Coming Down (13 page)

This sounds interesting.
“What kind of stuff?”

He
shifts his feet. “I dunno, just stuff. Paintings and things. I don’t like her looking through them.”

I raise my eyebrows.
“At the nudes?”

“
You’ve got a dirty mind, do you know that?” He shakes his head, but the grin on his lips tells me he’s kidding. “What makes you think I’ve got a flat full of nudes?”

His smile is infectious. It
’s so easy, this conversation, the gentle teasing. “What else can you be hiding from your mum?”

He leans toward me, his dark hair falling over the side of his face as his head inclines.
It brushes against my cheek as he hovers his lips close to my ear. “Maybe I’ve got a red room of pain.”

There
’s something about the sentence that makes my toes curl up. I’m not sure if it’s the physical sensation of his breath on my sensitive skin, or if it’s the fact he’s saying dirty words in my ear.

Dirty, funny words.

I pull back and raise my eyebrows. “If you can afford a red room of pain in central London, you’re obviously making more money than I thought.”

“
I’m not quite in the Damien Hirst ranks yet. Let’s call it an off-pink cupboard of slight discomfort.”

“
Now
that
I’d like to see.”

“
Why don’t you come to dinner tomorrow night?” He almost stumbles over the words. “You and Simon. I’m sure my mother would love to see I actually have some friends over here.”

“
You cook?”

“
I try. I’ve been known not to completely bollocks up a steak.” He’s looking at me quizzically, as if I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve. “It probably won’t be up to the standards you and Simon are used to but—”

“
Simon’s away for the weekend,” I blurt out.

“
What about you? Are you free?” His voice is soft. “I can cook steaks for three as easily as for four.”

Thank God h
is mum will be there. If bones could sigh, mine would right now. I’m reading into things that aren’t there, seeing complications where there is only simplicity. A friend, his mum and a dinner, nothing more.

“
Sounds good. What time do you want me?”

1
2

Niall’s flat is on the top floor of a Victorian terrace in Ladbroke Grove. I stand outside, clutching a bottle of chilled white wine, letting anticipation waft over me like a welcome breeze. In the road behind cars idle, honking impatiently, their horns cutting through the almost-balmy evening air. I wait, one hand clutching the bottle, the other in a fist that’s too scared to move forward and push a tiny silver button that will let Niall and his mother know I’m here.

Why am I here?

It’s only dinner—a meal with a friend and his mum. No different to a night with Lara and Alex, after all. Plus, Simon himself is out somewhere without me, not bothering to call to check in, or even deigning to answer my emails. So I shouldn’t feel guilty about this, should I? Yet I hesitate, standing on the concrete steps that lead to the shiny black front door, breathing in the aroma of the sweet peas trailing down from hanging baskets.

There
’s a part of me that wants to spin on my heel and walk straight down the steps and into a cab. Away from the madness and back to my reality. Except I want doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did. I’m starting to think that my steady marriage and supportive husband are a product of my fevered imagination; a grown-up equivalent of an invisible friend.

A comforting lie
.

The shrill sound of a police siren in the distance brings me
out of my thoughts, and I realise I’ve been standing here for too long. Swallowing down the last remnants of fear, I finally press the button for flat three, my finger shaking as I pull it away. In the moment it takes for Niall to answer the urge to run away crescendos, and I’m a hair’s breadth from sprinting down the road when his voice crackles through the speakers.

“
Hello?”

I lean closer to the intercom.
“It’s Beth.”

“
Come on up. Third floor.” A buzz followed by a clunk tells me the front door has unlocked. Pushing it open gingerly, I step into an empty hallway that echoes with every click of my heels on the wooden floor. I put my foot on the bottom stair and wish I spent more time at the gym than I do thinking about it.

By the time I get t
o his floor I’m so worn out I forget that I’m scared. At least until he opens the door. Niall stands beneath the lintel, his hair brushed back off his face, wearing clean, dark jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“
Hi.” He takes a step forward and his forehead furrows, his brows pulling together as he looks at me. “Are you okay?”

