‘Yes. She said. It sounds like she had a pretty tough time.’
Hugh shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ he said, ‘Bill was very old. Eighty-four or something. It’s not as if Ana wasn’t expecting it.’ He sighed and craned his neck to view two skinny girls in pedal-pushers and cropped tops tottering down Clarendon Road with a Rottweiler puppy.
‘Yes, but – everyone’s going to die at some point. Knowing it doesn’t make it any easier when they do. And it sounds like she was particularly close to her father.’
‘Yeah – she was. Unhealthily close, I often used to think.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘I don’t know. It just didn’t seem right somehow, a young girl spending so much time with such an old man. Although Bill was a very charming, very er … switched-on old man. But I think she depended on him too much.’
‘And you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Did she depend on you? I mean – eight years – that’s a long time to be with someone.’
Hugh puffed and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, she did. Unfortunately. I always tried to encourage Ana to be independent. To stand on her own two feet. I think she expected rather a lot of me in the weeks after her father passed away. Expected me to hold her up, somehow.’
‘Well,’ said Flint, ‘isn’t that normal? To be expected? You were her boyfriend, after all?’
Hugh shrugged dismissively. ‘I don’t like to be used,’ he said, and Flint wanted to punch him. ‘And I have no respect for people who can’t look after themselves, emotionally. If you don’t do it for yourself then you never grow as a person. You never develop. And Ana was in dire need of development.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well – she’s rather immature. For her age.’
‘No she’s not.’
‘She is. And excuse me if I sound rude, but you don’t really know Ana, do you? The only reason why Ana ever managed to make a life for herself away from home was because she had me. She’d never have done it on her own.Igot her job for her,Ihelped her find a flat. All our friends weremyfriends. I thought her father dying, having to deal with his death, would be the making of her. But it wasn’t, I’m sad to say. The minute I wasn’t there to support her any more she let it all fall away. Reverted to teenagedom and moved back home.’
Flint opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again. He wanted to say – is it any wonder that Ana didn’t develop when she had a boyfriend like you? Is it any wonder she gave up on everything after her fatherdied, when the one person in the world who claimed to be on her side abandoned her? And cut all this ‘independence’ bullshit, he wanted to shout, the reason why you let Ana throw her life away was because you wanted to shag around. You wanted to shag around and you didn’t have the guts to dump her so you waited until she was at her most vulnerable and let her do it for you. You snivelling little shit …
All of a sudden Ana’s life story opened up like a book in front of Flint. Put down by a vain, preening, neurotic mother. Abandoned by a glamorous, unattainable elder sister. Her personality swamped by an overbearing, self-styled Svengali of a first boyfriend. The only person who truly loved her was sixty years older than her, and he died. Having made her completely dependent on him, her boyfriend then cuts her loose just when she needs him most and, instead of being able to work through her own grief, she is summonsed to her childhood home to attend to the demands of her mentally unstable mother. A mother who has no interest in the emotional development or fulfilment of her daughter.
Jesus.
Paddington station loomed up on their left and Flint pulled up.
‘Well,’ said Hugh, extending a hand, ‘Flint. It was nice to meet you.’
Flint hesitated and then gave Hugh his hand to shake.
‘And thanks for the lift. Much appreciated.’ He put his hand to his forehead and performed a daft little salute.
‘No problem.’
Hugh lifted his rucksack from under his feet and lethimself out of the passenger door. ‘And good luck,’ he said, before closing the door, ‘with tomorrow. Just call me if you need any help. You know?’ And then he sauntered off with his rucksack slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, swaggering towards the concourse like Clint-fucking-Eastwood.
Flint shook his head, put the car into gear and headed back towards Latimer Road.
31
‘You used to go out withhim?’ said Gill, looking at Ana in wonderment.
‘Yes,’ said Ana, a bit sniffily. ‘We went out for about eight years.’
‘Really?’
