Part Twelve
Halley
Henry had distinctly said half an hour before he jumped out of the window.
Henry had distinctly said half an hour before he jumped out of the window, thirty-five minutes ago .
Halley paced into her bedroom, keeping her laptop open. Henry had forgotten to cancel the call, so an almost entirely static image of his oddly-shaped college office remained on her screen. She had confirmation that it was live, and hadn’t frozen, every sixty seconds, when the slender minute-hand moved on the clock hanging on the far wall, between an exposed wooden beam and the slope of the ceiling. She stared at the open window. At least if there’d been a drape at it, she could watch to check it didn’t flutter, and perhaps soothe her anxiety over whether it was windy out. Though rain or frost would be even worse.
Henry’s office was built into the roof, but he’d never specified how many floors were below him, and she couldn’t quite recall from her visit to St Jude’s. Screwing her eyes shut, she saw the building in her mind’s eye, and counted the sets of windows... but the mental image wasn’t clear enough for her to be sure, beyond that the building was at least four storeys high, and possibly five.
She collapsed onto her bed, thinking hard. There was a calculation for measuring the lethal dose of any given substance, called median lethal dose, or LD50. Somewhere, she’d once come across the LD50 for falls from heights, which was forty-eight feet. At that distance, there’s a fifty percent chance of survival — or of lethal injury. And an average storey was maybe ten to twelve feet...
She buried her head in her pillow.
‘Uh, Halley?’
She sat bolt upright.
Henry was in his desk chair, his head tilted. ‘Do you feel all right?’
‘No! I thought you were dead . . .’
‘Why?’ he asked, looking bemused.
‘Because you climbed out of a four or five storey window, in the dark, when it’s probably windy or rainy or frosty, and you didn’t come in again for thirty-six minutes!’
‘There’s a fire escape leading down from the roof — I wasn’t shinning drainpipes.’
‘Oh.’ Her pulse slowing, she scrubbed at her face. ‘I didn’t know. What happened?’
‘Unfortunately the miscreant was shinning drainpipes — and hopping between windows, and then he scarpered round the side of the building. By the time I sprinted round there, he was gone, and I had to report it all to the bursar before I could get back to you. Halley, you’ve gone as pale as anything. You really thought I’d jump out of a window?’
The adrenaline was wearing off, and she felt exhausted. ‘Can we please change the subject?’
‘Of course,’ he said, glancing around. ‘It looks like the packing’s going well. How many of those boxes are for the UK?’
‘Literally none. Shipping’s too expensive, so I’m only bringing my essentials,’ she said, glad of something practical to focus on. She explained that Mom would bring more of her stuff, in late February, and described her system: two large suitcases and one small, to take on the plane, and everything else in boxes, ready for the drive to Mom’s.
Henry looked confused. ‘Drive?’
‘Hadn’t I mentioned? I’m setting out on Sunday for Chicago.’
Henry spluttered, coughed, then cleared his throat. ‘You’re driving all the way from California to Chicago? That’s three-quarters of the way across a continent!’
She compressed her lips. ‘I’ve done it before, and can assure you it’s a lot safer than jumping out of windows.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Henry sounded dubious, and she eyed him sceptically. If he tried to mansplain the perils of road-trips, she’d... well she didn’t know what she’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty. But he let it drop, pulling something from a desk drawer. ‘I’ve got a copy of Lawrence’s next letter to Miss Mallory, and it finally reveals her name.’
‘I’ve been wondering about that! What is it?’
‘Christobel. He’s written a few lines of verse, and rhymed it with heart swell. ’
Despite her lingering annoyance, Halley couldn’t help but laugh. ‘My dearest Christobel, how you make my heart swell?’
Henry grinned. ‘Not far off. It’s my heart does swell, for my Christobel .’
‘Cute! Though the swelling thing — could that be him hinting, like... euphemistically, how another part of his body reacts to her?’
Henry laughed, but he also, faintly, coloured. She didn’t feel guilty. He had made her think he was dead .
‘It’s unlikely that a gentleman of the period would dare hint at such to a young lady. Nelson and Emma Hamilton had some racy bits in their letters, but they were very much the exception to the rule.’ Something started to ring, and he lifted the handset on the landline phone beside him then immediately replaced it, cancelling the call. ‘Sorry about that.’ The phone rang again right away, and he scowled at it.
‘Get it. It’s fine,’ she said.
