“But how did she fall?” Rachel was ensconced in their regular spot in the dim, cushion-backed booth at the back of the tapas place, downstairs on the corner of Heath Street and Church Row. “Doesn’t she have a nurse who’s engaged to look after her?”
“It was his afternoon off,” explained Jess. “She was meant to be in the library writing letters—that’s where Patrick left her. I don’t know what she was thinking. She’d had her main meal. Her bedroom’s just across the hall. She shouldn’t have had to go anywhere else.”
And certainly nowhere near the stairs on the top landing. This was the part that Jess had trouble comprehending. In all the time she had lived with her grandmother in the house overlooking the harbor, she couldn’t recall Nora ever going near the attic. Jess wasn’t supposed to go up there, either. It was one of the few places her grandmother had forbidden her from playing when she was a child, because the staircase was so steep and dangerous. Naturally the warnings had only acted as an enticement—Jess had spent a lot of time sneaking into the A-framed room—but never once had Nora breached the door or shown any interest whatsoever in climbing the stairs herself. With a home the size of Darling House, she hadn’t needed to. Everything of value, and some besides, had a storage place in a cupboard or desk or drawer in the main downstairs rooms.
Jess eyed the glass of wine she’d been nursing since she and Rachel met. It was the wrong day to have chosen to limit herself, but in the end she hadn’t had much choice. She’d been so shocked by the phone call in the taxi, and so intent on learning as much from her grandmother’s housekeeper as she could—thank God Mrs. Robinson had forgotten her shopping bag and returned to Darling House to collect it—that she’d asked the driver to take her all the way home to Hampstead. With the roadworks in New End, he’d ended up circling backaround West Heath Road, and the whole exercise had cost close to twenty-five quid. “I just can’t figure out why she’d have gone up there. It’s not even a proper staircase. It’s steep and dimly lit.”
Rachel, delicately: “How old is she now?”
“Nearly ninety. And I know what you’re thinking, but she’s as sharp as a tack.”
Rachel nodded kindly, but Jess could tell that she didn’t really understand. Nora wasn’t a little old lady doddering about, forgetting where she was going and accidentally climbing the stairs to the attic when she meant to walk across the hall to bed. Nora was formidable and fiercely bright; age had not wearied her in the slightest. She had founded the Nora Turner-Bridges Group after her divorce, back when women—particularly the single sort—were allowed to be secretaries or shopgirls and not much else; nearly sixty years later she still telephoned the office each day for a report.
The fact that Rachel didn’t know Nora opened a chasm between them and Jess felt a sudden ache in her chest, an isolating sense of panic. She wanted to explain that Nora was wise and bold and ferociously loyal. That she had taken Jess in and loved her like a daughter and never made her feel that it was inconvenient to be saddled with a child again; that she had made Jess believe she was a longed-for, precious gift. A second chance, Nora used to say, on the only occasions Jess had known her to get that sad, distant look in her eyes. They had been each other’s second chance.
A pompous bearded man at a nearby table laughed percussively; Jess glanced his way and the loneliness was gone as quickly as it had arrived. She said simply, “Nora isn’t like other people. She’s her very own climate system.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
Jess had heard the sentiment a lot when she was growing up, not least from Nora herself, who’d used to be fond of telling Jess she was a “true Turner,” especially when she’d excelled at school or pushed herself to a place in the swim squad or excoriated the opposition debating team.Jess had enjoyed the comparison enormously back then. Now, though, considering her life’s recent downward trajectory, it embarrassed her. “No,” she said firmly. “Nora’s one of a kind.”
Rachel put her hand on Jess’s. “Tell me what the hospital said.”
“I know almost none of the details. By the time I finished the call with Mrs. Robinson and dialed the hospital, the doctor was gone and the nurses had just changed shift. I’d hoped they’d be able to tell me more, but the nurse I spoke with didn’t have any information beyond what was written on Nora’s chart: she fell, she hit her head and broke her wrist, she was stable but sleeping. They said to call back in the morning.”
“Morning in Sydney must be soon?”
“Eight o’clock tonight.” Jess checked her watch. There was still an hour to kill. “Her doctor will be on the ward again then. Once I’ve spoken with him, I’ll know whether I need to go back.”
Rachel was surprised. “To Australia? When?”
“Tomorrow night. I’ve already held a seat; I’ve got until the morning to confirm.” She did not mention that she’d only had the points to book a one-way flight.
“You’ll miss the awards.”
“I know.”
“But we already bought the revenge dress!”
“Alas, it might have to wait for another chance. If Nora needs me... who else is there?”
“Your mother?”
“Please.” Jess rolled her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re not considering going backbecauseyou’ll miss the awards?”
“Definitely not.”
Rachel took a sip of wine, her gaze wandering pointedly beyond Jess’s left shoulder.
“I’mnot.I can assure you, I’m absolutely fine in that regard.”
“Then if the doctor says your grandmother’s okay, why don’t youleave it a few more days? Do both. Go to the awards, wear that fabulous dress, show the ‘Lad’ how absolutely fine you are, and impress the hell out of every editor you meet. Then you can board your flight, victorious, first thing Tuesday morning. Go home for Christmas.”
“Maybe,” said Jess, more to placate her friend than because she was genuinely considering it. The truth was, once she’d allowed herself to imagine missing the awards, a sense of deep relief had come over her. She wasn’t pining for Matt, and she truly would be fine if she ran into him. She’d seen him a few times since they broke up, Maxine, too, on one occasion; they were all being very grown-up about it. But there were limits. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” said Rachel, sliding out of the booth. “Now, finish your drink, for God’s sake, so we can order you another when I get back.”
