.
‘When you put it like that I’ve been a right bender, haven’t I?’ Rob puts out his hand to stop me as I brush past. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been away. I only just listened to your messages.’
The skin on his nose is peeling. It looks incongruous when the sky’s stacked with clouds. Rob gives me a hopeful smile.
‘Where did you go on holiday? Mars?’
‘Come again?’
‘You couldn’t check your messages where you were?’
He looks defiant – he’s never been one to back down. ‘I was too upset.’
‘You were upset? Rob, I’ve lost everyone. I needed you.’ I suddenly feel close to tears. I shouldn’t have to explain this.
‘I know, Bec. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m here now.’ He wraps his arms around me in a clumsy hug. I try to push him away but he holds tight.
‘I feel so guilty,’ I mumble into his chest.
‘You’ve got nothing to feel guilty for.’
‘You don’t understand. The last things I said to her were so horrible.’ I don’t know how many hours I’ve wasted, going round in circles, wishing I’d never fought with Izzy, that I’d never gone round to see her at all. But then if I hadn’t I couldn’t have saved Rich. I’d still be with Ed. I suppose I should be grateful to Izzy that I’m no longer trapped in a lie. The debt just makes me feel worse.
‘There’s no point torturing yourself. She was horrible to you too. It’s the way you two were.’ He puts his hands up to my face and thumbs away the tears. ‘You don’t want to smudge your mascara before the funeral, now do you? Hop in the car and let me give you a lift.’
I inhale. ‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘It is, as it goes. Car’s right there.’
My breath comes out in a blast o
f relief. I won’t have to walk in alone. ‘Oh, Rob, I didn’t think you’d come.’
‘Hang about, I’m not coming in.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Bec. I’ve come to give you a lift – didn’t want you having to make your way there on your tod, especially when it starts pissing it down. But I can’t come in. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Why not?’
Rob starts hacking at the hedge with the heel of his hand. ‘Because funerals are for mourners. I don’t qualify. I’m not sad that the biggest nightmare in our lives took a nosedive down the stairs.’
‘I can’t believe you.’ I’m shocked at how callous he is. ‘Whatever Izzy did, nobody deserves that.’
‘Let’s not fall out about it.’ He jiggles the keys to his Alfa Romeo. ‘Let me run you there. It’ll be much quicker.’
It’s starting to spit now and talking to Rob has cut into my time. I don’t have much choice if I don’t want to be late. But what he said and the way he’s acting – edgy, jumpy – bothers me.
‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’ he says as he starts the car and the engine roars to life.
‘Go on.’ I’m not really listening. I’m trying to process what he said. He was oddly specific about Izzy’s fall.
‘Sydney and I are moving back to the States.’
‘What?’ Rob’s announcement brings me back to reality.
‘I know,’ he laughs. ‘She wants to be closer to her family. I think all this stuff with the paparazzi freaked her out a bit. They’re not as bad in the States. And there are more opportunities for us as a couple over there.’ Rob starts to detail all the ways in which the States is better, but my mind slips out of focus. I know I didn’t mention the stairs when I called Rob. I told him that she died, but I didn’t say how. It made it too real. Then there’s Sydney’s call that night. I don’t know how long Rob was missing for but at least part of his evening was unaccounted for. I don’t want to think it but—
‘Rob, where were you the night Izzy died?’
‘What?’
‘Sydney was trying to get hold of you. You were missing. And she’d fallen.’ Each detail feels like it could be a tiny fracture in our relationship. I wonder if Rob will read the implication behind them.
‘Becster.’ He side-eyes me. ‘Are you asking me if I pushed your best friend to her death?’
It sounds ridiculous when he puts it like that. He’s trying to embarrass me into dropping it. But I can’t. The idea that he might have done something is starting to take root. He’s always had a temper.
‘Should I be asking you?’ I counter.
There’s a long pause, broken only by the sound of horns honking as Rob zips through an amber light on the verge of flicking red.
‘Jeez, Bec,’ he says eventually. ‘You think you know someone.’
‘Just answer.’
‘No, of course I fucking didn’t. I couldn’t stand the witch but I wasn’t going to do time over her.’
‘Then where were you?’
‘If you must know I went for a run and then I was so hacked off, I went to Nandos.’
‘Nandos?’ It’s so ridiculous I hiccup out a giggle.
‘All right, all right.’ Rob’s jaw clicks. ‘Sometimes when I get really stressed, I go for a cheeky Nandos. Doesn’t really fit with the business I’m in but there you go. And before you ask, when I realized I had about three hundred missed calls from my pregnant girlfriend, I hotfooted it back to where she was. I didn’t even get a custard tart.’
‘So how did you know she fell?’
‘I read it online. I googled her after I got your message. Any more questions, Miss Marple – or does the prosecution rest?’
I just nod sheepishly. Rob wouldn’t lie to me. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was an accident. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘But I had to ask.’
I’m worried he’ll be angry but – with the exception of Izzy – Rob’s got an amazing capacity for forgiveness. And he knows he still owes me for ignoring my messages. ‘Forget it.’ He bats my apology away. ‘You’re a woman – you’re all crazy. It’s genetic.’ He grins. ‘What do you make of the news, then? Me in the big US of A.’
