Page 121 of The Girl You Left Behind
“Will I see you over the weekend?”
“I’ve got Jake, but... sure. We’ll work something out.”
He seems distracted. She sees the doubt that shadows his face.Will we really be able to forgive what we have cost each other?she thinks, fleetingly, and feels a chill that has nothing to do with the cold.
“I’ll drive you home,” he says. And the moment passes.
•••
The house is silent when she lets herself in. She locks the door, puts her keys on the side, and walks into the kitchen, her footsteps echoing across the limestone floor. She finds it hard to believe she only left here this morning: It feels as if a whole lifetime has passed.
Liv can just make out a distant thumping bass from the apartment below, the slamming front doors, and laughter that are the acoustics of an ordinary Friday night out. It is a reminder that elsewhere the world turns regardless.
The evening stretches. She showers and washes her hair. She lays out clothes for the next day and eats some crackers and cheese.
But her emotions do not settle: They jangle, like a rail of empty coat hangers. She is exhausted but paces the house, unable to sit still. She keeps tasting Paul on her lips, his words in her ears. She considers calling him, briefly, but when she pulls out her phone, her fingers stall on the buttons. What would she say, after all?I just wanted to hear your voice.
She walks through to the spare room, which is immaculate, empty, as if nobody had ever stayed there. She walks around it, lightly touching the tops of the chairs, the chest of drawers as she passes. She no longer feels comforted by silence and emptiness. She pictures Mo, curled up with Ranic in an overcrowded house full of noise, like the one she has just left.
Finally she makes herself a mug of tea and walks through to her bedroom. She sits in the middle of her bed, leans back against the pillows, and studies Sophie in her gilded frame.
I secretly like the idea that you could have a painting so powerful it could shake up a whole marriage.
Well, Sophie, she thinks,you shook up a whole lot more than that. She gazes at the painting she has loved for almost a decade, and finally she allows herself to think about the day she and David had bought it, the way they had held her aloft in the Spanish sunshine, her colors bouncing in the white light, reflecting the future they believed they had together. She remembers them hanging it in this room on their homecoming, the way she had gazed atThe Girl, wondering what David saw in her that mirrored the image and feeling somehow more beautiful for what he had seen.
You look like she does when you—
She remembers a day, in the early weeks after his death, when she had raised her head dully from her damp pillow and Sophie had seemed to be looking straight at her.This, too, is bearable, her expression had said.You may not know it now. But you will survive.
Except Sophie hadn’t.
Liv fights the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you,” she says, into the silent room. “I wish it could have been different.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, she stands, walks over to the painting, and turns it round so that she can no longer see it. Perhaps it’s a good thing she’s leaving this house: The space on the wall would have been a constant reminder of her failure. It already feels oddly symbolic of the way Sophie herself was effectively rubbed out.
And just as she is about to release it, she stops.
The study, over these past weeks, has grown messy and chaotic, piles of papers spilling over every surface. She moves around it with new purpose, placing the papers in neat piles, in folders, securing each with an elastic band. She doesn’t know what she will do with them once the case is over. Finally, she seeks out the red folder that Philippe Bessette gave her. She flicks through the delicate sheets of paper until she finds the two pieces she is looking for.
She checks them, then takes them into the kitchen. She lights a candle and holds the pieces, one at a time, over the flickering flame, until there is nothing left but ashes.
“There, Sophie,” she says. “If nothing else, you can have that one on me.”
And now, she thinks,something for David.
33
“Ithought you’d be headed off by now. Jake’s asleep in front ofAmerica’s Funniest Home Videos.” Greg walks into the kitchen barefoot and yawning. “You want me to put him in the spare room? It’s kind of late to be dragging him home.”
“That would be great.” Paul barely looks up from his files. His laptop is propped open in front of him.
“What are you doing going over those again? The verdict is due Monday, surely? And—um—didn’t you just quit your job?”
“There’s something I’ve missed. I know it.” Paul runs his finger down the page, flicking impatiently to the next. “I have to check through the evidence.”
“Paul.” Greg pulls up a chair. “Paul,” he says, a little louder. “It’s done, bro. And it’s okay. She’s forgiven you. You’ve made your big gesture. I think you should just leave it now.”
Paul leans back, drags his hands over his eyes. “You think so?”
