Page 42 of The World Outside My Window

‘It’s fine. Well, it’s not but – well. It was a while ago.’ He looks down at the table and tells her about watching Helen die, how utterly broken he was, and how lonely he’s felt ever since. Once he’s finished the silence hums between them. Laura watches his hand, resting on the table, and wishes she knew him well enough to reach out and cover it with her own, to offer some physical comfort.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says again instead, aware of how meagre her sympathy must sound. Ben shakes his head. ‘Thank you. It’s – it’s been hard. But I’m getting there.’ And he is. He is finally able to talk about Helen without feeling as though he has a stone lodged in his throat. He can think about her without feeling as though his world is about to end.

Before Laura can say anything further the phone rings.

‘Hang on, I’d better get this,’ she says, jumping up to answer.

As Laura speaks to whoever is calling, Ben takes the opportunity to study her more closely. She’s small, her tiny frame swamped by the too-big clothes she’s wrapped herself in. But it’s her posture that makes her seem almost childlike, sitting curled in on herself as though she’s trying to take up as little space in the world as possible. Her curls lie flat against her head as though they’ve run out of energy and tiny lines fan away from her eyes. She looks exhausted. He jumps as she turns and notices him watching her, a line appearing between her brows, and he looks away quickly, his face flushing. He studies his feet as she ends the call.

‘That was Debbie. She can’t come, James is poorly. Her son.’

‘Oh.’

Laura looks even more lost than usual. ‘I guess that’s that, then.’ After what happened last time she tried to go out on her own she isn’t going to risk doing it again. She’ll just have to wait.

‘We could go without her, just me and you?’

Laura looks up, her eyes wide. ‘I—’ She stops. Can she risk having a panic attack in front of this virtual stranger – again? He’ll think she’s completely mad. But then again, he has just opened up to her about his wife, and she really does need to get on with her search, so…

‘If you have time that would be great, thank you.’ She sucks in air through her lips and nods her head furiously as though trying to convince herself.

Ben jumps down from his stool. ‘Shall we go, then?’

‘Now?’ Her head spins, and she’s not sure it’s the wine.

‘There’s no reason to put it off, is there? Unless…’ He wants to say ‘unless you’re too frightened’, but he doesn’t want to remind her, so he bites his tongue.

She stands too, her hand still on her wine glass. ‘You’re right. We should just get on with it.’ She takes one last sip and turns, a look of determination on her face. Together they walk to the front door, put on their shoes and stand facing the glass panels in the door. Sunlight pours through them, sketching asymmetrical patterns on her jumper and across her hands. Laura is acutely aware that the light is outside, and in a minute she’ll be standing out there in full daylight, instead of in here, in the semi-dark. It’s a lot to get her head around.

She takes some deep breaths in and exhales loudly, trying to calm her racing pulse. Next to her Ben shuffles his feet, waiting for her to finish. Finally she turns to face him, her face filled with fear.

‘Let’s go.’

She pulls the door open with more determination than she feels and takes a step forward. Almost immediately she stops and Ben nearly crashes into her back. The air is crisp and cool. Fallen leaves race each other across the pavement in front of her. Carol isn’t in her front garden, and Archie isn’t kicking his football around any more. There’s a buzz of a chainsaw, someone giving their hedges one last trim before winter sets in, and a young child crying, but she can’t see anyone. The crescent is surprisingly quiet and she’s relieved. No doubt Mrs Phillips across the road is watching them through her net curtains but Laura doesn’t dare look.

She trains her gaze on the path in front of her, the short stretch from her front door to her gate. She’s done this before; once when she went next door to see Carol and Arthur, and once when she went to see Ben, although she hardly remembers that journey. She can do it again.

‘Do you want me to help?’ Ben appears at her side and she jumps. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘It’s okay. This is the worst bit. I just need to get to the end of the path. I don’t suppose you could hold my hand, could you?’

‘Of course.’ He reaches down and takes her fingers in his. They feel warm and slightly clammy, and he holds them gently at first, the feeling of connection with someone other than Helen after so long a little overwhelming. ‘Is this okay?’ She nods silently. He concentrates on not thinking too much about the feeling of her hand in his, her skin soft against his own drier palm.

Laura takes a tentative step forward and her grip on his hand tightens. She takes another, and another, slowly at first and then faster, each time her hold on his fingers tightening until they feel as though they’re being crushed in a vice. He doesn’t say anything, just holds his breath and carries on walking beside her, watching the focus on her face.

Finally they reach the gate and she removes her hand and rests it on top of the iron railing. Her eyes are closed and he studies her again, her face turned up to the sun. Her skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, and she seems to shine in the pale afternoon sunlight as though lit from within. She opens her eyes, turns to him and he looks away quickly.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ He still holds the memory of her hand in his. ‘Are you ready to carry on?’

‘I think so.’

Together they walk through the gate and across the road, not holding hands this time, but the tops of their arms touching on every other step. Ben tries not to notice.

It’s only a few metres across the street to Jane’s house, but it may as well be a hundred miles away. Laura’s whole body shakes and her brain feels as though it’s too big for her head. Her skin prickles and the light dances in her eyes. Her breath comes in short, ragged puffs, and the road feels so unsure beneath her feet it could be made from marshmallow.

And yet, at last, they make it. Jane’s small front garden stretches in front of them, the front door only a few metres away.

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