“See? Nothing but a cold.”
“And just when I was about to get back to work,” said Alice, pushing herself back up. “I’m going crazy from sitting around doing nothing.”
“Get used to it. Your seaside joyride is going to cost you at least a week without the use of your nose. Now, go on. Tell me why you went back.”
Carol listened intently as Alice told her about the second trip to Brighton. When she was done, Carol let out a long whistle, looking just as upset as Alice. “I would have been terrified too. No wonder you fell ill as soon as you got home.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on. It’s ridiculous twaddle. What on earth is ‘nothing you believe is real’ supposed to mean? In any case, it was very kind of Daldry to drive you such a distance, though I know plenty of other men who would have gone even farther to take you for a ride, if only they had a car. Life really isn’t fair. Here I am with so much love to give, and you’re the one surrounded on all sides by panting suitors.”
“Suitors? I’m alone all day long, and it’s not any better at night.”
“Do I have to remind you about Anton? If you’re alone, it’s your own fault. You’re an idealist who doesn’t know how to take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves. But maybe you’re right to be that way.” A note of sadness had crept into her voice. “I should be going. I’m going to be late for my shift. I don’t want to be in the way if your neighbor comes back.”
“Oh stop. I told you, there’s nothing between us.”
“I know, not your type, and besides, Prince Charming is waiting for you in a distant land . . . You should take a holiday and find him. If I had some money, I’d gladly come along for the ride. A trip with just us girls would be such fun. It’s warm in Turkey, and I hear the men have beautiful golden skin.”
Alice fell back into her pillow. Carol pulled up the covers from the foot of the bed to tuck her in.
“Sleep well, love,” she whispered. “I know I’m a jealous wench, but you’re my best friend and I love you like my sister. I’ll come back when I get off duty tomorrow. You’re going to feel better soon.”
Carol put on her coat and left. She ran into Daldry in the corridor as he was heading out to do his shopping. They went downstairs together.
“She’ll be better soon,” she told him once they were in the street.
“Wonderful news.”
“It was very kind of you to have taken care of her like that.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said. “As a good neighbor.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Daldry.”
“Yes, well, I’d just like to say, even though it’s none of your business . . . she’s not at all my type of woman either. Not in the least!”
He stormed off without saying goodbye.
4
It was a week that felt as if it would never end. Alice didn’t have a fever anymore, but she could barely taste her food, let alone smell anything. Daldry hadn’t returned to visit, and although Alice had gone and knocked on his door several times, his flat remained silent.
Carol came to visit Alice between shifts, bringing her groceries and newspapers she took from the hospital waiting room. Once she even slept over, too exhausted to walk the three blocks to her flat in the cold. In the middle of the night, Carol had shaken Alice to wake her from the nightmares that returned almost every time she fell asleep.
On Saturday, just as Alice was thinking about getting back to work again, she heard footsteps on the landing. She pushed back her chair and hurried to the door. Daldry held a small suitcase and was about to go into his flat.
“Hello, Alice,” he said without turning around. He unlocked his door and hesitated. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to see you before I left. I had to go away for a few days.” He kept his back turned.
“There’s no need to apologize. I was just worried when I didn’t hear you moving around.”
“I should have left a note.” He rested his head against the door.
“What’s wrong?” asked Alice.
Daldry turned. He was pale and hadn’t shaved in days. There were dark circles under his eyes that were red and swollen from crying.
“Oh dear, what happened?”
“My father finally died on Monday. The funeral was three days ago.”
“Come over. I’ll make you some tea.”
Daldry abandoned his suitcase in the hall and followed Alice into her flat, collapsing into the armchair with a groan. He gazed distantly at the skylight. Alice made the tea and handed him a cup. She pulled up the stool and sat across from him, respecting his silence. A long time passed and neither of them moved. Daldry finally sighed and got up.
“Thank you,” he said. “That was just what I needed. I’m going to go home, take a bath, and go to bed.”
“Before you go to bed, come back for dinner. I’ll make an omelet.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Well, you’ll eat anyway. You have to eat,” said Alice firmly.
Daldry returned a short while later, wearing a turtleneck sweater and a pair of flannel trousers. He still looked haggard and hadn’t shaved.
“I’m sorry about my appearance,” he said, “but I left my razor at my parents’ house and it’s a bit late to go out and buy a new one.”
“The beard is becoming on you,” said Alice, welcoming him inside.
They ate seated on either side of the trunk. Alice had brought down some of the gin she kept cold by leaving it on the roof next to the skylight. Daldry wasn’t hungry, but he needed no coaxing to drink. He forced himself to eat a bit of omelet for form’s sake.
“I had promised myself,” he said, interrupting a long silence, “to talk to him man-to-man, to explain why I had chosen to be a painter. I never judged him for his choices—I jolly well could have . . . but I wanted to tell him that he ought to show me the same respect.”
“I’m sure he admired you, even if he never showed it.”
“You didn’t know him,” said Daldry, sighing again.
“Still, no matter what you may think, you were his son.”
“I suffered from his distant character for forty years. I’d got used to it. But strangely, now that he’s not there anymore, the pain is even sharper.”
“I know what you mean,” said Alice quietly.
“Last night I went into his office. My mother found me going through the drawers of his secretary’s desk. She thought I was looking for his will, but I told her that I couldn’t care less about my inheritance. I just wanted to find something, maybe a note or a letter, that he might have left for me. Mum just put her hand on my shoulder and said, ‘My poor darling. He didn’t leave anything like that.’ I didn’t cry when they lowered his coffin into the ground. I haven’t cried since the summer I was ten and I had to have stitches in my knee after falling out of a tree. But this morning, when the house I grew up in was shrinking in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I had to pull over. I felt such a fool, sitting in my car and weeping.”
“You’ve just lost your father. It’s normal.”
“You know, it’s strange; I think that if I had become a pianist, he would have taken a certain pride in me. He might have come to hear me play. Painting never interested him. He didn’t consider it a real job. At best, it was a pastime. But at least his death gave me the occasion to see my family all in one place again.”
“You should paint his portrait and hang it in an important place in your family’s home—in his old office, maybe. I’m sure he’d be touched, wherever he is now.”
Daldry burst into laughter.
“What a ghoulish idea. I’m not so cruel as to do such a thing to my poor mother. But enough of this sniveling, I’ve kept you long enough for one night. The omelet was delicious, and the gin, of which I’m afraid I drank a bit too much, was much appreciated. Now that you’re over the flu, one of these days I’ll give you another driving lesson.”