Joanne Sefton Book 2. Joanne Sefton

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      Andrew was right, now she came to think of it; she’d forgotten that tic of grazing her forehead with her fingertips, which had been one of Alex’s characteristic gestures.

      ‘Could it be her?’ she asked, her voice a whisper. ‘It’s not a twenty-year-old who looks like she did then. This is the grown-up version, though it’s hard to guess if the ages match because of all that dust. I just can’t imagine anyone else being so like her, in so many ways. Right down to that gesture, like you say.’

      Just then the waitress arrived with two frosted bottles of Singha. Andrew took his time – and a long draught of the lager – before he answered her.

      ‘You know, there’s nothing I’d like more than to believe it could be her.’ He spoke to the bottle in his hand more than to Karen. ‘I know we were only twenty-one, twenty-two, but she was the one for me. I’ve never had anything like that in my life since.’

      ‘I do understand,’ she said, softly. ‘I know how it feels to lose a partner.’

      ‘Of course you do, and I wouldn’t for a moment take away from what happened to Jonathan. That was a tragedy and you had the girls’ grief to deal with too. But …’ she watched his face crease with the effort of trying to express himself, ‘… I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I don’t want you to feel like I’m diminishing your suffering or trying to be competitive.’

      ‘No, no, of course not. I’ve known you long enough that I’d never think that of you.’

      She reached out to place a reassuring hand on his forearm and was rewarded with a smile of relief. It struck her as the most heartfelt expression she’d seen on his face that evening.

      ‘The thing is that when Jonathan died, everyone around you recognised your loss. That it was something horrendous, huge … and that you needed and deserved every bit of support they could give you.’

      She nodded, not entirely sure where he was going, but sensing that she couldn’t hurry him, she just had to let him try to explain in his own way. He rubbed at his forehead and opened a button on his shirt. It was clearly difficult for him to talk about Alex’s death, despite the length of time that had passed.

      ‘Well …’ he continued, carefully, ‘it wasn’t like that for me when Alex died.’

      His explanation was cut off by the waitress arriving laden with their starters. She fussed for a couple of minutes, clearing the table of its flower arrangement and candles and naming a variety of dishes as she set down the ornate little bowls. They waited in silence, save for the odd muttered ‘thank you’ and when the waitress was finally ready to depart, Karen found that she didn’t want to be the one to break it. When Andrew spoke, his voice was strained with emotion, and his words were unexpected.

      ‘There isn’t a formula, you know, for losing the love of your life at twenty-one. I didn’t know what was expected of me. I certainly didn’t know what I should expect of them. Alex’s family … it felt like they closed round like … I don’t know … like a flock of vultures or something. I was on the outside. All I got was sharp pecks to keep me away.’

      He held up one hand and mimed a vicious avian attack, managing to laugh, in spite of himself. Karen wondered with a jolt whether he’d ever given himself the chance to talk about these painful memories before now and felt a weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

      ‘What about your own family – surely they would have been there for you?’

      He shook his head. ‘They were living in Wales then. It was a long way to Cambridge. I spoke to my sisters about it a bit, but they were both a long way away too, and they had young families. Enough on their plates without a mourning younger brother to deal with.’

      ‘So, there wasn’t really anyone for you to talk to?’

      ‘Nah. I mean, I had some mates who tried, but they were twenty-year-old blokes, you know? Not exactly renowned for their emotional intelligence.’ She acknowledged the comment with a grimace. ‘Besides, I was so into Alex. I suppose I’d let other friendships wither a bit. I was happy to have a drink or a chat or whatever – I mean I knew you and Misty fairly well – but I didn’t get beneath the surface with people, because I had Alex for that.’

      ‘I don’t know if it helps …’ she took a breath, trying to phrase what she wanted to say as carefully as possible, ‘… but I remember that she felt really deeply about you too. She used to joke that it was a shame she’d found “the one” at university, because you’d end up getting married and she’d never get to have a proper single life.’

      He gave a sad smile and picked at some food.

      ‘We did talk about the future,’ he agreed. ‘That’s one reason why it’s strange. She’d gone through a really bad phase, with the … the weight thing.’ Karen’s stomach dropped at the reference. She didn’t want to think about how Alex had died; she couldn’t trust herself to go there. Andrew, though, was still talking.

      ‘It had been over a year earlier, though, before we were going out – or at least going out seriously. I expect you remember?’

      Karen nodded. She remembered only too well.

      He shook his head. ‘I really thought she was over it. We had all these plans – moving to London, getting a flat together. Then … boom. It’s all over.’

      He gazed at her. His eyes were blue, intense – too needy to be the eyes of an entrepreneur. She felt a sweat break out on her palms and a lump rise in her throat. The last thing she wanted was to think back to that winter. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

      ‘Okay …’ she said, trying to steady herself as much as anything else.

      ‘It happened so suddenly …’ His voice had become a monotone. He was struggling to go on. ‘I don’t even know why she went home that night … She should have been in college. And then … and then she just didn’t come back.’

      His voice cracked then, and he rubbed at his face with the back of a hand, tears not quite coming but clearly not far away. Karen wanted to say something to make it easier, but nothing would come out. Mutely, she nodded.

      ‘… I called the house. Her mum answered and it was clear something was very wrong. She couldn’t tell me. She tried to get it out a couple of times, then she passed the phone to Alex’s dad. He told me she was dead.’

      ‘Her heart failed.’ Karen’s voice was a whisper. She felt her own eyes moisten as she remembered that horrible time.

      ‘On the Sunday morning!’ There was anger in Andrew’s voice. It came suddenly, as if from nowhere. ‘A day and a half and they hadn’t told me. They hadn’t even tried. If I’d not phoned the house, I’m not sure they’d ever have bothered.’

      ‘They must have been in terrible shock …’

      ‘I know, I know. That’s what everyone says, that’s what was going around in my head at the time. But do you know what?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘He didn’t sound shocked. Eric Penrith was as composed as a … a traffic warden telling СКАЧАТЬ