First Born(73)

Violet looks away, over at the wall.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Not important,’ she says.

‘Tell me.’

‘You talking about divorce reminded me. Professor Groot’s wife served him with the paperwork this morning. Right there in front of his fucking class. Served him as cool as ice and then walked right out of the lecture. Groot could not believe his eyes.’





Chapter 43


The hostel room is too narrow to sit and talk for long. Too tight. Airless. We step out on to the street and there’s some kind of news crew: a woman with an umbrella held over her head, a guy holding a camera, another guy making sure pedestrians don’t get too close.

Violet looks at me and I look at her.

‘The Sofitel is right over there,’ she says.

‘I know.’

We walk a block to the diner and there are even more film crews. The police have taped off an area outside the hotel reception and there are two squad cars parked on the pavement.

We go inside the diner and it is warm and familiar. Zuma was nice and all, but I prefer this place.

‘I’m not sure I can eat anything,’ says Violet. ‘I feel sick to my stomach.’

A waiter I don’t recognise approaches and I say, ‘Two coffees, please.’

‘Coffee?’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Scottie’s dead in a morgue and I’m drinking coffee. What the fuck, you know?’

‘Are you going to talk to his parents when they get here?’

She takes a paper sachet of Sweet’n Low from the pot and flips it between her fingers. ‘I don’t know, I’m not sure. Maybe. I wasn’t his girlfriend or anything so I don’t know what to say to them, you know? Like, where the hell do I even start? I don’t know what to think any more. Those poor people.’

‘I wish I could go to the funeral,’ I say. ‘I know it sounds morbid or whatever, but attending KT’s cremation, the service, the peacefulness of it all, coming to terms with the truth – it helped me. I think I’d have broken down if it wasn’t for that goodbye. I think I’d have lived in denial of what really happened.’

‘It helped? Really?’

‘I mean, I’m still lost without her.’ I shake my head. ‘Honestly, it feels so alien not having her around, not knowing where she is. I know that doesn’t make any sense but you understand what I mean.’

‘Yeah.’

The coffees arrive.

‘He seemed like a good guy, Scott,’ I say.

Violet covers her eyes with her hands and takes a deep breath. ‘He truly was,’ she says. ‘Everything ahead of him.’

‘Life is short,’ I say. ‘I have learned that this month. Life is very short. You have to live it.’

She sips her coffee.

‘How did Groot react?’ I ask.

‘What?’

‘Your professor. How did he seem when his wife stormed in all furious and screaming angry.’

‘Oh, no, she wasn’t angry at all,’ says Violet. ‘She was calm and collected. A real pro. She served him divorce papers is all. At least that’s what we assumed they were. It was a file of papers. She told him to find an attorney and she said if he returned to the family residence he’d be met by security. Then she walked away with her head held high.’

‘He must have been devastated.’

‘At least he still has his life,’ she says. ‘He can still live on, fix the mess, maybe. Reconcile, get couples counselling or whatever. It’s not like Scottie. I keep expecting to get a WhatsApp from him, you know? A message about seeing a movie or getting a bagel in Wu + Nussbaum together after class.’

‘What if the perpetrator is still in Manhattan?’ I say.

‘Who knows,’ she says. ‘Could be anywhere. Could be halfway across the world by now. Say, when are you flying back?’

‘Day after tomorrow from JFK,’ I say. ‘I’m not looking forward to that flight one bit.’

She looks at me quizzically.

‘The turbulence. Bird strike. Both pilots getting sick. Or maybe a hijack by some lunatic with an improvised weapon. A bomb in someone’s luggage. A bolt failure in the wing. Engine fire. Multiple engine fires. Freak cross-winds. Some new strain of avian flu. Or Ebola, even. Mid-air collision. Crashing on take-off, crashing on landing. I don’t like to think about it.’

She frowns and says, ‘So swallow a Valium and don’t fucking think about it.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘That’s what your sister always did,’ says Violet, smiling. ‘I used to give her sleeping pills every time she flew to some fancy vintage car rally or art auction someplace. She’d doze all the way there on the jet, and all the way back. Used to wash them down with fine champagne. She knew how to live, your sister.’

‘She really did.’

‘I’m gonna miss you, Molly.’

‘Same. I’m glad KT had you as a friend.’

‘You mind if I get in touch if I ever get my bank account healthy enough to visit London?’

‘I’d probably kill you if you didn’t.’

‘You’ll take me to Buckingham Palace, eh?’