‘Pretty big.’ First Izzy leaves, then Rob. I try to sound interested instead of abandoned. ‘When are you going?’
‘As soon as. Syd’s got a few things here she can’t get out of so we’ll be back and forth for a couple of months. Then we’ll pack up for good.’
‘Why such a rush?’
‘No real reason.’ He keeps his attention on the road.
‘What about your clients?’
‘They’ll live. Right, there we are. Church is just on the left after the lights, isn’t it? I’ll park by the gastro pub.’
He peels away from the lights too quickly, tears down the side street and swings into a resident’s parking space outside the pub. I want to ask more about why he’s leaving but he keeps the engine running. I can tell he wants to go. I don’t move from my seat. I haven’t been to this church since Izzy and Rich’s wedding – I remember the crowd clustered outside the church and people peering out of the pub as the wedding cars rocked up. Today the street is post-apocalypse empty. Everyone must already be inside.
‘I’ll be about if you need picking up afterwards.’ Rob leans over me and opens the door. ‘Give us a bell.’
Izzy and I used to give him such a hard time about his mockney accent when we were younger. It wouldn’t be right to tease him without her. ‘Thanks, Rob.’
‘Anytime.’ He shoots off so fast his tyres leave marks on the road.
Twenty-Nine
1.58 p.m.
The rain is coming down in sheets before I’ve crossed the road. I stand there and let it seep into my coat even though I know it’ll make the wool smell. I can’t go in until I’m sure there’s nobody else coming. I don’t want to talk to anybody and I don’t want anybody to see me. I wait until the clock on the bell tower starts chiming and then I slide into the vestibule. Through its glass doors, I can see the mourners have divided into two clear sides, just like at a wedding. Izzy’s side is so crammed, people are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. I spot Ed in a pew towards the centre, wedged between Ben’s pudgy shoulders and one of the church’s columns. Another person to avoid. My eyes find the front of the church. Tilly, dressed in Sunday best, is bouncing up and down in the front row, like she’s at a party. It reminds me of a Christingle (which she insists on calling Kris Kringle) a couple of years ago when she had to be taken out because she wouldn’t sit still. Today, she’s flanked by Glenda and Tony, with a host of lesser relatives stuffed in on the end. Both of her grandparents are ignoring her and I long to swoop in and snatch her away. No four-year-old should have to endure this.
By contrast, Rich’s side of the church gapes. Jenny and David have Henry and Charlie next to them in the front row, then the pews are almost empty until you get to the back five, which are full of non-descript people I don’t recognize. It’s possible they are the overspill from Izzy’s side. They don’t seem connected to Rich. He’s at the front, scuffing his feet into each other and standing to the right of the large glossy photograph of Izzy laughing into the camera that’s mounted on an easel. It’s there in lieu of a coffin. Izzy was cremated earlier today. I wasn’t invited. Close family only.
The vitality in the photograph makes it hard to look at so I turn my eyes to Rich instead. Even from behind, he looks thinner. His wide shoulders look like coat hangers and there’s a stoop to them that wasn’t there before. He looks so alone. I don’t know why neither Jenny nor David is standing with him. I want so much to go in and walk up to him but I know it would be wildly inappropriate. Glenda and Tony are suspicious enough of me already and I haven’t seen Jenny since it happened. I think back to Rich’s face, contorted with rage the last time I saw him, and I stay put. I wait until the organ starts and people stand up. Then I open the doors just enough to slip through
and find a seat in the corner of the last pew on Rich’s side.
I hold in my tears during the service. I don’t have the right to the kind of loud sobs Glenda is emitting from the front row. She only quietens down when Tony heaves himself up to the podium and makes a speech about Izzy’s accomplishments, half of its content lifted from his father-of-the-bride speech. He can’t finish it. Rich puts out a hand to help him down from the podium but Tony ignores it and hefts himself back into the pew. Then Rich starts to speak. Even from the back row, I can see Glenda twitching in her seat, like she wants to leave. Rich can’t meet anyone’s eye. His voice dips in and out as it bounces off the crenelated stone columns. When he sits down, nobody puts a comforting arm around him the way they did for Tony. Jenny shifts in her seat to make room, but that’s it. I feel desperately sorry for him. He looks so lost.
At the end of the service, Tilly stands up in a black dress at least two sizes too big to put a pink rose by Izzy’s photograph. My tears fall so hard and fast they trip off my nose. I bury my head in my order of service. There can’t be much call for funeral attire for a four year old. There shouldn’t be. I swipe viciously at my tears and refuse to look up until everyone has filed outside. Only when the church is totally empty do I get up.
I hover by the doorway, trying to make myself inconspicuous while I find the best escape route. Glenda and Tony have laid on champagne and canapés inside the church hall so that’s the direction most people are going in. Jenny’s standing by the churchyard gate, trying to drum up people to go back to the house in Clapham. Most are making their excuses and swerving around her. Although it’s stopped raining, the weather is still aiding a quick getaway. Rich is nowhere to be seen.
I duck along the side of the church, not sure if I’m trying to find him or avoid him, and nearly collide headfirst with Tilly.
‘Whatcha doing back here, Tills?’ I can’t believe nobody’s watching her.
‘Puddle jumping,’ she says in a duh voice, like it’s the only thing in the world she could be doing. I love her for it.
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