I walk away from a home someone should have helped Dair fight for, but I carry his relieved smile with me.
6
I seethat smile often while I’m away up-country. My phone rings each evening, Monday through Thursday, and I don’t cancel any of those calls like I did Flynn’s. I accept each video request, then settle back on a Travelodge bed to hear all about his sorting progress.
“It’s slow going.”
After years of clearing houses, I can guess why, and on my last night away from London, I tell him, “That’s because it isn’t just stuff to categorise into auction lots for you, is it? It’s a lifetime of reminders.”
Dair nods, and after four evenings of helping him with that categorising process, I can do the same for each of his expressions. Tonight, my phone screen shows a recent favourite—he looks at me like I have every answer.
“That’s it exactly, Vincent. Everything reminds me of Alice.”
I also like how much he wants an answer to this question.
“What time will you be back tomorrow?”
“Not too late.” I regret that I have to give him this reminder. “Blake’s coming over.”
“The one with the scary eyes.” He narrows his own, which only makes him look cute instead of like a killing machine armed with a massive cannon.
“Yeah. That’s Blake. So I won’t be free Friday night, but I’m not working at all this weekend. Shit.” I shove hair back from my forehead. “Actually, I’m busy on Saturday. Visiting the fam and getting a haircut. But I could come over Saturday evening. Be quicker for two people to keep categorising everything, if you want some more help? You could type while I pack and wrap.”
That earns me a smile which fades all too soon. “I can’t see you Saturday night. I just said yes to some more care shifts. Got a couple of long ones in the nursing home Alice stayed in after her surgery. It will be the first time since then that I’ve been back to Holborn.”
That sounds like another tough reminder.
“They’re lucky to have you.”
Saying so earns me a smile with a category all its own. It’s bittersweet, I think. A little bit bruised. I’m still thinking about it when I get back to the city on Friday evening, which doesn’t slip past my cousin.
Kev side-eyes me in the cab of his van. “You sure you want dropping here instead of coming home for some grub with me and Marilyn? You could stay over.”
“I can’t.”
He scowls at the entrance to a Tube station like it’s to blame for me turning down his offer. “Thought you said there was nothing left at your place to go back to?”
That isn’t entirely true now that there are cups in my kitchen cupboard. Glasses as well, not to mention the last of a packet of chocolate Hobnobs.
I don’t confess that. I let him check the Underground app and give a grumbled order. “Marilyn said don’t forget your haircut.”
I do make a confession to the next person I speak to, but that’s because it’s Harry, who calls me from a boat show as I emerge from the Tube at Kensington. He gets straight to the point. “What’s this I hear about a no-nookie rule for Heppel Exes?”
“Ha!” My laugh booms so loud that commuters scurry. “Believe me, I already regret it.”
I tell him why, and someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth listens as I walk past the kind of homes none of my ancestors could have dreamed of entering by the front door. They would have been relegated to the tradesman’s entrance or been in service to people right at the very tippy top of the class pile. My people would have been at the bottom, only good enough to cook, clean, or care for their youngest and oldest members.
Like Dair does.
Him giving up a property here is still on my mind as I pass the Heppels’ London place. The one night we never made it past his hallway, Charles told me it was handy for city visits. Dair’s place isn’t nearly as big. It’s still got to be worth plenty.
I tell Harry all about that too, and he does that thing of hearing what I’m really saying. His hum is thoughtful. “He was the sole beneficiary?”
“Yeah. Charles said so and Dair confirmed it.”
“But he’s going to lose everything?” Harry lets out a sigh so clear he could be right beside me. “Oh, darling, that’s got to feel familiar.”
It does. So much so that the reason slips out. “Flynn called.”
