Page 122 of The Girl You Left Behind
“Seriously? You look kind of manic.”
Paul takes a swig of his coffee. It is cold. “Liv loves that painting, Greg. And it will eat away at her, the fact that I’m... responsible for taking it from her. Maybe not now, maybe not even in a year or two. But it will happen.”
Greg leans back against the kitchen unit. “She could say the same about your job.”
“I’m okay about the job. It was time I got out of that place.”
“And Liv said she was okay with the painting.”
“Yeah. But she’s backed into a corner.” When Greg shakes his head in frustration, he leans forward over his files. “I know how things can change, Greg, how the things you swear won’t bother you at the start can eat away at the good stuff.”
“But—”
“And I know how losing the things you love can haunt people. I don’t want Liv to look at me one day and be fighting the thought:You’re the guy who ruined my life.”
Greg pads across the kitchen and puts the kettle on. He makes three cups of coffee and hands one to Paul. He puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he prepares to take the other two through to the living room. “I know you like to fix stuff, big brother of mine. But honestly? In this case you’re just going to have to hope to God it all works out.”
Paul doesn’t hear him. “List of owners,” he is muttering to himself. “List of current owners of Lefèvre’s work.”
•••
Eight hours later Greg wakes to find a small boy’s face looming over him. “I’m hungry,” it says, and rubs its nose vigorously. “You said you had Coco Pops, but I can’t find them.”
“Bottom cupboard,” he says groggily.There is no light between the curtains, he notes distantly.
“And you don’t have any milk.”
“What’s the time?”
“Quarter to seven.”
“Ugh.” Greg burrows down under the duvet. “Even the dogs don’t get up this early. Ask your dad to do it.”
“He’s not here.”
Greg’s eyes open slowly, fix on the curtains. “What do you mean, he’s not here?”
“He’s gone. The sleeping bag’s still rolled up, so I don’t think he slept on the sofa. Can we get croissants from that place down the road? The chocolate ones?”
“I’m getting up. I’m getting up. I’m up.” He hauls himself into an upright position, rubs his head.
•••
Paul is indeed not there, but he has left a note on the kitchen table: It is scribbled on the back of a list of court evidence and placed on top of a scattered pile of papers.
Had to go. Pls can you hang on to Jake. Will call.
He grabs his mobile phone and stabs out a text.
If you are over there getting laid right this minute, you owe me BIG TIME.
He waits a few minutes before stuffing it into his pocket, but there is no reply.
•••
Saturday is, thankfully, busy. Liv waits in for the buyers to come and measure up, then for their builders and architect to examine the apparently endless work that needs doing. She moves around these strangers in her home, trying to strike the right balance between accommodating and friendly, as befits the seller of the house, and not reflecting her true feelings, which would involve shouting, “Go away” and making childish hand gestures at them. She distracts herself by packing and cleaning, deploys the consolations of small domestic tasks. She throws out two garbage bags of old clothes. She rings several rental agents, and when she tells them the amount she can afford, there is a lengthy, scornful silence.
Paul does not call.
