Page 63 of The Lie
‘Don’t get antsy. I’ve often done that,’ she said soothingly.
But Michael was not about to be soothed. He dumped the rack upside down and flung himself petulantly back against the kitchen chair, like a toddler contemplating a tantrum. It was hot and close in the room, the lingering smell of garlic and rosemary from the chicken Romy had cooked earlier still on the air. She saw Michael wassweating, her own cheeks flushed from the two glasses of red she’d consumed.
‘I’d got “ mazy ” if you’d left thatyopen,’ she complained to distract him.
‘Mazy? What’s that supposed to mean?’
She laughed. ‘Sort of like a maze?’ She thought for a moment. ‘For instance, “ My, that path looks very mazy, don’t you think? ”’
He grinned. ‘Rubbish, never heard of it.’
‘Shall I look it up?’
Michael shook his head and sighed deeply, running his good hand back and forth over his shaved head. ‘You know James rang today,’ he said despondently.
Romy felt a pang of guilt, remembering her talk with the man at Michael’s birthday tea, a couple of weeks back. He’d made no attempt to lure her to lunch since then. ‘What did he want?’ she asked.
‘Basically,’ Michael replied, ‘he wanted to know if I thought I’d ever come back to chambers. If I’d ever work again.’
‘Right. So what did you say?’
He looked at her as if she were being disingenuous. ‘I said I’d be up and running, ready to take on the world by Christmas, no problem.’
Four months, she calculated, alarmed. ‘Do you think –’
‘Joke,’ he cut her off tersely. ‘Of course I didn’t bloody say that. For Christ’s sake, look at me, Romy.’ He shrugged. ‘Imagine me standing up in court, for starters.’ He shook his head. ‘Then imagine me wading through a two-box brief overnight.’ Another weary shake of the head. ‘And, finally, imagine me putting together a coherent argumentfor my client against some of the sharpest minds in the land.’ This time he didn’t bother to shake his head, just gave her a level glance that said it all.
‘You don’t know what you’ll be like by Christmas,’ she said.
Michael didn’t reply. He pushed his chair back and reached for his crutch. Then he turned back to her. ‘Go home, Romy,’ he said dully. ‘You’ve done your bit.’
She stared at him.
‘I’m fine on my own. You can stop looking for another bloody carer.’ He glared at her defiantly. ‘I may still be clumsy, but I’m perfectly capable of ordering food online. The surgery will drop off my pills. I can just about work the microwave, put stuff in the washing machine, shower and dress myself. It all takes me for ever, but I can do it.’ He paused only to gather breath. ‘I haven’t told you, because she didn’t confirm until tonight, but I’ve asked Theresa to come in for a couple of hours five mornings a week. So,’ he added, almost nonchalantly, ‘I don’t need you or anybody else any more.’
Romy didn’t reply.This is just bravado, she thought, although she was surprised he’d been so proactive with Theresa. She’d known from Leo – weeks ago – that Michael didn’t wantherbeing responsible for his care after Daniel left, but now he was suggesting managing almost completely on his own. Was he really ready? If she’d thought he was, she’d already have gone.
‘Leave,’ he went on, a martyrish note creeping into his voice. ‘Go and find your brigadier, make it up to him. Get on with your life, Romy, while you still can.’
She frowned. Then she grinned. Michael looked offended. ‘Another gold star for melodrama,’ she said. ‘Chart’s filling up.’
‘I meant every word,’ he insisted, piqued.
‘I’m sorry.’ She tried, unsuccessfully, to stop smiling. ‘It’s just you sound like a bad Victorian novel. Doing the far, far better thing, setting me free to love, while you die a miserable death, all alone.’ She knew she should shut up, stop making fun of feelings that seemed to have been genuinely expressed, but it had felt like just another of his theatrical moments of self-pity. It was hard to take him seriously.
Michael gave her a wounded smile and said quietly, ‘You certainly know how to deflate a man.’
For a while they sat in silence. Romy heard Michael’s phone buzz with the arrival of an email; the fridge wheezed and clunked; a door slammed somewhere in the block.
‘Let’s give it a go, then, if you’re serious,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you for the weekend and see how you get on, OK?’
Michael’s face stiffened. ‘Bring it on,’ he said, through clenched teeth.
So Romy went home.
45
The cottage seemed small and strange to her, after the high-ceilinged London flat, and somehow blank, as if it had lost her essence, finally given up on her. She felt like standing in the middle of each room and waving her hands, like a conductor, encouraging the place to life.
