Page 76 of The Truth About You and Me
‘Would you—’ She hesitates. ‘Would you like me to read to you?’
My heart quickens. I’ve not even had the guts to listen to an audiobook in months but as I look at her, I can feel a yearning that I haven’t felt for a long time, like a knot unwinding.
‘I’d really like that.’
She smiles and gets up. ‘Right then, you order the pizza, and I’ll go and see what I can find.’
I take out my phone, speak into the search engine and order. I throw in some cookies and mozzarella sticks too then warm my hands around the cup. The temperature is dropping quickly. I get up, pull back the curtains and look along the street. Lights glowing opposite, no sign of a power cut except here. I frown, notice the radiators, the thermostat dial on the wall. I can’t read the numbers but can see it’s set to low. I look at the many DVDs lined up around the TV, leaning in to pull a few out. A red light behind the TV flickers on and off. An electric meter, similar to one in my student house. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t a power cut.
I look to a jam jar filled with coins on one of the shelves amongst the DVDs and knick-knacks; a label I can’t read explaining the contents. I think of the cupboards, the sachets of coffee and individual milk cartons. The way Maggie devours her popcorn. There are blankets on the sofa, and next to a bag of knitting is a pair of fingerless gloves.
The weight of the reality of this ‘power cut’ hits me hard, my stomach tightening as I look around.
I want to help. I want to pay for her electric, her heating, take her shopping, help her in some way, any way that would make her life easier. But I know her. She wouldn’t accept help, even if it’s from someone who already cares deeply about her.
Could I insist? I push the thought immediately away. This isn’t about the empty meter and stark cupboards, this is about her self-respect. I won’t cross any line that could jeopardise that.
‘I don’t have many, but I did buyThe Great Gatsbyin the charity shop down the road? I love Baz Luhrmann. Shit it’s freezing, just a sec—’ She disappears again and pushes in an old portable gas heater like the one my grampa had in his potting shed. ‘I keep this for emergencies,’ she says. ‘There’s not much in the tank but it’ll take the edge off.’ She goes about lighting it. There is a knock on the door. I take the pizzas, arranging the boxes on the floor, next to where Maggie was sitting, and fold myself opposite.
The awkwardness has dissipated now, as if we can understand each other without words.
Vicky was always a fan of grand gestures and perfectly curated ‘Insta-perfect moments’, but in this small room, with the soft glow of candles, it’s like we’ve created a safe place, just for us, protected from the pressures of the world outside.
And it’s perfect.
32
MAGGIE
‘So, who are your pen pals?’ Jack asks, covering his mouth as he speaks, eyes on the postcards above the sofa. I turn my head, looking at them.
‘No pen pals.’ I smile. ‘Just a hobby. I sometimes clean houses before estate sales. I found a stack of them in the bin, and it felt wrong to get rid of them.’ I reach out and unstick one from above the sofa. ‘This is my favourite: New York in winter.’ I turn the card over: ‘Wish you were here, L.’
‘Have you ever been?’
‘To New York?’ I laugh and shake my head. ‘No.’ I change the subject because the truth is, I will never be able to go. ‘Too many people, too many thoughts. You?’
‘Once or twice. But not for a while.’
He tells me about Central Park, about Macy’s at Christmas, about the Empire State Building, which leads me on toSleepless in SeattleandAn Affair to Remember. ‘I shouldn’t have had that third slice,’ I say rubbing my full stomach. ‘And the cookie.’
Jack folds the lid over the leftovers. ‘I’ll put the rest in the fridge. Breakfast of champions,’ he adds over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.
I reach over, flapping the book when he sits down on the sofa. ‘Ready?’
‘When you are.’
‘I’m not the best reader…’ I begin and wince at my lack of tact.
‘Makes two of us.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You don’t have to do that, you know.’ He pulls at his earlobe, shifts the cushion behind him. ‘It’s one of the things I like; you say what’s on your mind.’
‘Well, I like to even the playing field.’ Christ it feels good to be able to say things like that to him. I smile over, then look down at the page. ‘In my younger and more vulnerable years…’ I begin. Jack leans back, his head tilted and a slow smile easing across his face as I read. As I near the end of the first chapter my back is starting to ache and I crick my neck.
Jack stretches his arm along the sofa. ‘Would you like to…’ He rubs his hand across his mouth. ‘Shit, I can’t think of a better way to say this, and I hate this word, but cuddle?’ I snort, he’s practically squirming as he says the word.