I
’m still gasping for air, my heart hammering against my chest. “I’m a bit... unfit.”

He bites his lip,
trying to stifle a smile. If I had any spare oxygen I’d huff.

“
Let me take that from you,” he says, grabbing the wine bottle. “Come in, come in.”

The first thing I notice is how li
ght and airy his flat is. Though it’s almost twilight, the evening sun illuminates the room as if it’s still midday. It makes sense, I suppose, that he’d choose to live somewhere with good light. He’s an artist, after all.

I
’m so busy looking around that it takes me a minute to notice the petite lady who comes to join us, a wine glass in her hand and a smile on her lips.

“
Ma, this is Beth. Beth, this is my auld ma.” There’s a sardonic lilt to his voice.

She hits him on the arm.
“Stop it, you little horror, you know my bloody name.” When she looks at me she’s all sweetness and light. “You can call me Maureen.”

“
It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maureen.”

“
You, too. It’s always lovely to meet one of Niall’s friends.” Her eyes are the same colour as her son’s, a deep blue that reminds me of oceans and seas. “Niall, stop hanging around and get your friend a drink.”

She nags him with humour and he takes it in the same way, doffing an imaginary cap at her before he winks at me.
When he walks into the small kitchen at the end of his living room, I can’t help but admire the way his jeans skim over his behind.

“
Shall we sit down?” Niall’s mum asks.

I tear my eyes away from her
son’s arse. “That would be lovely.”

I
’ve barely sat down on the battered leather sofa before she starts talking. She’s perched on an over-stuffed easy chair opposite me. “Niall tells me you work at a drug clinic. Do you enjoy it there? It sounds hard work.”

“
It’s not so bad. I work with children rather than addicts, so I don’t get to see the worst of it.”

Niall hands me a glass of wine and sits down next to me.
“Is she giving you the third degree?”

“
Hush up, you auld spa.” There’s a grin on her lips and I presume she’s insulting him. “It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to. It’s not as though you ever call me.”

He catches my eye.
“Once a week. Every Sunday at six or I’m a dead man walking.”

“
He schedules me in like I’m a trip to the dentist,” she tells me. “Is that any way for a boy to treat his mammy?”

There
’s fondness in their mutual insults, and I can’t help but smile. They seem to have the sort of relationship I could only dream of having with my parents. I think I might like Niall’s mother as much as I like him.

They eventually stop talking long eno
ugh to draw breath, and Niall says he’ll start cooking the steaks. He takes me up on my offer to make the salad, and the two of us work away in his kitchen, chopping and seasoning as we chat.

“
I’m sorry about my ma, she can be pretty full on.”

“
She’s lovely.” I take a sip of wine and lean on his breakfast bar. “You’re lucky to have her.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle up
. “I really am. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” His voice deepens. “That summer...when everything happened. God, she was a rock. I think I would have given up without her.”

I look down, feeling a tug in my stomach so
strong it hurts. I should be pleased that he found some support where I had none. A cheerleader instead of the critics I had to endure. But if I’m truthful, there’s something galling in knowing he had her while I had months of angry silences and recriminations.

When my father brought me home from college that summer I was an embarrassment to them both. I
’d let them down. They’d proudly sent their pretty A-grade daughter off to university only to have her return as a drug-addled failure who’d been at the centre of a national tragedy. I was their dirty little secret that year, hidden away at home.

No matter how hard I try, the pain never heals over completely. There
’s still a little scab that’s so easily picked at.

“
Are you okay?” he asks, concern etched in his eyes.

I take a deep breath followed by an even deeper mouthful of wine.
“Yeah.” It comes out as a sigh. “I just hate remembering what happened. It still hurts, thinking about it.”

He reaches
for my hand. “I know, believe me, I do. I spent years wishing I’d never given him that tab. That I’d listened to him when he said he felt ill. Sometimes I still dream about him.”

