me, into the space behind the thick stage curtains, the memory stick falling from my hand as I went to follow her.
‘Amy?’
She turned, her face largely in shadow. There were dusty benches behind her, props dotted about: a plastic crown, a skull, two coat stands, a faded chaise longue. She began to speak, her mouth pursed tight. ‘This is what’s going to happen, Lottie. You are going to leave, quickly and quietly, no more talking to pupils about UCAS points or trying to set up a new circus skills hour as an after-school activity etc. I am going to fix this shitty mess that you’ve made, God knows how.’ She raked a hand through her hair. ‘And try to ensure my boss doesn’t think the whole school needs to reassess our security procedures to stop fucking lunatics prancing into our school assemblies.’
She sounded mad: her voice was really low and I couldn’t meet her eye as she talked. If this was the treatment her sixth formers got I felt my heart go out to them. Nothing was worse this. Nodding frantically I allowed her to lead me through a back corridor, down a small set of stairs and skirt the building so that I found myself back by the security gate that led to the reception. Amy opened the gate for me.
‘Amy, honestly, I’m so sorry . . . I honestly don’t—’
Amy held up a hand, shaking her head from side to side. ‘Don’t, Lottie, don’t make this any worse. I haven’t got time, I need to get back and fix this. Just go, please, just leave.’
Feeling tears sting my eyes for about the eighteenth time that week I backed off, stumbling back up the path and out into the busy London street. I rested my back against the wall of the school. God, what had I done, I thought, head in my hands as I replayed my visit. Why was I intent on hurting everyone closest to me? Shivering in the shade of the wall I thought back to her dead eyes, her cold voice. Amy didn’t deserve this and I had just made a bad situation a hundred times worse. Hands drooping at my sides I sloped away, feeling desperately alone and knowing it was all my fault.
Darling Cora,
It has become a bit of a habit for Arjun and I to head to the pub on the corner after hospital visits. He has changed his mind about treatment and this latest appointment was finalising his course of chemotherapy. He was warned of the side effects and we both knew enough people who had suffered through the gruelling treatment to be depressed as we left the hospital car park.
‘You’ll have to tell the others now,’ I said.
Arjun was peering gloomily into his half pint of ale. ‘I know.’ He picked up the glass and sipped at it. ‘Even Howard might notice if all my hair falls out.’
I tried to laugh but only a thin smile was roused.
‘I just wanted a few more days and weeks without pity, or talking about the treatment, or hearing other uplifting stories about people who had battled cancer, as if it will all end well if only you are determined enough . . . ’
It was the first time I had seen him angry, raging at the disease, and I gripped my own glass. I understood.
‘Launching the app, that seems so much more important now: something to do, to focus on, something really positive.’
Nodding, I felt relief at the change of subject. We were on safer ground here. Selfishly I did not want to think too much about Arjun’s prospects. I couldn’t contemplate it really: it hurt. Am I a coward, Cora, for not saying more? You, of course, wouldn’t have let him off the hook that easily, but then you would have made it better, not worse; comforting rather than awkward.
‘Luke will be here soon,’ Arjun said, wiping at the watermark on the table. ‘And Storm emailed me with mock-ups of the new title page.’
‘You know I don’t know what mock-ups are?’
‘Of course!’ Arjun said brightly. ‘But even you should be able to navigate the app. It’s simple. It’s straightforward. You type in your postcode and choose a radius and then bam!’ His eyes were dancing now, his black hair gleaming under the pub lights as he twisted in his seat to look at the door. ‘They should be here soon.’
As if he conjured them, Luke appeared, holding the door open for Storm,