The Likeness

Abby tossed the papers onto the table and went back to her shopping bags, slotting things into the tiny fridge: a pint of milk, a little plastic serving of some chocolate-mousse thing. “I don’t. I already know everything I need to know about Lexie.”

“I thought it might help explain some stuff. Why she did what she did. Maybe you’d rather not know, but-”

She whipped upright, fridge door swinging wildly. “What the hell do you know about it? You never even met Lexie. I don’t give a flying fuck if she was going under a fake name, if she was a dozen different people in a dozen different places. None of that matters. I knew her. I lived with her. That wasn’t fake. You’re like Rafe’s father, all that bullshit about the real world-That was the real world. It was a whole lot more real than this.” A fierce jerk of her chin, at the room around us.

“That’s not what I mean,” I said. “I just don’t think she ever wanted to hurt you, any of you. It wasn’t like that.”

After a moment the air went out of her; her spine sagged. “That’s what you said, that day. That you-she-just panicked. Because of the baby.”

“I believed that,” I said. “I still do.”

“Yeah,” said Abby. “Me too. That’s the only reason I let you in.” She shoved something more firmly onto one of the fridge shelves, shut the door.

“Rafe and Justin,” I said. “Would they want to see this stuff?”

Abby balled up the plastic bags and stuffed them into another bag, hanging off the chair. “Rafe’s in London,” she said. “He left as soon as your lot would let us travel. His father found him a job-I don’t know what, exactly; something to do with finance. He’s totally unqualified for it and he’s probably crap at it, but he won’t get fired, not as long as Daddy’s around.”

“Oh, God,” I said, before I could stop myself. “He must be miserable.”

She shrugged and shot me a quick, unfathomable look. “We don’t talk a lot. I’ve phoned him a few times, stuff about the sale-not that he gives a damn, he just tells me to do whatever I want and send him the papers to sign, but I have to check. I rang him in the evenings, and it mostly sounded like he was in some fancy pub, or a nightclub-loud music, people yelling. They call him ‘Raffy.’ He was always about three-quarters drunk, which I doubt comes as any surprise to you, but no, he didn’t sound miserable. If that helps you feel better.”

Rafe in moonlight, smiling, eyes slanted sideways at me; his fingers warm on my cheek. Rafe with Lexie, somewhere-I still wondered about that alcove. “What about Justin?”

“He went back up North. He tried to stick it out at Trinity, but he couldn’t take it-not just the staring and whispering, although that was pretty bad, but… nothing being the same. A couple of times I heard him crying, in his carrel. One day he tried to go into the library and he couldn’t do it; he had a panic attack, right there in the Arts block, in front of everyone. They had to take him away in an ambulance. He didn’t come back.”

She took a coin from a neat stack on the fridge and fed it into the electricity meter, turned the knob. “I’ve talked to him a couple of times. He’s teaching English in a boys’ school, filling in for some woman on maternity leave. He says the kids are spoiled little monsters and they write ‘Mr. Mannering is a faggot’ on the board most mornings, but at least it’s peaceful-it’s out in the countryside-and the other teachers leave him alone. I doubt either he or Rafe would want that stuff.” She flicked her head at the table. “And I’m not going to ask them. You want to talk to them, do your own dirty work. I should warn you, I don’t think they’ll be overjoyed to hear from you.”

“I don’t blame them,” I said. I went to the table, tapped the bundle of paper into shape. Below the window, the back garden was overgrown, strewn with bright crisp packets and empty bottles.

Abby said, behind me, with no inflection in her voice at all, “We’re always going to hate you, you know.”

I didn’t turn around. Whether I liked it or not, in this one small room my face was still a weapon, a bare blade laid between her and me; it was easier for her to talk when she couldn’t see it. “I know,” I said.

“If you’re looking for some kind of absolution, you’re in the wrong place.”

“I’m not,” I said. “This stuff is the only thing I’ve got to offer you, so I figured I had to try. I owe you that.”

After a second, I heard her sigh. “It’s not that we think this was all your fault. We’re not stupid. Even before you came…” A movement: her shifting, pushing back hair, something. “Daniel believed, right up to the end, that we could still fix things; that there was still a way for it to be OK again. I didn’t. Even if Lexie had made it… I think, by the time your mates showed up at our door, it was already too late. Too much had changed.”

“You and Daniel,” I said. “Rafe and Justin.”