There
’s no need for him to tell me they’re nightmares, because I know they are. The same terrible images that flicker through my own dormant mind; the party, the music, the dancing. The feeling that we could rule the world with love and peace. The way we ignored what was happening in front of our zoned-out eyes.

Digby wasn
’t hot or thirsty. He wasn’t just shooting the breeze with us. While we danced our way through the night, high on E and God only knew what else, he was dying. He stumbled through the crowd, maybe clutching his chest, his heart fighting against the effects of MDMA. Losing spectacularly. We were his friends, we let him down. We let him die on a muddy, grass-covered field all alone.

While we danced.

That knowledge is so much worse than the clusterfuck that happened afterward. The investigations and the media frenzy, followed by the unseemly influence of his parents’ money. The fact we bore all of the blame for his death in the eyes of the press and the university seemed like karma.

“
Beth?” Niall squeezes my hand softly. I squeeze back, swallowing down the bile that’s collected in my throat.

“
We’d best get on with dinner; we don’t want to starve your mum.” I start chopping tomatoes, slicing the sharp knife through their rosy skins. But he doesn’t move, though; simply stands and stares at me until I’m embarrassed enough to stop.

“
You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“
Chopping tomatoes?”

“
Avoidance. You even have this tone you use when you change the subject. Breezy and chipper, as if it’s your job to cheer everybody up.”

T
he impact of his words is so strong it almost hurts. It’s as if he can see right through my bullshit and understands who I am underneath. As though he wants to break through the shell I’ve carefully built around myself; the pretty one I show to the rest of the world.

If he does, I
’m scared he’s going to find something rotten underneath.

* * *

I think I’m falling in love with Niall’s mother. Maureen is a one-woman ball of energy, a force of nature that has no half-life. She spends most of the evening taking good-natured jibes at Niall which he happily endures, and I sit and let their mutual love envelop me like a soft, warm blanket. I’ve managed to shake off my earlier angst enough to join in her teasing about Niall’s general messiness. He protests loudly when I tell her he’s been cleaning the flat all week.

When he disappears to the bathroom, she turns in her chair and smiles at me.
“How long have you and Niall known each other?” She glances at my left hand, and I know she’s looking at my wedding ring.

“
He started volunteering at the clinic a couple of months ago, but I knew him before. At university.” Her eyes cloud over when I say the words.

“
You were there when that poor wee boy died?”

I nod.

“Such a tragedy.” She shakes her head slowly. “And everything that happened afterward, too. Did you hear Niall was thrown out?”

I swallow hard and glance at the door to the hallway.
Unsure how much I should tell her, or how much Niall would want me to say. But I’ve seen them interact enough to know she doesn’t judge, not unless she’s making a joke. If pure love exists, then these two have it in spades.

“
I was thrown out, too,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen as
realisation seems to wash over her. “You’re the girl...” she breathes. “The one he left behind.”

My voice is thick when I answer her.
“That was me.”

She looks at my ring once more
, before her eyes flicker up to meet mine. “I know Niall looks tough, but he’s sensitive underneath it all. He had such a hard time dealing with everything that happened. When I flew into town yesterday, it was like he was really alive again, that he was letting himself be happy for the first time in years.” She catches my gaze and I feel like I’m being scrutinised. “My son adored you once, Beth. Don’t make him fall in love with you again.”

My chest constricts until I can barely breathe.
“We’re just friends,” I manage to whisper.

“
His eyes follow you around the room whenever he thinks you aren’t looking. When he talks to you there’s this gentleness to his voice I haven’t heard in years. I’m old but I’m not blind. I can see the way you both look at each other.”

I take a big mouthful of wine and
consider her words. Remembering the way he waited for hours outside the police station. How he always hangs around after class and helps me clear up.

Oh, God
.

“
He’s worked so hard to get over everything that happened,” she says. “Please don’t break his heart all over again.”