Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 89

Chapter Thirteen

                It’s the deepest part of the night when we finally have our plan formulated. The river Thames glistens below us, reflecting the man-made stars: the sprawling city that lines its banks.

                Elle crouches beside me tapping a beat on her knee. I spend a good long while trying to work out what it is.

                ‘Thank you for understanding him,’ I say. ‘So many people wouldn’t.’

                Elle shrugs. ‘Sometimes people say things without meaning to, I know he just wants to share his life with someone, that’s what we all want on some level. God knows I saw enough people with depression in cancer wards and therapists. So many of them just get the way they are because they’re ignored by the people who matter: friends, family, boyfriends, girlfriends, the works. You know there was one woman who’d been with her husband for fifty years. She gets cancer and her husband leaves her. How sucky’s that? I went to see her every day after college after I found out, just to sit with her. She used to love backgammon. She went before I did though.’

                She looks at her shoes. I haven’t seen Elle cry yet. Funny Elle, chirpy Elle, sarky Elle. It didn’t occur to me that this was part of her make up. Everyone cries.

                ‘I’ve tried to find her so many times,’ she says. ‘Same as you and Penny. How do you track someone down when you have infinity to search in? Knowing them doesn’t matter anymore. You just have to leave it to chance.’

                ‘What was her name?’ I ask. ‘Your friend.’

                ‘Persephone,’ she says, smiling. ‘I know, a name from another age isn’t it. I think it sounds romantic. I used to think that if I ever had a daughter, I’d name her Persephone. Don’t suppose there’s much chance of that now though.’

                ‘You never know,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t put it past the universe to throw ghost-babies at us.’

                ‘Are you propositioning me, you cheeky devil?’ She looks sideways at me, her eyebrows bobbing. This time it only takes me a second to realise she’s joking.

                ‘Finally,’ she says. ‘I knew you could be moulded. You have no idea how many guys read into harmless flirting. Flirting’s fun. When you have a tumour creeping its way through your chest you have to take all the fun you can get. Course, now it’s just habit.’ She laughs. ‘You know there was this one guy in Rio last month…’

                ‘Wait,’ I say, holding up my hand. ‘There’s Graham’s signal.’