Part 28 (1/2)
Isma wasn't sure she believed him but she didn't want to fight. ”Go shower,” she said. ”You need to get out of here.”
31.
”I should have just lied to him,” Isma said to Hanna at her house. Hanna had invited her to come and take a look at two paintings of Nqobile's that she had bought from an art gallery in Edinburgh. ”I should have pretended that it was some big epic love from the beginning.”
”You wouldn't have hated that?” Hanna said.
”I really wouldn't have. I don't have any qualms about lying. I can do it well. I can cry at will, hesitate, and do whatever else it takes to sell it.”
”He would have known. On some level he would have known.”
”That's what people always say. I never knew with Paul. I believed every word the b.a.s.t.a.r.d said.”
”Are you going to contact him, before the end?”
Isma shook her head. ”No. Maybe. I want to...I just...”
”You don't want to hurt Timothy.”
”That's not it. Nothing I could do can hurt Timothy. He does that all by himself. He loves torturing himself. I'm just an excuse.”
”Then why don't you want to see Paul?”
”He left me when I needed him most.”
”Pride aside, you want to see him. You should or you'll regret it. When you die, wouldn't it be great to have no regrets?”
”Don't be all worldly wise earth-mother all of a sudden. It doesn't suit you.”
One of Nqobile's paintings was of a robotic fisherman seated by a riverside. In the water, a strange three-eyed creature was approaching the hook. The other was a self-portrait, but she had given herself purple skin.
25.
”h.e.l.lo. This is Paul Durocher. Who's calling?h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo?”
22.
They had spent the day at the races. It was one of those things Timothy had never done. Between the two of them they'd made a list. They were ticking them off one by one. Timothy was in a tux and he was wearing a top hat, a ridiculous insistence of his. ”I don't care if I look like I'm from the wrong century; I'm going to do this posh pompous a.s.s thing right no matter what you say.”
Going there was fun, but the actual races were boring. Nothing about watching horses run in circles remotely exhilarated Timothy or Isma.
Afterwards, Isma gave Timothy an envelope.
”What's this?”
”You'll see.”
It was a birthday card. ”Today's not my birthday. We'll be dead before I turn twenty-eight.”
”They didn't have a special card for what I wanted to say.”
”The message?”He flipped the card open. ”Happy 528. What is 528?”
”You're always saying how many days we have left. I don't think that's a healthy way of looking at it. We have 528 hours. Or if you like, on the back page I've written how much time we have in minutes. minutes.”
”31680.”
”Sounds like a lot of time, doesn't it.”
”I guess.”
10080.
”Now, now is when you call me, when I've got one week left.”Isma wanted to be angrier than she was. It was good to hear Paul's voice. She'd missed his soothing baritone and his French-tinged accent. She had resigned herself to never hearing it again.
”I'm calling now. I wanted to before; I just couldn't mount up the courage.”
”Lame excuse.”
”How have things been?”
Isma brushed aside his attempt at small talk. ”Are we going to meet?”
”Wow, that's very direct.”
”The 'dying in a few days' thing omits the need for bulls.h.i.+t.”
”I'm out of town right now.”
”Cla.s.sic. Why do I bother?”
”I'll be back next week Tuesday.”
”And after all this time, you think I'd want to spend my last night with you. You're as arrogant as ever.”
”I'm sorry...I just...I booked a flight to come back then because I knew it was your last day. If you don't want to see me...”
”You're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you know. I should just tell you to f.u.c.k off. The sick thing is that, a.s.shole that you are, I want to see you before I die. Maybe just so I can stab you in the eye with a fork.”
”Take it easy.”