‘Rach, could you close the doors? It’s not really the weather for letting the air in.’
‘We’ve got a balcony though! With the most amazing view of the Eiffel Tower!’ Rach was shouting from the balcony where she seemed to be leaning out over the railings and embracing the Paris skyline. Keeley put down a burgundy jumper she didn’t even remember packing and stepped towards the outside.
And the vista blew her away. There was that grand lady of Paris, a little to their right, its feet planted just behind two buildings ahead of it. It wasn’t quite close enough to touch, but it was near enough for Keeley to feel even more awestruck from this position outside. She was already wondering exactly how much more spectacular it was going to look at night.
‘Brilliant, right?’ Rach asked, nudging Keeley. ‘I’ve already taken a million photos. You can help me pick the best one for Instagram. I’ll tag Roland and the firm in it, try and get him a bit of attention so he isn’t pissy with us when we get back.’
‘He was pissy, wasn’t he?’ Keeley said with a sigh. ‘Maybe coming here now was completely the wrong timing.’ Maybe she wouldn’t have a job to go back to because of this surprise holiday…
‘Until your mum spoke to him,’ Rach piped up. ‘Then he wasn’t too bad.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ Rach asked. ‘Your mum came in when you were at the house belonging to that Serbian couple with all the houseplants and the dog that pukes the moment anyone comes through the front door. She was in his office for about half an hour – Roland even made the coffees – and when she left he was in a much better mood and that’s when I got the signed holiday form back.’
Keeley shook her head. Her mum interfering again – but also going against all the ‘please, don’t gos’ and ‘Paris is full of beggars and wannabe Monets’ she had been spouting since Keeley had replied to Silvie Durand’s email. This was a shock.
‘And while we’re on the subject of your mum… I have to tell you… she gave me a whole load of your tablets for my bag in case you fall off the wagon with them.’
‘She didn’t!’ Keeley gasped, hands going to her face. That was definitely a step too far. Her pills. The pills were something she had been taking for over a year now to stop her body rejecting the kidney. After her last check-up the consultant had said everything was working brilliantly, even better than anyone could have expected, and that when she hit the twelve-month anniversary of the transplant they could significantly reduce the medication. Except Lizzie hadn’t wanted to hear the word ‘reduce’. And the very first thing her mum had said when they got back to the car park was, ‘it would be silly to reduce the tablets before Christmas, wouldn’t it? Because, you know, everywhere winds down for Christmas, and, if something happens and we have to call the doctor, we don’t want him turning up more soaked in brandy than a Christmas pudding and his mind around the Bendicks.’
‘She told me not to tell you,’ Rach admitted. ‘You’re not pissed with me, are you?’
‘No,’ Keeley exhaled, her breath as visible in the air as the thin vapours of smoke rising from the chimney pots on frost-glazed rooftops. ‘I’m annoyed with her. Every time I think she’s releasing a little control, like by not commenting on my consumption of food with a higher fat content than celeriac, then behind the scenes she’s doing something else. I’m twenty-six! I should have moved out. I should be running my own business.’
‘You do run your own business, Keels,’ Rach said, turning away from her photo-snapping for a moment.
‘I work for Roland. I basically desk share with Jamie who overspills the second he has more than two files on his desk and a takeout from Subway.’ Keeley sighed. It wasn’t in the same league as the small office overlooking lush green parkland she had put a deposit on that had made her feel all the feng shui realness from the moment she set foot on the deep pile cream carpet. That had been her dream. Her own interior design business – not working for someone else – somewhere with her own professional premises. She’d picked up a couple of jobs right off the bat through word of mouth recommendations after successes at Ulterior Interior. She had ordered a desk and a sofa and had bought the comfiest armchair at a flea market in Camden Passage. But she’d never got to move in. After the accident, somewhere in-between the vomiting, the exhaustion and the trying to walk again, Lizzie had sent back the sofa and the desk. But the armchair had survived the cull and it was in Keeley’s bedroom, reminding her of what obviously hadn’t meant to be…
‘Jamie’s a dick,’ Rach remarked. ‘I’ll speak to him.’
‘No,’ Keeley said in a rush. ‘Don’t.’ She softened her tone a little. ‘You don’t need to fight my battles for me. I don’t need two people trying to control me.’
‘I wasn’t trying to…’ Rach began.
‘Sorry,’ Keeley said, annoyed by this conversation but knowing her friend wasn’t at all to blame. ‘Sorry… I didn’t mean that. It’s just, I want being here to be different and, with my mum at home and me being away for the first time, I didn’t expect her to be so… present.’
‘I should have kept my mouth shut about the pills. Binned them or something,’ Rach said.
‘No,’ Keeley said. ‘It’s fine. It’s not your fault.’ It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. And that made it even harder. The accident – the lorry skidding on ice and crushing the side of the taxi Keeley and Bea were travelling in – was just that: an accident. There was nothing anyone could have done. There was no one to blame. And Keeley couldn’t blame her mum for being overprotective really. Keeley losing her sister had been unbearable – was still unbearable – but she couldn’t imagine how much worse it must have been to lose a child. Lizzie and Silvie had that awful, awful thing in common.
‘You could move out though,’ Rach suddenly said. ‘You mentioned it before we left. I mean, Lizzie would probably go ape-shit for a bit, but she’s not going to be able to make you stay.’
No, Rach was right. But was it really Lizzie making her stay? Or was it somehow her own guilt? Her guilt about being here. Surviving. Not being Bea…
‘I… don’t know.’ Keeley swallowed, a breeze whipping her hair around her face. ‘Places are expensive and… I didn’t get my deposit back on the office and…’
‘And Ken Jeong might one day know exactly who The Masked Singer is.’ Rach put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You could make excuses all day long. If you want something you have to go for it. That shouldn’t change just because you’re packing someone else’s piece.’
Rach was right again. And why did Keeley really need telling what she already knew. She had to start living life for herself and not for her parents. It wasn’t like she was going to move to the other side of the world. Although Lizzie did once say that a Tube ride to Tottenham had been like being aboard a Cambodian bamboo train she had no desire to revisit…
‘I mean, if you were looking to move, I could be persuaded to shift out of my tiny room in the tiny apartment with chain-smoker Bertram and look for something a bit bigger and more conducive with trying to get a proper boyfriend, not just one who eats, shoots and leaves.’