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Authors: Margot Livesey
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for it.”
They were walking back to the house when Abigail asked if he had seen Dara, and he said not since that day he’d run into her and her father on their way to Sissinghurst. “Maybe we could invite her for supper tomorrow,” he offered.
“I might have to work at the theater,” Abigail said, her careless tone signaling that this was a plan set in stone.
She said the same thing when he proposed the next night, and he took some small comfort in the fact that she was too busy even to see her best friend. In the days that followed he studiously avoided any reference to Valentine and rearranged his schedule to work longer hours at the theater. Abigail was her usual whirlwind self but at least he always knew where she was. Then, the night before she was leaving for Coventry, she was late coming home. She had left the theater early to meet with a designer and told him she’d be back by six. After trying her mobile twice, he carried his bicycle into the kitchen and set
about adjusting the gears. The designer lived miles away; perhaps the tube had broken down again. But why didn’t she phone, or answer her phone? Every answer that came to mind was distressing. He was reaching for a spanner when at last the front door opened.
Abigail appeared with two bags of groceries. “Sorry I’m late. I ran into Dara. We went for a drink.”
From below, he heard the sound of Dara’s front door. “I wondered where you were,” he said, tightening the spanner. He did not add that he also wondered why she hadn’t phoned and why she had gone shop-ping, given her departure the next day. It was not like Abigail to stock the larder on his account.
“I haven’t seen her in ages,” she said.“We stopped at the Lord Nelson.” As she put away the groceries, she told him that Edward was finally moving in with Dara, in the new year.“His daughter is settling down at kindergarten and he’s got enough pupils to cover his expenses.”
For the first time in several hours Sean forgot his own fears. “Oh great. I’m so glad.”
At once he felt Abigail’s mood shift. With a bag of coffee in one hand, a wedge of Brie in the other, she stood frowning at him.“But what if he doesn’t do it?” she said. “He’s been vacillating for so long. Dara will be crushed if this doesn’t work out.”
He didn’t understand her anger—was it at Edward? At Dara? At him?—but all the feelings he was holding back kindled. “You’re such an absolutist, Abigail,” he said, glaring back at her defiantly. “You think a person decides to buy a red car and then hands over a check, but most people have to drive a black car and a blue one and talk to their friends, before they actually buy the red one. Vacillating is part of deciding. That’s why the Belladonna Society insists on a waiting period. They don’t want anyone killing themselves out of a single impulse of despair.”
For a few seconds he continued to meet her gaze. Then, afraid of
what he might say next—was she test driving Valentine?—he bent to lift the bike right side up. As he straightened, she came over and rested her hand on the handlebars. “Would you like to come to Coventry?” she asked, smiling at him appealingly. “You could visit the cathedral, work at the library.”
Despite himself he smiled back. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid my chapters aren’t very portable.”
“Oh, your stupid book,” said Abigail, pouting. She leaned over and kissed him.
hen she was gone again, this time for two weeks. In her
absence Sean did his best to write his chapters. She invited me to go with her, he reminded himself, but that only quieted the beasts for so long. As for Dara, he forgot about her until one afternoon, while he was proofreading the transcript of an interview, a loud thud came from downstairs. What was the noise? Did she need help? In the ensuing silence he was struck by how quiet she had been recently, and that he couldn’t remember the last
They were walking back to the house when Abigail asked if he had seen Dara, and he said not since that day he’d run into her and her father on their way to Sissinghurst. “Maybe we could invite her for supper tomorrow,” he offered.
“I might have to work at the theater,” Abigail said, her careless tone signaling that this was a plan set in stone.
She said the same thing when he proposed the next night, and he took some small comfort in the fact that she was too busy even to see her best friend. In the days that followed he studiously avoided any reference to Valentine and rearranged his schedule to work longer hours at the theater. Abigail was her usual whirlwind self but at least he always knew where she was. Then, the night before she was leaving for Coventry, she was late coming home. She had left the theater early to meet with a designer and told him she’d be back by six. After trying her mobile twice, he carried his bicycle into the kitchen and set
about adjusting the gears. The designer lived miles away; perhaps the tube had broken down again. But why didn’t she phone, or answer her phone? Every answer that came to mind was distressing. He was reaching for a spanner when at last the front door opened.
Abigail appeared with two bags of groceries. “Sorry I’m late. I ran into Dara. We went for a drink.”
From below, he heard the sound of Dara’s front door. “I wondered where you were,” he said, tightening the spanner. He did not add that he also wondered why she hadn’t phoned and why she had gone shop-ping, given her departure the next day. It was not like Abigail to stock the larder on his account.
“I haven’t seen her in ages,” she said.“We stopped at the Lord Nelson.” As she put away the groceries, she told him that Edward was finally moving in with Dara, in the new year.“His daughter is settling down at kindergarten and he’s got enough pupils to cover his expenses.”
For the first time in several hours Sean forgot his own fears. “Oh great. I’m so glad.”
At once he felt Abigail’s mood shift. With a bag of coffee in one hand, a wedge of Brie in the other, she stood frowning at him.“But what if he doesn’t do it?” she said. “He’s been vacillating for so long. Dara will be crushed if this doesn’t work out.”
He didn’t understand her anger—was it at Edward? At Dara? At him?—but all the feelings he was holding back kindled. “You’re such an absolutist, Abigail,” he said, glaring back at her defiantly. “You think a person decides to buy a red car and then hands over a check, but most people have to drive a black car and a blue one and talk to their friends, before they actually buy the red one. Vacillating is part of deciding. That’s why the Belladonna Society insists on a waiting period. They don’t want anyone killing themselves out of a single impulse of despair.”
For a few seconds he continued to meet her gaze. Then, afraid of
what he might say next—was she test driving Valentine?—he bent to lift the bike right side up. As he straightened, she came over and rested her hand on the handlebars. “Would you like to come to Coventry?” she asked, smiling at him appealingly. “You could visit the cathedral, work at the library.”
Despite himself he smiled back. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid my chapters aren’t very portable.”
“Oh, your stupid book,” said Abigail, pouting. She leaned over and kissed him.
hen she was gone again, this time for two weeks. In her
absence Sean did his best to write his chapters. She invited me to go with her, he reminded himself, but that only quieted the beasts for so long. As for Dara, he forgot about her until one afternoon, while he was proofreading the transcript of an interview, a loud thud came from downstairs. What was the noise? Did she need help? In the ensuing silence he was struck by how quiet she had been recently, and that he couldn’t remember the last
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