Page 109 of The Truth About You and Me
‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
After Gloria leaves, I pull the chair closer, leaning in. ‘Hi, Riz, it’s me. Maggie.’
She doesn’t respond. Tears fall freely down my cheeks as I look around the room. It feels as if something is missing and I realise it’s her scent. The perfume she always wears: flowery with a spicy undertone. Her nails aren’t painted either. I stand, look around for her vanity box. I take out her perfume, bringing it to my nose. So many memories flicker, like old photos developing. The day she hired me, Jack laughing with her, Riz slamming down a winning hand of cards. I go back to the bed, lean over and spray some on her neck.
‘Can’t have you meeting St Peter without looking and smelling your best, eh?’
I click the lid back on and then reach for her lipstick. I twist the gold casing, red velvet: soft and rounded by her mouth. I lean over her, dabbing the stick against her lips. ‘There. Much better.’ I put the lipstick away and reach for her nail polish. Her hands are lying beside her, flat on the soft blue blanket. I twist open the bottle, gliding the brush against the edges, and begin painting her nails. My throat is tight with the distant pulse of her. It’s calming, no thoughts, no sounds, just… calm. I move to the other side of the bed, repeating the process.
‘Keep still or you’ll smudge.’
I move back, hearing her voice as if she were speaking.No chance of that is there.A small laugh turns into a choked sob. I return to her bedside. Time passes; the room darkens. I open the curtains as far as they will go. The sky is full of stars tonight and the moon swollen, low in the sky.
I continue to talk. I tell her about my life, the truth about why I couldn’t touch her, about why I can’t be with Jack.
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly. ‘For being such a good friend. I’m going to miss…’ I swallow. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
A strange sound comes from her throat and I push the call button.
Gloria steps into the room. Soft feet in Crocs. ‘OK, love?’ I shake my head, throat closed.
‘She made a weird noise. A?—’
‘It’s all normal.’ She sits beside Riz, takes her pulse, strokes her hair back and straightens the bedclothes. ‘It won’t be long now. You might want to hold her hand?’
‘I…’ I shake my head.
‘I know it’s difficult, but it’ll help. I promise.’ She gets up and leaves the room.
‘The first time I met you,’ I begin. ‘I thought you were the most incredible woman. All those pictures on your wall, all of those adventures, but it’s not the places you’ve been to or how many of the Fab Four you met, it was this confidence, this love of life. That’s what made you incredible.’ I pause, wipe my cheek with my sleeve. ‘You looked past my problems and instead made me feel normal, you know? No, normal isn’t the right word, you made me feel special. But in a good way.’
Riz lets out a long breath and panic slices through me. I get up, sit next to her. And with grief and pain in my heart, I take hold of her hand.
And then.
There is a pull. A tug inside.
I don’t only hear her thoughts. I see them. As if I’m in the front row at Flicks, looking up at the screen.
You want to buy me a drink? Why?
The picture in her mind is so clear that I can smell the polish of the wood on the bar, hear the music in the background, the conversations around us, feel the warm heat of the room and then I see the man in front of me,her.
Because when you walked into the room, I didn’t realise there was part of me missing.
The weight of her hair is heavy at the base of her spine. She looks to the mirror behind the bar, blows out a plume of cigarette smoke through scarlet lips that I can taste.
Poppycock.
The image shifts, another time, her hair feels shorter, the same man, dark messy hair roguish smile, glasses, thick jumper. I can smell his cologne, mint and burning wood. He drops to his knees, a bolt of fear shooting through her, I can hear the sting from the words falling from her mouth.
No. I’m not the marrying type.
I feel pain as her back turns and she walks away.
Images flicker past, seasons changing: Riz working hard, camera in hand, loneliness, the ache of something missing, then love.
All-consuming, unwavering love.
