ChapterForty-Eight
‘Christ,Owen. Do you know what day it is?’
Owen looked blankly out of the window at the traffic in Antrim Road. A car went by with a Christmas tree strapped to its roof. Life was going on for everyone else, but he felt his was ended.
George went on. ‘It’s frigging Christmas Eve tomorrow. I’m supposed to be quaffing the mulled wine, eating mince pies and watching Millie wrap the presents.’
‘I’m sorry, George. There was no one else to call.’
George’s tone changed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Emi is in a coma, and Margaret’s dead.’
There was a long pause before, ‘Christ almighty. What happened?’
Owen told as much as he could remember. A garbled account of a road accident in Trafalgar Square – one fatality.
‘Where are you now?’ George asked.
‘Hampstead.’
‘Fucking Hampstead! What are you doing there? Why aren’t you with Lexie?’
‘That’s why I called you. I’ve been thinking, and with the future, as it is, there’s no way I can marry Lex.’
‘Marry Lexie! When did you decide to do that?’
‘Night before last … I proposed after Kate’s wedding, but it wouldn’t be fair to expect Lex to stick with me, not now. I need your help. I haven’t got the guts to tell her myself. I’m sorry.’
‘Wait there. I’m coming over.’
Thirty minutes later, George was prowling the Hampstead living room like a captive bear.
‘So, you’re asking me to end things with Lexie?’ he said, glaring in astonishment at Owen.
‘Yes,’ Owen hung his head.
‘Jeez, Owen … you’ve got to be joking.’
Owen looked up, eyes red-raw from lack of sleep. ‘There’s no other way,’ he said. ‘I’m so much older than Lexie—’
‘Only about seven years by my reckoning, that’s not an enormous gap.’
‘Big enough. Too big, especially when you factor in my fried liver. I can’t stand the thought of leaving Lex to look after an adult child—’
‘That’s an oxymoron.’
‘I know it is.’ Owen glared at George. ‘But it is true. After I’m dead, Lex would be left to look after a grown woman with the mind of a child, not even her own child – my five-year-old Emi in an adult body.’
‘And have you spoken to Lexie? Told her what’s happened – told her your worries? Have you even bothered to ask her how she feels about the prospect?’
Shaking his head, Owen stared at the pattern of red, gold and black in the thick pile of the Indian carpet.
George let out a stream of air. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘you are the craziest bastard I know. I usually put it down to you being a genius, but not this … this is beyond that. It’s insane. Listen to me, Owen. You can’t do this to Lexie. If for no other reason than you can’t face this alone. You need Lexie, not just now but in the future, and I might be wrong, but I think she would be hurt beyond telling to learn you’re trying to cut her out of your life when you need her most.’
Staring at George, Owen sagged. ‘You won’t do it?’
‘Too right, I won’t do it. This is one job that’s too dirty for a Halcyon.’
‘Please.’
‘Nah, don’t turn the blue eyes on me, Kingsley. I’m immune. I will not be suckered in by your tortured soul. I will not let you skulk away, leaving the best person who ever wandered into your blighted life broken-hearted. It’s time to man up, you bastard. Either break her heart yourself or ask her what she thinks. Your choice. Your action.’
The front door slammed as George left the house, and Owen reached the drinks table.
Gin, vodka, whisky and single malt as well. Owen pulled the cork on an almost full bottle of Lagavulin and filled a tumbler to the brim. Outside on the pavement, he could see George talking into his mobile.
