Free All That Follows by Jim Crace Page B

point.”
    “It’s probably a woman thing.”
    “How can it be a woman thing? What sort of woman thing?”
    “Because you want to bring a girl into your home, Leonard. And set her up in your spare room. Maybe Francine doesn’t like the sound of that. I have to talk to her.”
    “Lucy, listen, I can promise you it isn’t that …” He pauses, takes a different tack. He has to stop her even trying to speak to his wife. “But actually, you’re not entirely wrong. Francine’s own daughter ran away—she ran away from that spare room—about eighteen months ago. Spring last year. Okay? April the twenty-fourth. Just nineteen years of age. A girl like you—a girl who wanted to disappear.”
    “Where did she go?”
    “That’s what I’m telling you. They had a three-month quarrel, then a fight. Just fists. And feet. She packed a bag. She ran away. She disappeared. We know she’s been in touch with some of her mates. So she’s alive, at least. But Francine hasn’t heard a word since then.”
    “That’s bad.”
    “That’s worse than bad, it’s killing her. That empty bedroom with her daughter’s stuff is all she’s got to give her hope, to keep her sane.” Leonard’s straying into melodrama now. Still whispering. He has to bring it to an end. “You’re right,” he says, raising his voice. “No way she’s going to take a lodger in that room, not even you, not even for a day. Now do you understand? It’s difficult.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting it. She’s squashed us flat.”
    “I’m sorry, Lucy. I did my best. But she went absolutely mad. We had a row about it. Quite a blazer, actually. There is no reasoning with her now. I’m just as disappointed as you are. I’m furious, in fact. It would have been, well, not exactly fun but …” He can’t locate the word. But he thinks valiant .
    “I think it might have made a difference. At least we would have given it a go,” she says, dejected now.
    “Yes, possibly. Let’s talk again. I have to run. I hope we’re going to stay in touch. You’ll text me in a day or two, okay? Best not to phone.”
    “Don’t worry, Comrade Leonard, Mr. Activist, Mr . Perkiss Number Two, I won’t embarrass you.” But now she has embarrassed him. Leonard flushes, head to toe. She adds, “I guess I should have known it was never going to happen when you wouldn’t cut yourself yesterday, when you wouldn’t shake on it with blood.”
    “Now, that’s ridiculous—”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Whose name?”
    “The missing girl.”
    “Her name is Celandine Sickert.”
    “You’re kidding me. I’d run away.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means deed poll to me.” She’s being petulant, just for the hell of it.
    “You’d change your name?” he asks, mostly glad that she has changed the subject.
    “ Th elandine T h ickert? That is terrible. Boy, yes, I’d dump that name. Anything with ‘Sick’ in it. And Celandine is pretty bad. It sounds like medicine. But Cel’s okay. Yes, Cel is absolutely radiant.”
    “Sorry, Lucy,” he says again. “Out of my hands.”
    “Hey, it’s cool.” A sigh of resignation now.
    “So that’s it, then? Hey, it’s cool, and on our way?” Job done, thinks Leonard. Time to finish this conversation, before she wounds him any more.
    “I guess it is.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “Not happy. My little bag was packed. My father’s still out there. I’m all fired up. Now what?”
    And he can see her all fired up, tough and innocent, her great expanse of hair, her taming red beret, her little bag, waiting with a cigarette among the noonday vehicles parked outside the Zone superstores, the airline traffic deafening, a tough and stocky angel coming to the rescue of her dad.
    “It’s for the best,” he says. But he’s already talking to himself. She’s gone. She really is a child.
     I T IS ONLY 9:25 A.M . and Leonard has secured the rest of Friday for himself. He sits back on the futon, not certain