‘I suppose I did in a way.’ Will picked up his own burger though he no longer had the appetite for it. ‘We had yet another team-building day at some fancy hotel in the Bowery: workshopping and actualising our best selves, which would culminate in each of us walking on hot coals. You know, at the time, the idea of walking on hot coals as a metaphor for facing my fears and vanquishing my personal demons didn’t sound that ridiculous.’
‘Oh. My God.’ Margot had given up on her burger and was staring at Will open-mouthed. ‘You didn’t?’
‘I was planning to,’ Will said. ‘I was waiting in line and telling myself that I could do it, I was strong, I was powerful, nothing could hurt me, and then . . .’
Will couldn’t believe that he was doing this: telling Margot, over burgers, about one of the most humiliating episodes of his life. He’d only told Rowan, because there were no secrets between them, and Roland, his therapist.
‘And then?’ Margot prompted, gripping the edge of the table.
‘And then, I had terrible chest pains, couldn’t breathe, and ended up in the emergency room with a suspected heart attack,’ he said abruptly, as Margot’s face softened and she tilted her head.
‘Oh, Will.’ Margot reached over to pat Will’s arm. ‘Panic attack?’
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s the only appropriate response to being next in line to walk on hot coals. Also, you seem pretty fit for someone who had a heart attack a year ago.’ She picked up a chip. ‘Did Topper sack you for not walking on hot coals?’
‘He didn’t.’ Will would have been able to sue him for all those Livingston Mercer millions. Topper had actually been very solicitous of Will’s welfare when Will had turned up the next morning (he’d skipped CrossFit) with a bottle of betablockers and his mind reeling from the ER doctor’s blunt assessment that he was a person suffering from anxiety. That he hadn’t left his past behind, but rather internalised it until it had manifested the night before in the sharp, terrifying pain in his chest, like something or someone had squeezed all the air out of him. ‘We had a chat about how people with positive mental attitudes can overcome everything.’
‘Such bullshit,’ Margot chimed in, chewing a chip furiously.
‘It was bullshit.’ Will could see that now, but at the time, before he’d ended up in the ER, he’d really wanted to believe that he could make himself anew, just from running a half marathon every other day, burpees and reading loads of personal development books. ‘Then Topper reminded me that his ethos was to go hard or go home, and I heard myself say, “In that case, Topper, I think I’ll go home.’’ ’ Will spread his arms wide. ‘And here I am.’
‘What a bastard,’ Margot managed to say around a mouthful of beef, bun and various relishes. ‘I hope his trust fund goes bust and he ends up selling batteries out of a suitcase on Madison Avenue.’
It was highly unlikely, but a nice thought. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Will said and they clinked their glasses. ‘And now I’m taking a year-long career sabbatical, but my year was up four months ago and I still don’t know which direction I want to pivot in. Anyway, my burger is getting cold . . .’
You couldn’t really talk when you were trying to get your mouth open wide enough to negotiate a burger, and Will was happy to have the time to regroup and also to admonish Blossom, who was now sitting upright and alert like a very stocky meerkat and drooling on Will’s leg.
It wasn’t until they were finishing the last of the chips, that they could talk again. Worse luck.
‘Now I’m rethinking my whole daily affirmations thing,’ Margot said at last. ‘Maybe I’m just Topper in a dress.’
‘But you’re putting positive energy out into the universe, not sucking every last ounce of positivity out of everyone you meet.’ Will couldn’t believe that he was defending Margot’s right to positively affirm, but today had been full of surprises.
‘Thank you for that and thank you for sharing your story with me,’ Margot said. ‘It won’t go any further.’
Will appreciated the thought even though they didn’t have any mutual friends. Then he made a vow to himself that Margot was never to be left alone with his mother. Mary would only blame herself. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
‘I know what you mean about feeling as if you don’t fit in,’ Margot said, as she drenched a chip in ketchup. ‘At school, I was the girl whose dad had died, which made me stand out in a way that was just . . . It was unbearable.’
Will could understand. At school he’d stood out too, not because his dad had died, but because his dad was alive and was responsible for his pinched face, his hunched shoulders, why he and Rowan could never ask any friends back to their house. That had been unbearable too, but Will had already told Margot far too much about his past.
‘I’m sorry, that must have been so hard, especially when you were missing him so much. But you seem to fit in now,’ Will pointed out, practically giddy with relief that they’d changed the subject. ‘You seem to know practically every person in North London.’
‘It’s that not-having-a-family thing,’ Margot said, admitting defeat and pushing away the last of the chips in their trendy enamel mug. ‘I’ve compensated by having a lot of people in my life, but there’s no one who remembers what I was like as a baby, or what my first word was and why I was absolutely terrified of balloons.’
‘Sand,’ Will offered with a rueful smile. ‘I had to be carried on to the beach.’
‘It’s a weird, untethered sort of feeling to know that you can never go home, because home is just me in my flat.’ Margot turned her head so she was in profile, and for a moment, Will thought she might be crying. Her bottom lip trembled, her nostrils flared, but then, with superhuman control, she smoothed her features down. ‘So many people tell me that I’m lucky that I own a flat in Highgate, but I’d much, much rather that both my parents were still alive so I’d never had an inheritance to spend.’
‘I know it’s a cliché and I’d never want to diminish what you’ve been through, but a lot of people have really awful families that they can’t wait to escape,’ Will said carefully. He felt as if he was picking his way through a field strewn with landmines, and the last thing he wanted to do was negate Margot’s grief. ‘Being able to make authentic connections with people is a real talent. It’s not one that I’m very good at. Can I give Blossom the last chip?’
‘Go on, then,’ Margot said with weary resignation, either because of the losing battle over Blossom versus human food or because of the unhappy direction the conversation had taken. ‘I have friends. My logical family. But lately I feel so distanced from them.’
Will felt as if the collar of shirt was too tight. That would explain the strange tingling sensation at the back of his neck. He wanted to tell Margot that she’d be better off talking to someone who was naturally inclined towards listening sympathetically then giving advice. Will had a sneaking suspicion that, despite all the therapy, even Blossom was more emotionally intelligent than he was.