Page 36 of Close to You
‘You said that you saw David…?’
There’s a pause and then: ‘Who?’
‘David.’
‘Who?’
I stop and take a breath. Mum is at her most coherent when she’s allowed to process things at her own pace. Interruptions not only annoy her but they make her lose any train of thought.
‘You said that David popped in,’ I say slowly.
There’s another gap and I’m worried I’ve lost her. I wait and then hear her clucking her tongue.
‘He came by yesterday,’ she says.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I might be old, Morgan, but I’m not senile. He popped in yesterday. I’ll never know why you got rid of him. Still, I suppose that’s the modern way, isn’t it? I just—’
‘Mum.’
‘What?’
‘I’m coming over.’
Seventeen
THE WHY
Three years, five months ago
Edinburgh’s cobbled streets are covered with a slick of damp as the grey wash hovers ominously above. It feels like it might rain, although the woman at the hotel said that it’s always like that.
‘Never go out without a coat,’ she said.
‘Even in July?’ I asked.
‘Especiallyin July.’
There was sun this morning, but the darkness and chill of the day makes that feel like something of a dream.
David grips my hand a little firmer as he leads me through an arch which brings us out onto more cobbles. We don’t speak because we don’t need to. There’s something intrinsically old-time romantic about wandering hand-in-hand through these ancient streets. This is the sort of thing I pictured about being in a relationship. I check the watch that he gave me for my birthday and it tells me that it’s almost three in the afternoon. It feels a long way from the village in which I grew up, yet there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be.
It takes us almost half an hour to walk to the exhibition centre. David seems to know what he’s doing as he leads us around to one of the doors at the side. There’s a big sign for the ‘International Collectors’ Fair’ and David flashes a pass to a man on the gate, who waves us through. Inside, it smells of crisp, frayed paper; like walking into a musty bookshop. There are long rows of stalls that stretch from one side of the hall to the other. People are crowding along the aisles, shuffling forward like penguins huddling for warmth.
We stop on a platform overlooking the scene and David leans forward on his forearms as I slot in at his side.
‘I found some gems from your mum’s friends,’ he says. ‘I’ve already got some interested buyers in Sweden. I might have to fly out there in a week or so.’
‘I’ve heard Sweden’s really expensive,’ I reply.
‘Most of Scandinavia is. They earn more, so it doesn’t matter to them. It’s only when you visit that everything seems to cost a lot.’
‘How much will you make?’
‘Enough to make it worthwhile.’
David seems to be scanning the stalls for something, so I continue waiting at his side, watching the masses below. It’s only then that I realise how few women there are. There are men of all ages, shapes and sizes – although they are almost all white. This business feels very focused.