He acquiesced with visible reluctance. ‘Henry Inglis here?... It’s not ideal timing, to be honest.’ He listened again, then ground out, ‘Very well. I’ll be along shortly.’
‘Where you gotta go?’ she asked, as he hung up.
‘The bursar called the Dean, who insists on hearing my full account immediately.’
‘I need to continue packing, anyway. Henry? Only twelve days until we’re together. Until then, my heart swells for you.’
‘My heart swells for you too, Halley,’
She leaned into her laptop, giving him a sultry smile. ‘Would that be your heart or your heart ?’ she asked huskily. Her expectation was that he’d laugh again, and hopefully blush some more.
Instead, he levelled a look at her that made her heart skip a beat, and her toes curl. ‘God,’ he said fervently. ‘Both, sweetheart.’
* * *
Thursday, 16 January
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: 11 days . . .
To: Halley Hart
Good Morning, sweetheart,
I’m gutted I had to cut our date short like that. And interrupt it part way through. And that I worried you. The universe got retribution for you, in the form of the Dean making me scour CCTV footage to try to identify the miscreant. I’m not sure if she’s angrier that he made it all the way up to the rooftop, or that he had the temerity to run across the grass when he was fleeing.
Hope the packing and presentation-prep are going OK?
Halley, are you driving to Chicago because money’s too tight for the flight? If so, would you consider letting me pay for it?
With all devotion to the love of my life, (and all due credit to Lawrence Sedgwick!) your ever true , Henr y xxx
* * *
Friday, 17 January
From: Halley Hart
Subject: 10 days!
To: Henry Inglis
Dear ever-true Henry,
I get that driving over two thousand miles cross-country sounds insane to you. But I can’t accept your generous offer. I’m not letting you waste your savings. And if I did, I’d have to pay to get my boxes shipped to Chicago, and quickly sell my car here in California, rather than leaving it with Mom, who’ll get a good price for it and send me the money.
I really appreciate your generosity in offering, and I’m sure I’ll happily accept it when it comes to picking up restaurant checks, if you want us eating out anyplace fancy in the next half a year. Half a year , Henry — starting in 10 days!! And yes, Packing is DONE and my presentation’s nearly there!
Did I tell you Mom won’t even be there while I’m in Chicago? I’ll have the house to myself, because she’s on that wellness retreat again, and couldn’t switch out the dates. I’m trying not to be offended that she hasn’t just cancelled, since she swore never to go someplace where they enforce a digital detox ever again...
Love, your Halley
* * *
Saturday, 18 January
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: 9 days . . .
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
You clearly have a lot of excellent reasons for embarking on that mammoth drive. Do me a favour, and execute it as competently as you do everything else? And please update me on your progress — I’ve just been to Blackwell’s for a large map of the continental US, so I can follow your route.
Lawrence’s last few letters have repeated his previous valedictions, so I’ve relied on my memory — and sub-par French translation skills — to take inspiration from one of Napoleon Bonaparte’s letter endings to his wife, Josephine. Laurence Sedgwick’s favourite phrase when writing to his brother is death to Boney , so he wouldn’t at all approve!
Soon I will hold you in my arms and lavish you with a million kisses , Henry xxx
* * *
Halley
Angelie was holed up in their living room, with an entirely new group of collaborators — plus Ben, who was flat on his back on their couch, eating grapes right from the stalk, like some Roman Emperor.
Angelie glanced up from her laptop, which was balanced on the coffee table. ‘Is it urgent?’
‘Kinda time-sensitive,’ Halley said. ‘Given I, y’know, leave at dawn tomorrow.’ Since Dan, Angelie had relented on communicating only via the refrigerator, but she’d also booked herself solid with start-up meetings.
‘We’ll be done in a few minutes,’ Angelie said. ‘I’ll come find you.’
Halley had heard variations on that theme several times already, and Angelie had always had something more pressing arise before their conversation could commence.
‘Cool,’ Halley said. ‘I’ll wait.’ She slid to the floor in the corner, her legs crossed.
‘You gonna allow that?’ one of the newbies asked.
Halley wondered the same thing, as Angelie stared at her.
‘Just pretend she’s not there,’ Angelie said eventually. ‘She signed a confidentiality agreement.’
Taken by surprise, Halley bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Angelie had come up with the mythical legal contract to persuade her teams that her apartment was the safest place for them to meet, so she could minimize commuting time.
