the porter
The bins are in the same alley as the fire exit, and he’s pouring out a sack of empties as the emergency door slams open. The man comes first, fists clenched and pressed hard into his eye sockets. The woman follows, calling after him. The porter steps back into the shadows and stays to watch, because his exit is blocked, and because anything beats going back to work during a wake.
‘Seb,’ she says. ‘Come back in. We can talk.’
‘Please, Clara,’ the man replies. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Don’t shut us out,’ Clara says. ‘We need you.’
‘No one needs me,’ Seb says. ‘And I don’t need anyone.’
‘Everyone needs people.’ She sounds like she’s trying to keep her voice steady, to stop herself from crying. ‘What can I do?’ she says. ‘How can I make this alright?’
‘I can’t—’ Seb tries to speak, but fails. ‘How?’ He’s not making sense. ‘I think about Ellie every day. And now—’ He can’t say it. ‘Now—’ The words won’t come out. ‘He was my brother.’
The porter realises that the man is crying. It surprises him, that a man with that beard and those tattoos and this height could break down in such a primal, pitiful way.
‘Please just go,’ he says, eventually. His voice is barely audible. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘I can’t leave you,’ Clara replies. The tears are spilling out now. ‘I need you. Nora needs you.’
Seb shakes his head. ‘Why?’
Clara looks surprised. ‘Why?’
‘What am I, to her?’
‘You’re her—’ Clara begins. ‘You know what you are.’ She throws her arms up. ‘You love her.’
‘Do I?’ Seb says, seeming blinded by emotion. ‘Why do I?’
‘She loves you.’
‘I don’t have anything,’ Seb says, not hearing her. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘You have us,’ Clara says, quietly.
‘I don’t.’
Whatever Seb means, Clara seems to understand it. She can’t seem to say anything in return. Her lip quivers. Tears roll down her cheeks.
‘I wanted it so badly,’ Seb says, his voice breaking.
‘I know you did,’ Clara replies, arms wrapped around herself. ‘Sometimes I felt like it was all you wanted.’
Seb has no response to this. He looks detached from reality, his red and bleary eyes trained on Clara but not quite seeing her.
‘I know you’re hurting,’ she says, with a sniff. ‘But we can talk. Let’s go back inside.’
Seb looks over her shoulder, at the door through which they came. The porter watches him from the shadows. All three of them are rooted to the spot.
‘It’s never going to be the same,’ Seb says.
‘No,’ Clara replies. ‘It’s not.’ She looks down at her feet. ‘But we can try—’ Her voice falters. ‘We could be happy. The three of us.’
‘I can’t be,’ Seb says. ‘I can’t lose anyone else.’
He shakes his head. Words fail him. He turns from her, scans the fence as if looking for another exit. His eyes pass over the space where the porter is. He sees nothing.
