“Who’s basically responsible for your not getting into medical school.”
“Did I put it like that?”
“You’ve certainly told me about that giant pang you get whenever groups of medical students come through.”
“Do I?”
“There’s that smile again.”
“Hell,” I said. “Who’d want to be a doctor anyway? D’you have any idea what sort of hours they do?”
“I’ve lost count of the times you end up doing a double shift.”
“Only because of staff shortages. The timings can be tricky. I mean, I’m not going to abandon a patient mid treatment, am I? Anyway,” I say, grinning to lighten the mood, “I’ve no idea what I’d do with a doctor’s salary. All that dosh.”
“You could move out of that shared house for a start.”
“Whaddya mean? I love that house. The lingering smell of takeaways. All that decorative mold on the ceilings. Random strangers barging into my room late at night. People’s pants on the stairs.”
“We could get a place together.”
Her words hung in the air for a moment. Sure, I loved Cat, but we’d never really spoken about the future. I don’t know why. It was just the sort of conversation I’d been keen to avoid. Now I edged my way round the drawing table and put my arms round her neck.
“Should I be worried?”
“Cat,” I said, “are you jealous?”
“Hell, yes. I didn’t know you two still saw each other.”
“We don’t. I haven’t seen her since we split up. That was four years ago, Cat. And, honestly, we’re only meeting for coffee.”
“So I’m going to work and you’re meeting up with some woman who comprehensively stomped all over your heart.” She turned away. “You might have told me.”
She was right. I should have told her.
“I should have told you.”
Cat tipped her chin back. “Are you going to tell her about me?” In reply I pulled a goofy smile, and, when she continued to study me through narrowed eyes, I said, “Of course.”
***
—
We had arranged to meet in a tiny café near Regent’s Park. Willa’s idea. I arrived first. I sat at a table and watched the window. People passed by on the street. Perhaps we wouldn’t even recognize each other. The minutes ticked by. I checked my watch. She was late. Perhaps she’s not coming, I thought, perhaps she’s changed her mind. She’d done that before. And perhaps, I thought, meeting her at all was a really bad idea. Because no matter how much I’d downplayed it to Cat, the very idea of seeing Willa again made my entire body feel prickly and bright. I should just go.
But then she was there, standing in the doorway, smiling at a woman with a pushchair, four years older and at once both exactly the same and completely different. Her eyes moved over the other customers, and for a moment I felt invisible. Then she stopped, our eyes met, and I stood too fast, knocking my chair off balance. Grabbing it mid fall, I set it back up and stepped round the side of the scrubbed pine table. Willa came forward, holding out her arms. I kissed her cheek, she mine, and we hugged, first with the distance of years, and then, after a beat, properly, with warmth and feeling. I could smell the familiar wild orange scent of her, the soft heat of her skin, and for a moment I was transported back to our tiny study-bedroom, back to a time of infinite possibilities. I didn’t want to let her go. Finally we pulled away from each other and sat down. She took a sip of the coffee I’d bought her and said thank you, and how delicious it was. I knew it must already be cold. Everything about her was lovely.
There was a pause. I had no idea where we could even begin.
She smiled, looking at me with those dove-gray eyes. “Where did you say you’re living now?”
Cat’s tiny Peckham flat jumped into my mind. Obviously I’ll tell her about Cat, I thought. A little later. It was too early in the conversation for that.
“I’m still in a shared house with a bunch of other people I met at uni. Oh, and some rats. It’s in Croydon. What about you?”
“With Mum. Dad too when he’s at home. I’m trying to save, but, you know, impossible dreams and all that. How anybody ever manages to buy a place of their own beats me. Especially on what I’m earning.” She smiled broadly, her voice bright and nonchalant. “Turns out GCSEs count for absolutely zip as far as getting a decent job is concerned.” Too bright, too unbothered. She was forgetting how well I knew her. “I temp, mainly. Right now I’m working as an assistant to a retired opera singer. She’s in her eighties and she’s fabulous, a real diva. I organize her schedule and stuff.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It is really. I shouldn’t complain. She’s got a bunch of terribly theatrical friends. Honestly, you should see them gossiping about their heydays. They’re all on the sherry by nine.”
Willa gathered her hair and pulled it over one shoulder. I caught a glimpse of the pale skin of her neck. Her clavicles.
“I’m sure you’re perfect in that role. My mother describes you as that lovely Willa. She always said she’d never met anyone with better manners. Such a lovely girl, so polite.” I could hear myself gabbling. I stopped. My face felt fixed in an odd smile. I cleared my throat. “They send their love by the way.”
“It was a special time.”
My breath seemed to catch in my throat—hhh—and I felt a sudden urge to tell her how I still kept that beautiful summer hidden inside me, a secret place I went to sometimes, full of sun-warmed memories that passed through my mind like low-flying swifts. A lifetime ago.
“How are you enjoying your job—it’s radiotherapy, right?”
“It’s good. Busy. Challenging at times. But rewarding, really rewarding.”
Willa’s voice dropped. “I feel absolutely responsible that you didn’t make it into medical school.”
“God, Willa, don’t be ridiculous. I just didn’t get the grades.”
“That was my fault.”