‘It’s not like we’ve got any intellectual property Halley could steal yet anyway,’ Ben said, flicking the grape stalk into the trash before opening a bag of chips. ‘Nor a mission statement. Not even a name.’
‘We’ve got a unique concept,’ a thin guy snapped. ‘And is it worth the risk—’
‘We’re aiming to connect people who want to grow their own produce but don’t have a backyard with small businesses with green space they’re not using,’ Angelie said, with impatience. ‘What would Halley do with that?’
‘Nothing,’ Halley said. ‘Even if I wanted to. Or your terrifyingly competent lawyer would sue me for a million bucks.’
That seemed to mollify the newbies, and it also made Angelie’s mouth twitch. ‘Let’s get on with the name,’ she said, calling everyone back to attention. ‘Anyone got something better than Fruitful and Cherry-pick, or shall we vote between those?’ She only allowed them two seconds, before steaming on. ‘I say Cherry-pick, with the tagline of something like: growing spaces exchanged for the fruits of your labour .’
‘Seconded,’ Ben said.
Everyone else raised their hands in agreement with various levels of enthusiasm, and Angelie banged the coffee table as though she was holding a judge’s gavel. ‘Then dismissed. See you same time, same place, next weekend, Cherry-pickers.’
She didn’t move as the others filtered out, so Halley joined her at the coffee table, opting to sit beside her, rather than opposite, and flipping open her notebook to her list . Almost everything was ticked off or crossed out.
‘I don’t have space in the car for my lamps, pans and dishes, and all my plants. I can leave them for you, or—’
‘It’s fine to leave them.’
Halley scored through Go to Goodwill . ‘I’ll dispose of my food this evening—’
‘Don’t bother. Ben can eat it.’
As Halley crossed off another chore, Angelie spun the notebook away. ‘Can you stop that? We need to talk about the stuff that really matters.’
Halley retrieved it, but didn’t open it again. ‘Go ahead.’
Angelie’s nostrils flared. ‘I tried being angry about you leaving, to make it stop hurting. Then I went for replacing you, ditto. These past few days, I’ve been all but sticking my fingers in my ears and shouting loud, like a kid who doesn’t want to hear bad news. But you’re leaving anyway, and it still hurts.’
Halley shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and made fists. ‘I get that. I’m sorry.’
‘I hate you for leaving, but I also love you,’ Angelie said. ‘You know that, right?’
It hurt to smile at her. ‘I love you too.’
‘But not as much as you love Henry.’
‘I’m coming to suspect,’ Halley said, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like her own, ‘that I’ll never love anyone as much as I do Henry.’
Angelie rounded on her. ‘You’re giving up everything to be with a guy you spent considerably less than one day with, four months ago.’
‘Yup.’
In response to her steady gaze, Angelie seemed to relent, and scooched in closer. ‘You’ve only kissed him once. What if the chemistry’s not there?’
Please sleep in my bed?
‘I’m scared about a hell of a lot of things right now,’ Halley said, entirely honestly. ‘But not that one.’
* * *
Voice note from Viola for Henry:
Henry, Mum’s on her way to hospital in an ambulance. Or maybe they’re still waiting for it to arrive. Sorry, I don’t... the carer was upset, and not very clear on the phone, except that she thought it was a stroke. Can you come? Straight to the hospital, probably. Or maybe one of us needs to go to Dad at home. I don’t know. Fuck... I’m shaking. Just get on the next train. I’ll be there in under an hour and I’ll update you then.
* * *
Sunday, 19 January
Halley
A journey of 2161 miles began with a 1.7 mile hop. Halley undertook it pre-dawn, to avoid the traffic that would build up around San Francisco later in the morning. Once she merged onto the highway, the navigation was simple with the I-80 spanning the six states she had to cross to reach Illinois, and home.
‘California,’ she said into the silence. ‘Nevada, Utah, Nebra— no, Wyoming , Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois.’
The only prior time she’d done this trip had been in her last car, and travelling in the opposite direction. She hadn’t told Henry that Mom had accompanied her, and shared the driving, before flying home. Or that they’d taken a longer, more scenic route as a proper road trip, over the course of nearly two weeks, stopping off at multiple destinations. And she definitely hadn’t confessed that she was nervous about it. If she’d admitted that, it would only have increased his worry. But the confidence she’d projected in her ability to complete the journey safely was genuine: it was the sheer monotony of it that concerned her.
