Page 14 of The Fall-Out

‘You’re not a random.’ He smiled the smile I remembered from before, which made me feel like I was being bathed in sunlight. ‘And I should open your present.’

‘It’s a bit daft,’ I apologised. ‘I didn’t know what else to get you.’

‘The man who has everything, right?’ He unpeeled the sticky tape and took out the case, on which I’d carefully hand-written the names of all the tracks. ‘Oh my God. This is seriously cool.’

‘You like alternative music?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Love it. You know when you’re a teenager and you feel like no one understands you?—’

‘Especially not your mum and dad?’ I smiled, imagining a surly boy with oversized hands and feet.

‘Exactly. And then you discover Morrissey and Marr and you’re like?—’

‘I’ve found my people?’

‘Just like that. I even went vegetarian after I listened to Meat Is Murder for the first time. Think it lasted all of four weeks.’

I laughed. ‘Are you serious? Me too. Then my mum took to cooking sausages for breakfast on Saturdays and?—’

‘Game over?’ He smiled, holding the box closer to decipher my handwriting. ‘Ah, you’ve got Just Like Honey on here. And When Love Breaks Down. Awesome.’

‘I would never have guessed. I’d have thought you were more into… I don’t know.’

‘What?’

‘Bruce Springsteen, I guess. Or Bon Jovi. Something more… blokey, maybe.’

He laughed. ‘Not me. I like the dark stuff.’

He grinned and sang a couple of lines from She Sells Sanctuary. His voice was another surprise – a perfectly pitched tenor.

Or maybe the acoustics in Zara’s bathroom were just off the scale.

‘Well, I’m glad you like it,’ I said, smiling. ‘You can pretend you’re a kid again when you listen to it, only without the angst.’

My words were light, but I was surprised how pleased I was – almost moved.

‘I really do. Thank you. Now, I guess I should let you…’

‘Sure.’

We stood together for a moment, the bathroom suddenly feeling even smaller than it had before. Then he edged past me and left, the CD cradled in both his hands like it was something precious.

SIX

All around me, I could see other faces turning towards the back of the church, bewildered, aghast or – in the case of Andy’s mother – furious. Kate’s voice fell silent; Zara’s continued for two more words: ‘To home.’

Then she said, ‘Sorry, sorry. Don’t mind me,’ and slipped into a pew at the back of the church.

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Today of all days – a day that was ostensibly about celebrating Andy’s life but couldn’t possibly be, because the shock and grief of his death were still so raw. A day when my friends and their support mattered even more to me than they did every other day. A day when the past felt even more present in my marriage than it usually did. And she was here. From the jumble of my thoughts, one clear one emerged: She didn’t get the memo. Literally didn’t get it – about the purple.

Then I thought, What the fuck, Naomi, now is not the time to obsess about fashion choices, is it? I forced myself to look at Patch next to me, and saw that he’d gone white as a ghost – as if he’d seen a ghost. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed it, but he didn’t squeeze back – his normally strong grip was ice-cold and clammy.

Then, into the silence, Kate’s voice resumed again, with a faint tremor at first, then settling into calm clarity.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go to the friends we know.

---