Chapter 35
Eliza
I’m working the Saturday lunchtime shift at Roxy’s, but on my way out the door, Rose rings me.
‘Eliza, it’s Rose.’
‘Hi,’ I reply with surprise.
What follows is a head-fuck of a conversation about Remy, Josie and Phoebe’s purple diary from her gap year because, it turns out, my dear sister recently read that, too.
‘You are opening a whole can of worms,’ I warn, deadly serious. Maybe Phoebe’s secrets are meant to go with her to the grave.
‘Angus needs to know,’ she tells me.
This makes me feel even more uneasy. ‘Does Angus think that Phoebe wanted to be with Remy?’ And if she did, does he believe it will absolve him of his guilt about me? Talk about a dangerous game to play.
‘I don’t think so, but something was going on,’ Rose replies. ‘I’m heading to London tomorrow to catch up with Josie. Do you want to come with me?’
I somehow find myself agreeing.
Josie lives in a mezzanine apartment in Dartmouth Park, north London. We went to school together for a few years, but she was primarily Phoebe’s friend. I’ve never been to her house, and I feel like an outsider as she and Rose give each other an emotional hug hello in the poky hallway.
‘How are you?’ Josie asks with concern, stroking Rose’s hair and staring poignantly into her eyes.
‘I’m okay,’ Rose replies with a nod, patting Josie’s hand. Rose glances my way and steps aside so Josie can greet me, too.
‘Hey, Eliza,’ she says.
Our embrace is brief, and afterwards she leads us down a flight of stairs to the lower-ground floor. It’s open plan with the kitchen at the front and the living room at the back overlooking the garden. A small brown-haired boy is playing with a train set on a grey rug.
‘He’s grown,’ Rose gushes, falling to her knees beside him. ‘Harry, you’re such a big boy now,’ she says in a saccharine voice.
‘Where’s Craig?’ Rose asks of Josie’s husband.
‘He’s playing tennis with Ned,’ Josie replies, making small talk as she fills up the kettle. ‘I’ve just had Amber and Katy over, actually.’
‘How are they?’ Rose asks warmly.
‘Really good. Katy is walking now.’
I switch off because I don’t know who these people are. I wasn’t part of this life here in London, and it stings to remember that Phoebe and Angus were.
‘How’s Angus?’ Josie asks, snatching my attention again.
‘He’s okay,’ Rose replies, flashing an uncomfortable glance my way. Who should be answering that question? The one who he comes home to every night or the one who he recently had sex with?
But Rose continues to take the lead in the conversation, and when Josie joins us, carrying a tray of teacups and a matching teapot, my sister relays Angus’s concerns.
‘He doesn’t understand why Phoebe went climbing with Remy. Do you know if they’d kept in touch?’
‘If they did, then she lied to me,’ Josie replies. ‘But I think she was telling the truth. Remy just appeared at our table one night. He seemed stunned to see her, but Phoebe was really calm, almost like she knew he was going to be there. It didn’t make sense.’
‘Do you think they’d pre-arranged it?’ I ask, getting involved.
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so, not from his expression. Phoebe said later that she had a feeling she’d see him again. I nearly fell off my chair when she asked him if she could go on his climb the next day.’
Apparently, Remy had sat down with them for a while. From what Josie could tell, it was the first time he and Phoebe had seen each other in years.
‘The way they were with each other...’ Her brow furrows as she tries to explain it. ‘They were quite tentative, you know? A little unsure of one another.’
Rose and I nod in unison.
‘Anyway,’ Josie continues. ‘Remy mentioned that he was taking some Americans on a day climb from the Aiguille du Midi and Phoebe came right out with it and asked if she could go. I smiled at her because I thought she was joking. She’d been teasing me about climbing a mountain since we’d got there. I soon realised she was deadly serious.’ She winces at the unfortunate turn of phrase.
‘Please tell us everything,’ Rose implores, gathering herself together. ‘Even if it’s just something you suspect.’ She glances at me and I nod, encouraging her to go on. I want to get to the bottom of this, too.
Josie takes a sip of her tea and places the cup back on the saucer. It clatters slightly, like she’s nervous. ‘I feel like I’m betraying her by conjecturing,’ she says quietly. ‘I honestly don’t know what was going through her mind, but there definitely seemed to be something between them. I didn’t know Remy that well and I never saw him when he was going out with Phoebe, but the way they were looking at each other... It was quite... intimate. I felt like I was intruding. Phoebe actually spoke in French when she asked him if she could go on the climb, but I understood her. He shrugged and laughed, but said she could if she wanted to, and I understood that, too. I jokily accused them of speaking in code, so they reverted to English, and when she got down to the nitty-gritty details about meeting points and what time they were setting off, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He left us to it after that.’
‘Did they kiss each other goodbye?’ Rose pries curiously.
Josie nods miserably. ‘Two kisses, but he lingered on his second kiss, and when he left she was blushing. She said to me, “Don’t look at me like that”. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She said I could have a day shopping and she’d be back before dinner.’
Her nose turns bright red and a split-second later, her eyes well up with tears.
I get to my feet and go to the back door, relieved to find it unlocked. I walk out into the small garden, desperate for fresh air. In the house, I can hear noses being blown. I try to focus on the sound of an aeroplane roaring high above.