On the scale of things to stress out about, however, a boring four day journey ranked pretty low. Topmost was the fact that in only eight days she’d be on the plane, readying herself to be reunited with Henry. And as he’d correctly pointed out, planes had it in for them. But she’d grit her teeth and put up with anything the journey threw at her to get safely into his arms. Then his sister’s car, for the drive up the M40 to the Blue Moon — with Henry beside her, through it all. Picturing that cascade of upcoming events always triggered an entirely different sort of nerves in her.
But before that, there was the presentation to contend with. Her stomach writhed every time she thought about it. And this dumb journey on a boring highway didn’t help. She indicated to overtake a truck, then moved back to the right, her eyes darting between her mirrors and the road ahead. Then, because nothing was more boring than thinking about boredom, she started some music, and sang along, out of tune, bothering no one’s ears but her own.
* * *
Henry
Henry shifted on the plastic moulded seat in the waiting area, where he was sandwiched between Viola and his father. Dad was as immaculate as ever, in a three-piece suit, complete with silk pocket square, but every time anyone ventured down the corridor towards them he held hard onto his stick and levered himself to his feet, only sitting again when they didn’t prove to be coming from intensive care, with news of his wife. During these bouts of parental distraction, Viola released soundless tears, which she caught with the edge of her sleeve, before dropping her arm to her side and turning her face slightly, as Dad sat down. He didn’t approve of snivelling , as he tended to dub it.
Henry could bear the tension no longer, and jumped up. ‘Can I get either of you a drink?’
‘No, thank you,’ Dad said stiffly.
‘Sure,’ Viola muttered, before biting her lip, probably against the threat of a sob.
‘Tea, coffee, water?’ he asked.
‘Anything,’ she breathed.
Dad was moving again, and Henry turned sharply to check the corridor. But no one was in sight, and Dad was reaching for his pocket square, rather than his stick. He shook it out and leaned over, wordlessly pressing it into Viola’s hand.
* * *
Text messages between Mom and Halley:
Heading off on my retreat now, Junior. Drive safe, stay alert, and don’t forget to bring your house key. Oh, and check out the deepfreeze for some batch cooking. Love you.
Love you too, Mom. Hope the retreat’s more fun than last time! And don’t worry about my key, it’s in the car, along with everything else I own.
* * *
Halley
Halley shifted her eyes to the clock on the dashboard, then away again, fist pumping internally. It was finally, finally , 10 a.m. — the self-imposed time before which she couldn’t call Henry. She wondered about drawing out her anticipation by waiting a little longer, then rejected the idea.
‘Hey, Siri, call Henry,’ she said.
‘Calling Henry,’ returned the disembodied voice of the digital assistant. It was replaced by a ringtone, which cut out after a split second.
‘Halley?’ he said, sounding like he was gasping for air. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Of course it is. How about you — long day in the library?’
‘Library?’ he repeated. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’
‘Umm... last I heard from you was an email yesterday?’
There was a rustling sound. ‘Ugh, I see what happened. I wrote you a text last night, but it hasn’t gone through. Rubbish connection in the...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’d explained I might be a bit... tied up, so to message me rather than calling, unless it was an emergency. Which is why I panicked, when you called.’
‘Definitely no emergency,’ she said. ‘I’m totally fine. What’s come up to make you so busy?’
‘Uh... long story, and I’m not somewhere that I can really talk. But there’s nothing for you to worry about — focus on prepping for your drive.’
‘You’re behind the times. I’m about to pass Reno.’
‘You’re driving now?’
‘Of course. Early starts are essential, because although it’s eight hours a day, that’s only the literal driving — breaks are on top of—’
‘You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving on a motorway!’
‘Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Henry!’ She inhaled slowly, then breathed out for three, not speaking again until she’d regained control. ‘And rest assured, I’m on hands-free.’
‘Talking’s still a distraction!’
‘Not so much as you being crabby!’ Halley snapped back.
There was silence.
‘You’re right,’ Henry said eventually. ‘And as I said, I can’t really talk.’ He sounded detached, rather than apologetic. ‘So I’m hanging up now.’
And then he was gone. Before she could force out of him whatever he was reluctant to explain. And she couldn’t even call back, now she knew he only wanted to hear about emergencies.
‘Fucking hell,’ Halley muttered.
‘I didn’t quite understand that,’ Siri said.
‘And you can fuck off, too,’ Halley added viciously.
‘Now, now,’ Siri said.