The Museum of Modern Love(18)

‘You need to listen to me, Arky. Please. There’s a centre, a facility.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I need to get well. I need some time out to do that. Somewhere that means absolute rest.’

‘Why can’t we just get nurses again? I thought this was what you wanted, the apartment . . .’

‘I do.’

‘What am I meant to do there without you?’

‘I want to be there. I do. I know this is terrible timing. I know it’s been a huge move and you’ve done it all without me and I’m sorry.’

‘Where is this . . . place you want to go?’

‘East Hampton.’

‘East Hampton? But it’s going to take me hours to come and see you . . .’

‘I don’t want you to visit. Not at first.’

He was stung. ‘Why not?’

‘If I’m lucky I’ll be home in a few weeks. If things get worse they have everything I’ll need.’

‘But why can’t I visit? And what if you do get worse?’

‘Alice knows what to do. You won’t need to do anything.’

‘But I want to.’

‘No you don’t. You hate every minute of me being sick.’

‘Darling, that’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘You could give me a chance. I mean, East Hampton?’

‘Arky, sweetheart . . . I love you. But I can’t look after you while I’m trying to look after me. Not any more. It’s taken me a while to understand that. This way will be easier for both of us.’

‘Wow. Do you ever get how tough you are?’

‘I don’t feel very tough.’

‘So I’m meant to wait around in an apartment that you wanted to buy, that you’ve never even spent a night in, and one day I’ll get a call to come pick you up in East Hampton?’

‘Arky, I’m frightened. Please don’t make me fight with you over this. Please understand. This is what will work for me. And I know it will work for you. Can you trust me?’

He had loved to watch her walk. It was as if there were extra muscles in her feet and legs that lifted her. When he heard her voice, he felt it was an instrument he would never tire of. When she smiled it was as if he had finally found the one safe place in the world.

If he had been a scientist, the things on his Petri dish would have been Lydia and Alice. On the periphery were Hal, his agent. Healayas. The traitor Tom Washington. When he looked at it like that, all the acquaintances, the film producers, the musicians and editors, ultimately none of them meant anything. Not when it all came down to it.

When he visited her on New Year’s Eve, Lydia said to him, ‘Sometimes I just want to die so I don’t have to go through getting better again and again. I’m always trying to pick up where I left off. But every episode it’s harder. I can’t get back to where I was, Arky. I’m being washed downstream . . .’

‘Why have you loved me all this time?’ he asked.

‘You’re funny. You’re very sweet. You’re a musical genius. You love me. No one will ever love me the way you do.’

‘But not the right way.’

‘Is there a right way? You might have been better without me. Without your noisy, busy, bossy, crazy wife.’

‘I never want to live without you.’

‘You can.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘But you must. For a little while.’

‘But why are you doing this? Why do you have to go away?’

‘I never want to be in a wheelchair . . . we need to talk about that.’

He’d offered her his handkerchief and she blew her nose.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘We don’t have to talk about anything now. Nothing like that’s going to happen.’

‘On your birthday,’ Lydia said, as the hospital staff were preparing her for the trip to East Hampton, ‘you want to open the door when they ring at eight o’clock. I know it’s early, but it will be worth it. Short of a blizzard, they’ll be there.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But I’ll see you before that, won’t I? I’ll catch the train. Let me know when I can come and see you.’

‘We’ll talk about it. Just let me get well. Write. Make music. Please be happy. I love you.’

He had stood on the pavement and stared after her as the ambulance drove her away. He’d been so busy trying to succeed that he hadn’t noticed that he’d failed, probably long ago. He just hadn’t noticed.

Three days after she arrived at the Oaks, Lydia had a stroke and slipped into a coma. When she came out of it, nothing was the same.

As soon as he heard about the stroke, Levin made plans to take Alice and drive to East Hampton, but then he’d had a call from Paul asking him to bring Alice and come in for a meeting. Paul Wharton had been Lydia’s father’s lawyer. The firm had a division for medical law and another for divorce. Paul introduced a younger lawyer who, with thirty-something clarity, talked Levin and Alice through the legal landscape that ensured Lydia’s wishes were met.

‘I’m so sorry, Levin,’ Paul said as they left the room. ‘If there’s anything I can do . . .’