In which Diana is not happy to see me

 

 

“DANNY?”

I look around. I don’t know where I am. Somewhere almost too dark. My gaze picks out bricks and bin lids. There are cobbles under my feet and legs, and I’m shaking badly, my hands clutching and unclutching the fabric of my trousers in some strange rhythm my body seems convinced is helping me breathe.

“Danny?” Louder.

I wince, close my eyes to the brightness that suddenly seems to surround me.

“It’s Diana.” Gentler again. “You’re at my restaurant. I’m going to help you up and take you inside.”

Diana.

A large warm arm slips around my back and struggles to pull me up. The only reason I don’t flinch away is because I can smell plantain curry. I like plantain curry.

“I like plantain curry,” I tell her.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Warmth surrounds me.

Too much light, though.

A door closes the darkness out. I sink down to the floor beside it and close my eyes and listen to the comforting clatter of pans and plates.

The intense aroma of food being heated makes my mouth water.

 

 

DIANA BRINGS in a couple of chairs from the restaurant and gestures that I get off the floor and sit down on one. Today her dress is green and gold—so bright and real it’s like looking at sunshine on grass.

She’s upset. It’s not the onions making her cry, it’s me.

Though this isn’t what she tells me when I ask her why she’s wiping her eyes so much. Surprisingly, I just work it out on my own.

With shaky hands she passes me a bowl of curry and a spoon to eat it with.

The work surface is too high to rest my bowl on, so I hold it in my lap. I like the way it makes my thighs warm through my jeans.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

She takes a sip from the mug she’s holding. It has a picture of Bob Marley on it. Bob always looked like he was having a good time. Maybe he was just too good at pretending. Maybe that’s what Micky and I have been doing too.

Actually, I pretty much know that’s what we’ve been doing.

I shake my head, barely pausing from spooning curry into my mouth. For a few minutes, Diana watches me in silence as she drinks her drink. I don’t mind.

“How’s Micky?”

I put the bowl down on the floor, then bring my knees up to my chest, rocking a little because it’s sort of soothing if I do it fast.

“Danny?” Diana puts her mug down and brings her chair closer to mine. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’m worried about you. Did something happen with Micky?”

“His heart’s not working properly. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to die.” My gaze fixes on hers and I keep it there, letting the discomfort grow. I feel stripped bare and raw.

“Did you take him to a doctor?”

“He’s in hospital.”

She takes a deep breath, and it looks as though she’s struggling with whether or not to reach out and touch me.

“What about his family? Do they know?”

I shake my head.

“He ran away, didn’t he?”

“He left. He’s eighteen. He’s an adult.”

“Barely,” she says softly. “Is there anyone that should know? Anyone who cares about him?”

I don’t know how to answer that question. Yes, there is someone who cares about him, but I don’t know if I can be the one who gets to decide if he sees Micky or not. How can I make that decision?

“Where’s Micky from?”

“Arizona. He told you.” I know she’s trying to help, but Diana’s questions just make me think of Benjamin da Silva. How he’s not in Arizona, though. Or at least, he wasn’t.

I suddenly catch sight of the clock on the wall above the cooker. It’s nearly eight. My heart surges.

“I have to get back to the hospital.”

As I get up, my fingers brush against my pad in my trouser pocket. The card Benjamin da Silva gave me is tucked inside it to keep it safe.

All I wanted to know when Dashiel was missing was where he was. What had happened. Not knowing was awful, and it hurt so badly. It crushed me. And the first thing I felt when I knew they’d found his body, before the grief devastated me, was this shocking and terrible relief.

“He has a brother. He misses him. I have his number in my pocket,” I admit.

“Is calling Micky’s brother likely to do Micky harm?” she asks.

I don’t know. I remember how Benjamin told me he loves Micky, that he loves him whatever. I don’t think he’d ever want to harm him.

Diana reaches behind her back and passes me her phone. I stare at the handset uncertainly.

Although the card is in my notepad, I don’t need it. I memorised the number. Taking a gulp of air, I dial it.