at that Vintage Clothes Emporium.’ He was apparently as fascinated as I was by the cheese straws. ‘You got it all sorted, then. She’s in awe of you.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘She said New York suits you.’ He shrugged. ‘But I guess we both knew that.’
I snuck a look at him while his gaze was elsewhere, marvelling with the small part of me that wasn’t actually dying that two people who were once so comfortable with each other could now barely work out how to string a sentence together in conversation.
‘I have something for you. In my room at home,’ I said abruptly. I wasn’t entirely sure where it came from. ‘I brought it back last time but … you know.’
‘Something for me?’
‘Not you exactly. It’s, well, it’s a Knicks baseball cap. I bought it … a while back. That thing you told me about your sister. She never made it to 30 Rock but I thought, well, maybe Jake might like it.’
He stared at me.
It was my turn to look down at my feet. ‘It’s probably a stupid idea, though,’ I said. ‘I can give it to someone else. It’s not like I can’t find a home for a Knicks cap in New York. And it might be a bit weird, me giving you stuff.’
‘No. No. He’d love it. That’s very kind of you.’ Someone beeped a horn outside and Sam glanced towards the window. I wondered idly if Katie was waiting in the car for him.
I didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be a right answer to any of it. I tried to fight the lump that had risen to my throat. I thought back to the Strager ball – I’d assumed that Sam would hate it, that he wouldn’t have a suit. Why did I think that? The one he was wearing today looked like it had been made for him. ‘I’ll – I’ll send it. Do you know what?’ I said, when I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘I think I’d better help Mum with those – with the – there are sausages that …’
Sam took a step backwards. ‘Sure. I just wanted to pay my respects. I’ll leave you to it.’
He turned away and my face crumpled. I was glad I was at a wake where nobody would think this particular expression worthy of attention. And then, before I could straighten my face, he turned back to me.
‘Lou,’ he said quietly.
I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head. And then I watched him as he made his way through the mourners and out through the pub door.
That evening Mum handed me a small parcel.
‘Is this from Granddad?’ I said.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Granddad never gave anyone a present for the last ten years of his life. This is from your man, Sam. Seeing him today reminded me. You left it here the last time you came. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with it.’
I held the little box and had a sudden memory of our argument at the kitchen table. Happy Christmas, he’d said, and dropped it there as he left.
Mum turned away and began washing up. I opened it carefully, peeling off the layers of wrapping paper with exaggerated care, like someone opening an artefact from a previous age.
Inside the little box lay an enamel pin in the shape of an ambulance, perhaps from the 1950s. Its red cross was made of tiny jewels that might have been rubies, or might have been paste. Either way, it glittered in my hand. A tiny note was folded in the roof of the box. To remind you of me while we’re apart. All my love, Your Ambulance Sam. Xxx
I held it in the palm of my hand and Mum came to look over my shoulder. It’s rare that my mother chooses not to speak. But this time she squeezed my shoulder, dropped a kiss on the top of my head and went back to the washing-up.
27
Dear Louisa Clark,
My name is Vincent Weber – grandson of Margot Weber, as I know her. But you seem to know her by her maiden name of De Witt.
Your message came as a surprise because my dad doesn’t really talk about his mom – to be honest, for years I was led to believe that she wasn’t even alive, although I realize now that nobody ever put it in those exact terms.
After I got your message I asked my mom and she said there had been