Still Me (Me Before You #3) - Jojo Moyes Page 0,161

it. It’s complicated. As soon as you’ve got other retailers involved you need to build a partition and separate access and get insurance, and then you don’t know who you got coming in at all hours … Strangers in our stuff. It’s too risky.’ She chewed her gum and blew a bubble, popping it absently with a purple-nailed finger. ‘Plus, you know, we don’t like anybody.’

‘Louisa!’ Ashok was standing on the carpet and clapped his gloved hands together as I arrived home. ‘You coming to ours next Saturday? Meena wants to know.’

‘Is the protest still on?’

The two previous Saturdays I couldn’t help but notice there had been a distinct dwindling of the numbers. The hopes of local residents were almost non-existent now. The chanting had become half-hearted as the city’s budgets tightened, the seasoned protesters slowly drifting away. Months after the action had started, just our little core remained, Meena rallying everyone with bottles of water and insisting it wasn’t over till it was over.

‘It’s still happening. You know my wife.’

‘Then I’d love to. Thank you. Tell her I’ll bring dessert.’

‘You got it.’ He made a happy mm-mm sound to himself at the prospect of good food, and called as I reached the elevator, ‘Hey!’

‘What?’

‘Nice threads, lady.’

That day I was dressed in homage to Desperately 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 loudly, 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 meet my 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 leant over to shake the hand of the woman beside him, who wore a white roll-neck 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