‘Hi.’
The word makes me yelp with alarm. It’s so close that I can feel the man’s breath on my neck. I spin, but there’s nobody there.
Except that there is. He’s not directly behind me; he’s further back, rocking gently on one of the swings.
I take a few steps towards him and then he speaks again: ‘Hi, Luce. It’s been a while.’
Never Lucy, always Luce.
Closer. The shape of his face is unerringly familiar, even in the night. Another firework explodes into the sky above and, in that second, I can see who it is. He’s smiling at me lopsidedly; still the same, even after all these years.
‘You’re dead,’ I tell him.
‘Am I?’
‘Alex…?’
I move closer still and he stops rocking, sitting still and looking up to me. Perhaps it’s fate, or maybe it’s an accident of nature – but the moon chooses that moment to emerge from behind a cloud. Gloomy white light seeps across the playground and the scar is suddenly clear underneath his Adam’s apple. The old rugby injury.
‘Nearly,’ Ben says.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ben rolls up his sleeve to show me the tattoo he had etched onto his arm a month before the train crash. There are spiky shapes that always looked disjointed to me, but it’s darker than I remember; more intricate. I was never sure if I liked it. It all seemed a bit low-rent. The type of thing some bloke might have on show while throwing around chairs outside an all-day breakfast place on the Costa del Sol as he bellows ‘English’ at the Spanish owner. I never told Ben that, of course. It’s one of those unwritten rules: if someone shows off their tattoo, they have to be told it looks great.
Ben shivers and rubs his arm: ‘Bit chilly, innit?’ he says.
I feel it now, too. There’s a wind that sizzles between the trees. Everything feels like a dream. An impossible dream.
Another firework booms overhead and Ben holds up his hands. When the bang has evaporated, a small smile crinkles onto his face. ‘Your favourite night of the year,’ he says.
I shake my head. ‘It used to be.’
He doesn’t object as I stretch for his arm and rub the tattoo with my thumb. I half expect it to smudge but it remains intact.
‘It’s real,’ he says. ‘I’m real.’
‘How?’
Ben tugs his sleeve down and sets himself rocking steadily on the swing. I have to step to the side.
‘I’ve been trying to give you clues,’ he says. ‘To ease you into it. I didn’t want it to be such a shock. I thought you might’ve figured it out by now.’
‘Figured it out? You’re dead.’
He shrugs in the way I always hated. It never did suit him. He says nothing in reply and, almost because of the weight of expectation, I sit on the swing next to his, allowing my legs to dangle.
‘Have you been living opposite?’ I ask.
‘Not living. I’ve spent some time in there. I wanted to be close to you. I’ve missed you.’
He makes it sound as if this is all normal. ‘There was a funeral for you,’ I say. ‘A joint funeral. There have been memorials every year.’
I pinch the webbing in between the thumb and finger on my right hand, half expecting to jump awake and still be at home. I don’t. I’m here on the swings.
‘I wasn’t feeling well,’ Ben says. ‘Do you remember?’
‘“Last night’s sushi”,’ I reply. Of course I remember. Those words, those stupid words, have been burned into my memory.
He laughs a little, though there’s no humour there.
‘Right. The sushi. It saved my life. My stomach was in knots and the toilets on the train were out of order. I ended up getting off at the final stop before the crash. It was one of those smaller ones that are only used by window-lickers and bumpkins. I was going to sort myself out and then get on the next train an hour later.’
‘You weren’t on the train…?’ I reply, thinking of Steven and his stupid conspiracies. There never was a body.
Ben doesn’t reply. I suppose the very fact he’s here is a response.
‘What about Alex?’ I ask.
‘Alex…’ Ben repeats the name with a sigh and stops rocking on the swing. He presses his feet into the floor and leans forward a little. ‘I thought it would look better in front of the investor if there were two of us. We were in matching suits to look united. When I got off the train, I told Alex to stay on and that I’d catch him up. We didn’t know where we were going at the other end and I said that if he could figure out where everything was, we wouldn’t lose that much time…’ He tails off and then whispers: ‘I told him to stay on…’
Neither of us speak for a while. I pinch the webbing on my hand again but nothing happens. I’m not sure if I even feel the pain. Everything’s numb.
‘There were no toilets at the station,’ Ben says. ‘It was basically just a platform. I was in this café over the road when the crash came on the news.’
He leans backwards and the swing bounces back and then forward. It feels as if this is all he’s going to say; as if this is an explanation for everything.
I turn and stare sideways at him.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ I ask. ‘Or come home? I don’t understand.’
He bites his lip and turns to face me. I can see the subtle differences in his appearance now. There are gentle lines around the corners of his eyes and more of a crease to his lips. Age comes to everyone.
‘The reason I was seeing the investor in the first place is because I was out of money. I actually did call you – but hung up before it connected. I had no idea what to say. It was going to come out sooner or later that we were broke.’
‘We?’
Ben doesn’t react at first, but then it comes: ‘I had this weird moment of clarity,’ he says. ‘That this was my way out. I had a bit of cash hidden at Mum’s house – but that was it—’
‘Your mum knew?’
He holds up a hand to stop me. ‘I met a guy in a bar one time when I was away. He reckoned he was a private investigator. I thought it was a joke but I’d kept his card for some reason and then I saw it all clearly. I didn’t want to let you down any more. I waited until Mum was out and then went and got my money. I used that to pay the investigator and he sorted me out with a new driving licence and some other things. As long as I had the money, he didn’t bother with many questions. I think he’d done it before.’
I’ve turned away but, when he pauses, I can sense him wanting me to twist back. I ignore him for a few seconds and then the tug is too much.
He waits until I’m looking at him and then says: ‘It’s not like I tried to fake my own death. It just sort of… happened.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘No.’
‘Things like this don’t just happen.’
I twist around in the swing so that my back is to him.
‘Luce…’
‘Don’t call me that.’
He says nothing and then I feel the fury boiling. It’s like I’m going to be sick. ‘Then what?’ I spin, rotating back towards him. ‘You had what was left of our money.’
He shrugs. That damn shrug.
‘I moved,’ he says. ‘I started again. I’d learned my lessons about day trading. I made money second time around. I took fewer risks and it started to come together. I pooled my money with some people I found online and we made a decent profit.’
‘You’ve been doing fine all this time, while I’ve been struggling with your debts…?’