First Born(62)

A man walks into Dunkin’ Donuts. He looks more Californian than New Yorker. Baseball cap, board shorts, work boots, light grey V-neck shirt. I hear him order. He’s Australian, not American. He has beach-tousled hair and the back of his neck is tanned deep brown. When he stretches to one side I see the V-cut of his lower abdominal muscles and I am entranced. That line. It reminds me of Scott. The area where his hip meets the side of his torso. The indentation.

I pick up my phone.

‘Scott, it’s me, Molly.’

He talks, but I can hardly understand because he’s chewing something. He apologises for eating and talking.

‘I want to see you again before I leave New York.’

‘Sure, great idea.’

My breathing quickens.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be coming back, so I want to say goodbye. Have a night out, one to remember. Are you up for something like that?’

‘I’m a student in New York City. I’m up for anything.’

‘Tonight?’

I don’t want to want him this way.

‘No can do, sorry. I have this thing, see, with my study group.’

‘Tomorrow night, then?’

‘Tomorrow is Halloween, Molly.’

‘I want to say goodbye to you properly,’ I say. ‘Fully.’

There’s a pause on the line.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Just, with your sister and all. With Katie. I mean . . .’

‘It’s because of her that I want to see you, Scott.’

‘Oh . . . I don’t understand?’

‘You’re grieving, I know you are. I’m grieving as well. Being together . . .’ I hush my voice and turn my face away from a teenage guy who’s obviously eavesdropping. ‘We should be together. One time before I fly away. I want to be with you.’

Another pause.

‘Tomorrow night, then,’ he says. ‘I got a party on campus from midnight, but we could do dinner or something?’

I hush my voice even more. ‘I have a hotel room,’ I say.

He doesn’t say anything.

‘It’ll be healing for both of us. Closure.’

‘You still in the hostel?’

‘No,’ I say, thinking fast, back to the Harvard Club, that area. I can’t take him back to the Ritz-Carlton. He can’t see my suite, he’ll ask too many questions. ‘The Sofitel on 44th Street.’

Another pause. ‘Time?’

‘Eight-thirty sharp. Listen to me, though . . .’

‘I’m listening.’

‘You must not tell a soul, not even your best friend or rowing buddy. This is strictly between us. A one-off private thing. If I hear from Violet or anyone else in KT’s circle that you’ve talked about this then I will not even show up. OK?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘OK. Pick up a key at Reception and make yourself comfortable in the room. You can get there any time from three p.m. I’ll be there at eight sharp. You bring . . .’

‘Who?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Bring, you know . . .’

‘What?’

‘Protec—’

‘Oh, OK. Sure, yeah. Molly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are we doing the right thing here? I mean, I really like you and all, but . . .’

‘Healing,’ I say. ‘Healing is always the right thing.’





Chapter 35


Tomorrow is for Scott.

But today is for Violet.

I need to experience one true night out in this city as a solo twin. If I’m to live a full life in the next twenty-four months, then I need to break out of my comfort zone. I’m not sure my sister made me anxious, but she definitely contributed. Even when we were kids she would play mind games. She treated it almost like a sport at times.

I need Violet for this. We need each other right now.

New clothes. Nothing crazy expensive or outlandish, but some classic KT style items. Bold designs. A top that reveals more of my back than I’d usually show. I buy them all from Bloomingdale’s. I spend four hundred dollars in cash. James Kandee’s cash. It feels good.

Violet’s waiting outside the Ethel Barrymore Theatre wearing a red dress cut above the knee. She looks amazing.

‘You know we’re gonna run into all sorts of skeleton-pumpkin-ghost-bullshit tonight, right? Mainstream freaks out in force the day before the day. You know that, right?’

‘I don’t care,’ I say. ‘I just want to have a night to let loose in New York with a genuine local. Talk about KT some more, remember her the way she’d want to be remembered. Celebrate her before I fly back to my boring old life in London.’

We start walking downtown.

‘She’d have loved your outfit,’ says Violet.

‘Oh, I know. It’s more her than me, really.’

‘You can pull it off,’ she says. ‘New York attitude is rubbing off on you, Molly Raven. Subway?’

That’s a step too far. ‘Not just yet. Sorry. Yellow cab?’

‘Uber.’

I don’t normally travel by Uber because I suspect they’re not regulated to the same extent as traditional New York yellow cabs, but I agree to this compromise. A minute later a Toyota Prius pulls up and we climb inside the back. Could be anyone driving us. I check my seatbelt four times.