Free Dying to Know You by Aidan Chambers Page A

consolation of food.
    Then a silence that meant we were strong enough to face distress again.
    I said, “When you asked to see me, you thought I might be in some way responsible for what’s happened?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you still think so?”
    “Not the way I did.”
    “But in some way?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think now. All I’m sure of is that you helped Karl with Fiorella. Then she broke it off. And that made Karl ill.”
    She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.
    I said, “I’ll do whatever I can. But I don’t know what to suggest. Do you?”
    She finished her tea. I offered more. She shook her head, and said, “One thing I’ve found out today is thatKarl talked to you about something he never ever talks to anyone else about. And for the few weeks when he and Fiorella were getting on well, he was the happiest since his father died. Now he’s lost Fiorella and isn’t seeing you, and he’s worse than when his father died.”
    Easy to see what she was coming to.
    “Do you think you could talk to him? He might open up to you.”
    My turn to take a deep breath.
    “I’m not sure he would.”
    “I think he would. He talked a lot about how you made him think about things he hadn’t thought about before. What he called your cool sense of humour. He took to you.”
    “Well, if you think it’ll do any good, I’ll try. But how?”
    “You say you suffered from depression after your wife died?”
    “Melancholia. Yes.”
    “So you understand how Karl is feeling.”
    “I do. But won’t he think it odd if I suddenly contacted him after all this time?”
    “You invent stories. Surely you can think of a convincing reason?”
    “Is he writing emails?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. As I say, he doesn’t seem to do anything.”
    “I can’t just turn up. He’d be suspicious, wouldn’t he?”
    “Yes, he would. But there’s something else.”
    “What?”
    “I have to go to work every day. His father had his own small business. He was an electrical engineer. I did the office work and the accounts. After John died, I got something from a life insurance. I have the house, which we owned outright. John was determined about that in case the business failed. But there was nothing more. So I have to earn a living. And with Karl not working …”
    “What do you do?”
    “Secretary at our local primary school. I took the job because the hours were the same as Karl’s. I could be at home when he was. He needed a lot of attention. I’m worried about leaving him on his own all day.”
    “Are you asking if I can be with him?”
    “Not every day. Not all the time, of course. But maybe you could persuade him to go fishing? Or anything that would get him out of the house and give him something to do and think about besides whatever is going on in his mind at the moment.”
    I was stumped to know what to say. So much emotion, so many thoughts, all at once.
    “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Mrs. Williamson said. “But if you could.”
    We sat in silence.
    Finally, “I’m not saying I won’t,” I said. “I will. I’ll do all I can. But I’ve never been quick. I’m a tortoise, not a hare. That’s why I’ve written so few books. I need time to work things out.”
    Mrs. Williamson stood up. “I’m sorry. I understand.”
    I got up. “Let me brood about it overnight. I’ll get in touch tomorrow. How shall I do that? Shall I phone you?”
    “On my mobile, please. Karl doesn’t answer the phone these days, but he does ask who’s called. I think he always hopes it will be Fiorella.”
    She gave me her number.
    I saw her out.
    I went back into the kitchen to clear away the tea things, but before I could do it my knees gave way and I slumped into a chair feeling utterly exhausted, and burst into tears.

ANOTHER BAD NIGHT. THIS TIME THE KIND I HAVE IN THE MIDDLE of writing a novel, when I’m stuck. Thinking this way and that. What happens if … ? Supposing that