finished. Richmond had its old low-sky, noisy self back once again.
Friday evening, when she got home, before she did anything else, Harriet rang Michael. All week they’d been trying to connect. Six o’clock in London: one o’clock—lunchtime—in Toronto. Surely he’d be able to talk.
“Harriet?” He cleared his throat.
“Hello! My long-lost husband!”
“Won’t be long now,” he said. “Home Sunday.”
“I know.”
Michael cleared his throat again. She could hear rustling as he moved.
“Are you in bed?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “having a nap. I think this week of enforced leisure has been good for me. Lots of naps. Noteven power naps. Just reading a book and falling asleep.”
Harriet tried to picture Michael, napping, reading. “Sounds great.”
“How about you? How’s Jack?”
“Jack’s fine. He’s had to fend for himself all week. But he’s fine.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s—he’s—” Jack wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure where he was. “He’s out with his friends.”
“Oh, okay.”
All the things Harriet wanted to say to her husband crashed into each other. She was missing him. She’d been too busy to dwell on that fact, but now that work was easing up, she felt his prolonged absence acutely. Mallory had put her in touch with one of the producers working on the election coverage; it looked like she was going to get the opportunity she was after.
“I saw Mallory—” she began.
“Well, I guess I’d better get up,” Michael was saying at the same time. “I promised Marina I’d cook dinner tonight. I need to go get a few things.”
“Oh,” said Harriet. “Okay. What’s the weather like there?”
“Warm. Nice. Spring is arriving.”
“I’ll let you go, then.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “Bye.”
20
Jack met Frank outside the Co-op. The plan was for everyone to meet up on the high street and walk over to David McDonald’s house, getting high along the way. Jack had given Ruby more cash earlier that day, to buy more weed for the party. Getting ready earlier, Jack had dressed carefully. He didn’t have a lot of good clothes. He’d buy something he liked, and it would be too small for him about half an hour later. But tonight, he looked okay. Frank, on the other hand, grew at a more normal pace, and his mum liked to take him shopping. He was developing a sharp look, a kind of 1950s thing almost—narrow trousers, fitted coats, hats.
It took the others a lot of messaging and a fair amount of time to show up. First Dore, then Abdul, and finally Louise with a carrier bag full of beer—the boys handed over their cash to help pay her back for it. Now they were waiting for their entry pass, Ruby. They couldn’t go to the party without Ruby. Everyone was nervous, a bit shifty: David McDonald and his friends were sixth-formers, seventeen or eighteen. Jack worried: would he and his own friends get in? Once they got in, what would they do? He’d never been to a sixth-formers’ party; it felt impossibly grown-up and serious.
Still, they waited for Ruby. And waited.
“Ring her, man,” said Frank.
“You ring her,” said Dore.
“I don’t have her number,” said Frank, though everyone knew he did.
“I’ll call her,” said Jack, and he took his phone out of his pocket.
A car pulled up beside them. Ruby rolled down the window of the passenger seat. “Hi, everybody!” she said.
There was an older guy in the driver’s seat. Ruby’s brother, Jack thought, the drug dealer.
Ruby beckoned to Jack, who walked over to the car. She handed him a small, clear plastic bag.
“Oi,” said the older guy. “There’s a little something extra for you in there. A special treat.”
“Oh,” said Jack, his voice cracking as though he was stifling a shriek, “thanks.”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Ruby.
“But—” Jack started.
“Come on, Louise,” Ruby shouted, “get in the back. We’ll see you guys there!”
Louise climbed
Friday evening, when she got home, before she did anything else, Harriet rang Michael. All week they’d been trying to connect. Six o’clock in London: one o’clock—lunchtime—in Toronto. Surely he’d be able to talk.
“Harriet?” He cleared his throat.
“Hello! My long-lost husband!”
“Won’t be long now,” he said. “Home Sunday.”
“I know.”
Michael cleared his throat again. She could hear rustling as he moved.
“Are you in bed?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “having a nap. I think this week of enforced leisure has been good for me. Lots of naps. Noteven power naps. Just reading a book and falling asleep.”
Harriet tried to picture Michael, napping, reading. “Sounds great.”
“How about you? How’s Jack?”
“Jack’s fine. He’s had to fend for himself all week. But he’s fine.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s—he’s—” Jack wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure where he was. “He’s out with his friends.”
“Oh, okay.”
All the things Harriet wanted to say to her husband crashed into each other. She was missing him. She’d been too busy to dwell on that fact, but now that work was easing up, she felt his prolonged absence acutely. Mallory had put her in touch with one of the producers working on the election coverage; it looked like she was going to get the opportunity she was after.
“I saw Mallory—” she began.
“Well, I guess I’d better get up,” Michael was saying at the same time. “I promised Marina I’d cook dinner tonight. I need to go get a few things.”
“Oh,” said Harriet. “Okay. What’s the weather like there?”
“Warm. Nice. Spring is arriving.”
“I’ll let you go, then.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “Bye.”
20
Jack met Frank outside the Co-op. The plan was for everyone to meet up on the high street and walk over to David McDonald’s house, getting high along the way. Jack had given Ruby more cash earlier that day, to buy more weed for the party. Getting ready earlier, Jack had dressed carefully. He didn’t have a lot of good clothes. He’d buy something he liked, and it would be too small for him about half an hour later. But tonight, he looked okay. Frank, on the other hand, grew at a more normal pace, and his mum liked to take him shopping. He was developing a sharp look, a kind of 1950s thing almost—narrow trousers, fitted coats, hats.
It took the others a lot of messaging and a fair amount of time to show up. First Dore, then Abdul, and finally Louise with a carrier bag full of beer—the boys handed over their cash to help pay her back for it. Now they were waiting for their entry pass, Ruby. They couldn’t go to the party without Ruby. Everyone was nervous, a bit shifty: David McDonald and his friends were sixth-formers, seventeen or eighteen. Jack worried: would he and his own friends get in? Once they got in, what would they do? He’d never been to a sixth-formers’ party; it felt impossibly grown-up and serious.
Still, they waited for Ruby. And waited.
“Ring her, man,” said Frank.
“You ring her,” said Dore.
“I don’t have her number,” said Frank, though everyone knew he did.
“I’ll call her,” said Jack, and he took his phone out of his pocket.
A car pulled up beside them. Ruby rolled down the window of the passenger seat. “Hi, everybody!” she said.
There was an older guy in the driver’s seat. Ruby’s brother, Jack thought, the drug dealer.
Ruby beckoned to Jack, who walked over to the car. She handed him a small, clear plastic bag.
“Oi,” said the older guy. “There’s a little something extra for you in there. A special treat.”
“Oh,” said Jack, his voice cracking as though he was stifling a shriek, “thanks.”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Ruby.
“But—” Jack started.
“Come on, Louise,” Ruby shouted, “get in the back. We’ll see you guys there!”
Louise climbed
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