Beth
Beth
The next day he prods her awake and tells her it’s time to walk across Greenwich Park.
‘But it’s freezing out there,’ she moans, walking over to the winter garden and staring out at the cloudless sky. The window is damp with condensation and when she presses her hands against the glass, it feels like a sheet of ice. ‘Can’t we stay inside and watch TV? Or play Scrabble?’
‘Absolutely not. For one thing, I don’t own Scrabble. And for another, you’d definitely beat me. Consider it in lieu of rent – you must endure a two-hour walk with me once a week. No negotiation. Put this on. We’ll get a coffee on the way.’
He hands her one of his scarves and as they stand side by side in the lift, on impulse she reaches up and yanks his beanie down so that it covers his whole face.
‘Very mature,’ he laughs, taking it off and throwing it at her. They are still giggling like children when the lift door opens unexpectedly on the eighth floor, letting in a sober-faced man in a suit.
Outside, despite the chill on her face, she appreciates the fresh air. She’s never been to this part of London before, and she’s surprised how expansive it feels.
‘I love it here,’ Nick says as they march up the steep hill. ‘I try to come every week. Even just for an hour. Even when it’s freezing cold. It’s like a shot of adrenaline or something.’ He pauses. ‘Better than any drug, anyway.’
She reaches out without thinking and grabs his hand. He looks back at her in surprise but squeezes it gently, and they continue to climb, hand-in-hand, until they reach The Royal Observatory.
She’s ashamed at how out of breath she is when they stand together, among the tourists taking photographs at the top.
‘The best view in London,’ Nick says, and she can’t disagree. It feels as though the whole city is stretched out before them. She thinks of her cramped, crowded corner of High Barnet. It’s hard to reconcile the hemmed-in feel of her old haunts with the greenery and vast blue sky she sees before her. ‘Would you look at it? I just can’t stop thinking of all the people it contains. All their stories. Wondering what they’re doing, thinking, eating, discussing…’
Clustered in the centre of the view is London’s Docklands, looking like modern-day castles of capitalism – tall, shiny buildings huddled together, both flaunting and protecting their occupants.
She wonders which tower Nick works in, thinks how little the thought of it suits him. He doesn’t like feeling trapped, enclosed. Why does he do that job? It doesn’t make sense.
‘It’s so different from anywhere else in London,’ she says, even though it’s a stupidly obvious thing to say. ‘And it has such a different feel. I wouldn’t even have thought London could be like this.’
‘It’s magic. And don’t you think the air is so much fresher up here? The best thing about it is the way the view changes with the seasons.’
She smiles. Nick seems to have unwound, somehow, and she can sense hints of the boy she remembers, from those few short weeks at university before the fire.
‘Come on,’ he continues. ‘Let me show you my favourite bench.’
‘You have a favourite bench?’
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘One must always have a favourite bench in one’s favourite park.’
She thinks, briefly, of that other bench. The one she was sitting on when she found out about her grandad. Has he forgotten? She doubts it. Somehow she knows that, like her, he will never forget these things. They have a weight that will press down on them both for the rest of their lives.
He takes her hand and she allows him to lead her away from the Observatory.
‘There’s a local campaign running to encourage biodiversity,’ he says, sounding more like the old Nick than he has since she came to stay with him. ‘Grassroots – if you’ll excuse the pun. Basically since the 1960s the people who manage the park have been mowing the lawns and fertilising them to make all the grass green and perfect like a bloody bowling lawn. It’s not a good thing.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No, this area was originally heathland. The soil was acidic, which was good for all kinds of different species. Since they’ve been manicuring the hell out of the place, tons of different insects and birds have suffered. So there’s a group of people working to change things.’
His cheeks are red. She can’t tell if it’s with enthusiasm or the cold.
‘And are you one of them, Mr Parker?’ she asks, slightly teasingly.
He stops short, looks at her. And then he shakes his head.
‘I keep up with everything they’re doing. But with work being so crazy…’
He drops her hand. She’s made him sad again, she’s punctured his enthusiasm with her stupidity, and she’s annoyed with herself. Of course he doesn’t have time to volunteer. He barely has time to sleep.
‘I love that you know about this stuff,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t… I mean, I miss so much of what’s going on around me. I’m constantly stressing about work, rushing from place to place. What with my two part-time jobs – one as a singing waitress, the other as an actual waitress – sometimes it feels as though I don’t see daylight for days…’
She swallows, guilt pricking. She’s called in sick at the restaurant for the past few days.
‘But what you’re trying to do…’ he says, gazing into her eyes, ‘I really admire it. I think you’re incredible. To be following your heart. Doing something you’re truly passionate about, when you have so many easier options available to you.’
She thinks of the sacrifices, the fact that she stayed with Paulo because it was the only way she could keep her head above water while she pursued this ridiculous fantasy of becoming a successful actress.
‘It’s an obsession,’ she says. ‘A coping mechanism. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s healthy, not really. But then again, I don’t feel as though I have a choice. And in a way, that makes it all so much easier. To resign yourself to it. A lot of stress comes from indecision, don’t you think?’
He looks past her shoulder, as though weighing up what she’s said. Then he looks back at her.
‘It takes so much courage, Beth. I couldn’t do it. But then again, you always were braver than me.’
She knows then that his thoughts, like hers, have circled back to the fire, to the way they both handled it.
‘I wasn’t brave,’ she says, softly. ‘I was…’
What was she? She’s not sure. Determined? Single-minded? In denial?
‘I don’t know,’ she says eventually. ‘But I wasn’t brave. It wasn’t a choice.’
She wonders if he’s thinking of what she did. The fact she tried to stop him from helping. His desire to help was true bravery – or stupidity. Both.
‘Five years... I missed you, Nick,’ she says. ‘I missed you every day after you left.’
He looks down. She feels a pang of guilt. She didn’t mean to chastise him. It wasn’t his fault he found it difficult to stay.
‘Well, I’m here now,’ he says. He swallows. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Beth. Always.’