Page 145 of When We Were Young

Please read this. It’s not about us – it’s about Reu. I know you don’t want to speak to me, but you would never forgive me if I didn’t tell you this.

Reu’s in hospital, he’s in a coma. They found him in a filthy squat overdosed on heroin. On heroin, Milly – can you believe it? I know he liked the odd spliff – okay, a regular spliff – but I didn’t see this coming. I should have realised. All those times we were partying, he’d be drenched in sweat and his pupils were tiny pinpricks. I should have realised he was on a slippery slope. I should have protected him. He’s not been himself. The warning signs were all there, but I’ve been too preoccupied with my own problems to notice. Money had been going missing, but I didn’t suspect Reu for one moment. I should have checked in on him more. I can’t believe I let this happen. He would have been better off if he never met me, and that’s saying something because his old life was bad enough.

Anyway, they say it’s touch and go.

I thought you should know and maybe if you visited him, you might get through to him. You two always got along. He’s in the intensive care unit at St George’sHospital. I’m there most of the time. I’d love to see you. I miss you, Milly. So much. I wish you’d let me explain properly, but I promise I won’t hassle you. I just want him to wake up.

Visiting hours are midday till 9 p.m. Could you come tomorrow? I could meet you by the entrance at midday.

I know he’d want to hear your voice.

Love,

Will x

Scott read the letter again. Was Will telling the truth? All the times he’d shouted at Will over the intercom, the times he’d spoken to him outside the flat, it was obvious Will was desperate. The poor lovesick bastard would do anything to speak to Emily. But would he lie about a friend being in hospital? Scott doubted that. But Will might be capable of exaggerating. He was making out Reu was on death’s door, but was he really?

Scott paced up and down the kitchen.

And what if hewastelling the truth? Emily would go to that hospital, and Will would be back in her life. If Reu pulled through, they could get back together and if he didn’t, Will was already teetering. It could send him over the edge.

Could Will be on drugs too? They were friends, weren’t they? The state of him at college today, he looked like a junkie. Did she really want to get mixed up with drug addicts? She had a bright future ahead of her. She was supposed to be going to Amsterdam next year – this could derail that.

Scott checked his watch – the girls would be back soon

He made a decision.

One he would wrestle with for the rest of his life.

He took his lighter, flipped the lid, thumbed the flint, and dangled the letter in the flame. It licked at the bottom corner for a moment before catching light. He turned the sheet this way and that, as it blackened and curled, and fell in flaming pieces into the sink.

Chapter 67

July 2016

Emily

When I worked at the school, we had our fair share of pushy parents coming into the office. Why isn’t my child the star of the play? Why isn’t my child on the advanced band of reading books? I’ve never been that sort of parent, but today I feel like one. Someone buzzes me into the office telling me to take a seat. I gasp at the sight of a hugeAmplifycover hanging at the entrance. A young Christie Blackmore at the height of her fame pouting suggestively on a cover so big it forms a screen for the waiting area. It completely throws me. I turn my back on her and try to collect myself ready to give this Paul Raymond a piece of my mind.

My phone pings and it takes ages to find it at the bottom of my bag.

FHD:When can I see you?

‘Mrs Lawrence?’ A man with a kind face peers around Christie Blackmore.

‘It’s Miss actually, but yes.’

‘Ah, sorry, Paul Raymond. Good to meet you.’ He offers me his hand.

I stand, take his hand, and give it a single firm pump. He asks me to follow him to a glass meeting room and offers me water. I accept, and we sit opposite each other.

‘You wanted to talk to me about Olivia,’ he says, placing his hands into a patronising steeple.

‘It was unfair of you to fire her,’ I begin. ‘She’s worked hard here. Your social media engagement hasquadrupledthanks to her. She’s written excellent album reviews, which you’ve deemed good enough to publish, at a fraction of the cost of one of your freelancers, I might add. You don’t approve of her posing as anAmplifyreporter, but I believe this shows initiative and creativity, and – for want of a better word –balls. Have you even read the pieces she wrote about Will Bailey? I emailed them to you two days ago. You’ve not bothered to reply, so I assume you haven’t. Well,I’veread them and they’re brilliant. Now, I know you’ll say any mother would say that, but I’m talking as someone who knew Will Bailey. She’s told his story accurately with… emotion… and passion… as though she’d met him. And, frankly, if you won’t publish this feature, then perhaps we should take it elsewhere…’ I pause because I need to catch my breath, but also because I’ve lost my train of thought. I take a sip of water.

Paul Raymond chews the inside of his cheek. ‘Does Liv know you’re here?’

‘I told her I was coming, but she didn’t want me to.’