Page 135 of Still Me
That day I was dressed in homage toDesperately Seeking Susan. I wore a purple silk bomber jacket with a rainbow embroidered on the back, leggings, layered vests, and an armful of bangles, which had made a pleasing jangle each time I’d whacked the till drawer shut (it wouldn’t close properly unless you did).
“You know,” he said, shaking his head, “I can’t believe you used to wear that golf shirt combo when you were working for the Gopniks. That was so not you.”
I hesitated as the lift door opened. I refused to use the service lift these days. “You know what, Ashok? You’re so right.”
—
Out of deference to her status as homeowner, I always knocked before I let myself into Margot’s apartment, even though I had had a key for months. There was no response the first time and I had to check my reflexive panic, telling myself that she often had the radio on loud, that Ashok would have let me know if anything was wrong. Finally I let myself in. Dean Martin came skittering up the hallway to greet me, his eyes askew with joy at my arrival. I picked him up, and let his wrinkled nose snuffle all over my face.
“Yes, hello, you. Hello, you. Where’s your mum, then?” I put him down and he yapped and ran in excited circles. “Margot? Margot, where are you?”
She came out of the living room in her Chinese silk dressing gown.
“Margot! Are you not well?” I dropped my bag and ran to her, but she held up a palm.
“Louisa, something miraculous has happened.”
My response popped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. “You’re getting better?”
“No, no, no. Come in. Come in! Come and meetmy son.” She turned before I could speak and disappeared back into the living room. I walked in behind her and a tall man in a pastel sweater, the beginnings of a belly straining over his belt buckle, rose from a chair and reached across to shake my hand.
“This is Frank Junior, my son. Frank, this is my dear friend Louisa Clark, without whom I could not have made it through the past few months.”
I tried to cover my feeling of wrong-footedness. “Oh. Uh. It—it was mutual.” I leaned over to shake the hand of the woman beside him, who wore a white turtleneck sweater and had the kind of pale candyfloss hair that she might have spent a lifetime trying to control.
“I’m Laynie,” she said, and her voice was high, like one of those women who had never been able to let go of girlishness. “Frank’s wife. I believe we have you to thank for our little family reunion.” She dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. Her nose was tinged pink, like she had recently been crying.
Margot reached out a hand to me. “So it turns out Vincent, the deceitful little wretch, told his father about our meetings and my—my situation.”
“Yes, the deceitful little wretch would indeed be me,” said Vincent, appearing at the door with a tray. He looked relaxed and happy. “Nice to see you again, Louisa.” I nodded, a half smile now fixed on my face.
It was so odd seeing people in the apartment. I was used to the quiet, to it being just me, Margot, and Dean Martin, not Vincent in his checked shirt and Paul Smith tie coming through bearing our dinner tray, and the tall man with his legs concertinaed against the coffee table and the woman who kept gazing around the living room with slightly startled eyes, as if she had never been anywhere like this before.
“They surprised me, you know,” Margot told me, her voice croaking a little, like someone who had already talked too much. “He called up to say he was passing through and I thought it was just Vincent and then the door opened a little wider and, well, I can’t... You must all think me so shocking. I hadn’t even got around to getting dressed, had I? I’dquite forgotten until just now. But we have had the loveliest afternoon. I can’t begin to tell you.” Margot reached out her other hand and her son took it, and squeezed it. His chin quivered a little with suppressed emotion.
“Oh, it really has been magical,” said Laynie. “We have so much to catch up on. I honestly think this was the Lord’s work bringing us all together.”
“Well, Him and Facebook,” said Vincent. “Would you like some coffee, Louisa? There’s some left in the pot. I just brought some cookies out in case Margot wanted to eat something.”
“She won’t eat those,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Oh, she’s quite right. I don’t eat cookies, Vincent dear. Those are really for Dean Martin. The chocolate drops aren’t actual chocolate, see?”
Margot barely drew breath. She seemed completely transformed. It was as if she’d lost a decade overnight. The brittle light behind her eyes had gone, replaced by something soft, and she couldn’t stop talking, her tone babbling and merry.
I backed toward the door. “Well, I... don’t want to get in the way. I’m sure you all have a lot to discuss. Margot, give me a shout when you need me.” I stood, waving my hands uselessly. “It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m so pleased for you.”
“We think it would be the right thing if Mom came back with us,” said Frank Junior.
There was a brief silence.
“Came back where?” I said.
“To Tuckahoe,” said Laynie. “To our home.”
“For how long?” I said.
They looked at each other.
