Chapter 4 #2
And I dry up. There’s no burgeoning feelings that need to be explored, contained and cemented. Just a kind of numbness.
It’s not something I’m used to – the block.
When I first started to write about him, in those heady, Valium-laced days after he died, my mum used to have to come in and put me to bed.
She would physically take the diary and put it downstairs, tuck me in and turn the lights off, because if she didn’t, she knew that I wouldn’t stop.
I would write it down, every little detail from Ettie’s shower routine, to our arguments, to the description of his body in the mortuary, because I felt like if I didn’t, then I would lose it all, forget everything.
As long as it was hurting, it bought me closer to him in some way.
The only thing that helped stop the writing addiction had been a comment from my dad, hovering in the doorway of my bedroom, with that wary and concerned look of a parent terrified of his child’s emotions.
‘You’re almost halfway through,’ he said, pointing at the spine.
It was a simple thing to say, a half-hearted observation, but as I looked through the pages, the ones heavily lined with writing and the fresh ones yet to be touched, I realised what he was saying.
If I kept on going, then in a couple of weeks, even my little coping mechanism would be gone.
I cried some more and Dad stepped into the bedroom and hovered again, but this time over me, patting my shoulder.
The next day we drove to a tech shop and he bought me a laptop, a proper expensive one, all the bells and whistles.
I protested but he insisted – I think he would have bought me a car to try and make me feel just a little bit better at that point.
So it’s hard not to feel the irony that now I’m here, the words stop. A kind of cruel joke that has been played on me before – let’s give it all to Ava, lay it all out in front of her and then when it matters the most, take it all away.
I pull out my phone to try to distract myself from the pressure building in my chest.
I text Sam that the apartment is fine. I tell my parents that I’m alive, arrived and settled – even though the last bit is so far from the truth I’m sure that the lie is blaringly obvious – and then I do the unthinkable.
The phone rings twice before he picks up.
‘Ava?’ Archie’s voice is full of concern.
‘Hi.’
‘Is everything okay?’
There’s a long pause. It is weighted and heavy until I fill it with a whimpering ‘No.’
‘Give me two seconds, Ava.’ Archie’s voice is steady. I can hear him say something to someone on his end of the line. A chair moving. It’s four o’clock on a Monday in London. He’s at work.
‘Shit, I’m sorry… I forgot, I’ll go.’
‘No! It’s fine. It wasn’t important, I’m just heading outside.’
‘God,’ I stammer. ‘I’m such a shit.’
‘Right, I’m here. What’s going on?’
‘Sorry, you just said I could call you and there is literally no one else… and I have no clue what I’m doing here and fuck…’
‘Ava, just breathe.’ He is calm, authoritative in a way I didn’t know he could be. ‘Just breathe.’
I do as he says, keep breathing until the shudder goes, until it feels like my throat isn’t going to close up.
‘Good,’ he coaches. ‘Now tell me.’
‘I just freaked out.’
‘I can tell.’
‘I haven’t really been on my own in a place like this in forever and…’
‘So you’re at the apartment?’ he cuts through.
‘Yes.’
‘Is it okay?’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘What are you doing?’
I look down at the very full glass of red in my hand. ‘Drinking wine.’
‘Maybe wine isn’t the best?’
‘Thanks for that assessment.’
‘Have you got dinner sorted?’
‘Yes.’ I lie, my eyes darting towards the cereal bar. I choose not to be so honest about that. ‘Can you just… tell me about your day?’
‘There’s nothing really to tell.’
‘That’s exactly what I want to hear about right now.’
‘Sure.’ I can hear him smile through the phone. ‘I got up at seven, went to Gail’s, got a coffee.’
‘You basic bitch.’
‘You love it. Got to the office for eight. Forgot my key card but Jerry on the door let me in. Checked my emails, did some admin… is this boring enough for you?’ he checks in.
‘Perfectly boring,’ I nod, rooting around in my bag for the cool silver cigarette case that had once belonged to Ettie. I barely smoke any more, but sometimes on particularly hard days I allow myself the luxury.
‘Had lunch in the canteen.’
‘What did you have?’
I take the wine through the bedroom and onto the balcony. It’s almost dark now.
‘Ham and cheese panini.’
I light the cigarette and inhale deeply. ‘You rockstar.’
‘I’ll hang up.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
His laugh subsides, ‘Maybe I can come out and see you when you’re more settled.
I have some holiday. Could do a long weekend?
’ My silence on the other side seems to scare him.
‘But no pressure or anything. I appreciate your head’s probably all over the place and everything and you’re there to do some work not to just entertain some random guy you hook up w—’
‘Yeah sure,’ I say to stop him saying anything else self-deprecating.
‘Yes that’s why it’s a bad idea, or…’
‘Just yeah, I mean maybe at some point. If we get some time.’ It is the most pitiful invitation.
‘Oh.’ His voice softens. ‘Cool,’ he adds.
‘Maybe I can call you again, like tomorrow? When you’re not at work,’ I offer, desperate to move off the topic of Archie flying all this way to stay in this attic with me and my ghosts.
‘Of course.’
‘Great.’ I take another long drag.
‘Ava, I have to go.’ He sighs.
‘I know, thanks Archie.’
‘For what?’
‘For answering. I— It means a lot.’
‘Anytime.’ And whilst it might be something that anyone says to finish a call, when he says it, I believe him.