‘No.’

‘It’s not that bad. You could at least try –’

‘Not the pasta. The job.’

We stared at each other. He ran his hand through his hair, glancing down the corridor. ‘You need to do this, Lou. You know it and I know it. You have to take it.’

‘I tried to leave home before, and I just got even more messed up.’

‘Because it was too soon. You were running away. This is different.’

I gazed up at him. I hated myself for realizing what I wanted to do. And I hated him for knowing it. We stood in the hospital corridor in silence. And then I saw he was rapidly losing colour from his face. ‘You need to lie down.’

He didn’t fight me. I took his arm and we made our way back to his bed. He winced as he lay back carefully on the pillows. I waited until I saw colour return to his face, then lay down beside him and took his hand.

‘I feel like we just sorted it all out. You and me.’ I laid my head against his shoulder, feeling my throat constrict.

‘We did.’

‘I don’t want to be with anyone else, Sam.’

‘Pfft. Like that was ever in doubt.’

‘But long-distance relationships rarely survive.’

‘So we are in a relationship?’

I started to protest and he smiled. ‘I’m kidding. Some. Some don’t survive. I’m guessing some do, though. I guess it depends how much both sides want to try.’

His big arm looped around my neck and pulled me to him. I realised I was crying. He wiped at my tears gently with his thumb. ‘Lou, I don’t know what will happen. Nobody ever does. You can set out one morning and step in front of a motorbike and your whole life can change. You can go to work on a routine job and get shot by a teenager who thinks that’s what it takes to be a man.’

‘You can fall off a tall building.’

‘You can. Or you can go to visit a bloke wearing a nightie in a hospital bed and get the best job offer you can imagine. That’s life. We don’t know what will happen. Which is why we have to take our chances while we can. And … I think this might be yours.’

I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to hear him, not wanting to acknowledge the truth in what he was saying. I wiped at my eyes with the heels of my hands. He handed me a tissue and waited while I wiped the black smears from my face.

‘Panda-eyes suit you.’

‘I think I might be a bit in love with you.’

‘I bet you say that to all the men in intensive care.’

I turned over and kissed him. When I opened my eyes again he was watching me.

‘I’ll give it a go, if you will,’ he said.

It took a moment for the lump in my throat to subside enough for me to be able to speak. ‘I don’t know, Sam.’

‘You don’t know what?’

‘Life is short, right? We both know that. Well, what if you’re my chance? What if you are the thing that’s actually going to make me happiest?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When people say autumn is their favourite time of year, I think it’s days like this that they mean: a dawn mist, burning off to a crisp clear light; piles of leaves blown into corners; the agreeably musty smell of gently mouldering greenery. Some say you don’t really notice the seasons in the city, that the endless grey buildings and the microclimate caused by traffic fumes mean there is never a huge difference; there is only inside and out, wet or dry. But on the roof it was clear. It wasn’t just in the huge expanse of sky but in Lily’s tomato plants, which had pushed out swollen red fruit for weeks, the hanging strawberry pots providing an intermittent array of occasional sweet treats. The flowers budded, bloomed and browned, the fresh green growth of early summer giving way to twiggy stalks and space where foliage had been. Up on the roof you could already detect the faintest hint in the breeze of the oncoming winter. An aeroplane was leaving a vapour trail across the sky and I noted that the streetlights were still on from the night before.

My mother emerged onto the roof in her slacks, gazing around her at the guests, and brushing moisture droplets from the fire escape off her trousers. ‘It really is quite something, this space of yours, Louisa. You could fit a hundred people up here.’ She was carrying a bag containing several bottles of champagne, and put it down carefully. ‘Did I tell you, I think you’re very brave getting up the confidence to come up here again?’

‘I still can’t believe you managed to fall off,’ observed my sister, who had been refilling glasses. ‘Only you could fall off a space this big.’

‘Well, she was drunk as a lord, love, remember?’ Mum headed back to the fire escape. ‘Where did you get all the champagne from, Louisa? This looks awful grand.’

‘My boss gave it to me.’

We had been cashing up a few nights previously, chatting (we chatted quite a lot now, especially since he’d had his baby. I knew more about Mrs Percival’s water retention than I think she would have been entirely comfortable with). I had mentioned my plans and Richard had disappeared, as if he hadn’t been listening. I had been ready to chalk it up as just another example of how Richard was still basically a bit of a wazzock, but when he re-emerged from the cellars a few minutes later he was holding a crate containing half a dozen bottles of champagne. ‘Here. Sixty per cent off. Last of the order.’ He handed me the box and shrugged. ‘Actually, sod it. Just take them. Go on. You’ve earned them.’

I had stuttered my thanks and he had muttered something about them being not a great vintage and the last of the line, but his ears had gone a tell-tale pink.

‘You could try to sound a bit pleased that I didn’t actually die.’ I passed Treena a tray of glasses.

‘Oh, I got over my “I wish I was an only child” thing ages ago. Well, maybe two years or so.’

Mum approached with a packet of napkins. She spoke in an exaggerated whisper: ‘Now, do you think these will be okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t they be?’

‘It’s the Traynors, isn’t it? They don’t use paper napkins. They’ll have linen ones. Probably with a coat of arms embroidered on them or something.’

‘Mum, they’ve travelled to the roof of a former office block in east London. I don’t think they’re expecting silver service.’