Luckily Harry starts to kick up a fuss about something, so Josie has to pull herself together. I reluctantly return indoors, nodding at Rose as she flashes me a look of sympathy. She knows I’m not good with other people’s tears.
‘Anyway, that’s all I can tell you,’ Josie says, Harry now attached to her hip. ‘The next morning when I knocked on her bedroom door, she was already gone.’
‘She didn’t leave a note?’ Rose asks.
Josie nods. ‘It just said—’ her voice breaks. ‘It just said that I had nothing to worry about, and that she’d see me later for drinks on the balcony.’
She clutches her hand to her throat, trying to keep the tears at bay, and then she turns her face and smiles brightly at her child. ‘Oh dear me,’ she says with forced cheer. ‘Silly old Mummy.’ She glances over at us as tears roll down her cheeks. ‘I guess we’ll never know what was going through her mind in those last few hours.’
Rose reaches for her handbag and pulls out a yellow and navy notepad.
‘Maybe this holds the answers,’ she says quietly.
‘Oh Christ,’ I mutter, looking away.
‘What’s that?’ Josie asks warily, placing her wriggling son back on the rug and joining us on the sofa. ‘Is that Phoebe’s journal?’
‘Yes,’ Rose admits.
I lift my head and bite my lip, watching their exchange.
‘Rose, what are you doing?’ Josie shakes her head, worriedly. ‘You shouldn’t read that. It’s private.’
‘Hallelujah,’ I say.
Rose flashes me an annoyed look. ‘I disagree,’ she replies firmly. ‘If she were still alive, yes.’
I scoff at this and she has the grace to look embarrassed. She read my diary without any such qualms.
‘But she’s not here to care either way, and it makes me feel closer to her. I feel like I can hear her talking to me,’ she explains.
Josie’s eyes well up again. I pour some more tea and take a large gulp, wincing as the hot liquid scalds my throat.
‘Anyway, I haven’t finished it yet,’ Rose continues seriously. ‘I’m trying to make it last.’
‘Have you checked out her last entry?’ Josie asks cautiously, curiously.
Rose shakes her head.
I don’t know whether Josie is more relieved or disappointed.
‘Well, that was fun,’ I mumble on the train home, staring out of the window. Rose ignores me. When I look back at her, I’m shocked to see that she has Phoebe’s diary open in her hands.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I gasp, my throat closing up at the sight of Phoebe’s familiar handwriting. ‘Rose!’ I have an intense urge to get out and pace the aisle, but I’m in a window seat.
‘You know, you should read this,’ she says flippantly.
‘There is no way I could!’ I hiss.
‘It’s a fantastic insight into her character,’ she continues.
‘What I didn’t know, I didn’t deserve to know,’ I tell her bitterly, remembering how I’d allowed us to grow apart.
‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘I won’t read it now if it bothers you.’ She closes the book up, but leaves it on her lap. ‘Thank you for coming with me,’ she says after a moment. ‘I know it was awkward for you, being there.’
‘Do you miss London?’ I ask, changing tack and twisting in my seat to look at her. ‘You seemed so happy there.’
She pauses for thought. ‘I was. I miss Josie and my other friends. Sometimes I miss the hospital.’
‘Why don’t you go back? I mean, I like the bakery and everything. It seems like a nice place to work. But it’s not really you. You’ve always had a proper job, a proper career. You seemed like you were going places, unlike me. I’ve never had any direction.’
‘What?!’ she exclaims. ‘You had the most direction of all of us! All you ever wanted to do was play your guitar and write songs.’
‘And where has it got me? Nowhere.’
‘What about that gig you’ve got coming up?’ she asks. ‘That place seems like a great venue.’
‘Speaking of which,’ I say, setting off on a tangent, ‘what were you doing going to a gig? You never go to gigs!’
She shrugs. ‘Toby asked me,’ she replies casually. ‘We hang out a little.’
‘Mmm, I can see why.’
She frowns. ‘It’s not like that.’
I whack her on the arm. ‘I’m messing with you.’
She blushes and looks down at her lap. I stare at her for a moment, feeling an unusual warmth towards her. Another memory strikes me from out of nowhere. We must’ve been about fourteen and Phoebe had gone for a sleepover at Josie’s house. Josie had recently moved to Manchester from York, and all three of us had taken a liking to her. Rose actually got in there first, volunteering at school to take Josie under her wing, but as usual, the object of our platonic affection had eventually migrated towards Phoebe. Phoebe always had the most friends, the most Facebook likes – you get the picture. Anyway, on this one evening, Mum and Dad had gone out to dinner, and I’d started to feel feverish. Rose dosed me up with medicine and cooled me down with a damp flannel, staying by my bedside until Mum and Dad got home. I felt very close to her that night.
‘Why did you leave nursing?’ I ask. ‘You were good at it.’
So she confides in me about Roger and his sixteen-year-old daughter Bianca, who died two hours apart after being involved in a hit-and-run car accident – and she tells me about the mother and young brother they left behind. She opens up about Tara, the one-year-old baby who died of meningitis, and her grief-stricken parents Lana and Michael. And she cries, and I want to cry, too. And I find myself hugging my sister on that train, trying to comfort her in a way that she only allowed Phoebe to do in the past. And I wish that Phoebe were here now, because she’d do a far better job than I ever could.