The Girl You Left Behind

never be easy, but she had
     not realized she would feel quite so uncomfortable, so guilty about these people
     trailing through, inspecting her belongings with unfeeling, acquisitive eyes. She
     watches them touching the glass surfaces, running their fingers along the shelving,
     talking in low voices about putting pictures up and ‘softening it all a
     bit’, and wants to push them out of the front door.
    ‘All the appliances are top of the
     range and included with the sale,’ the estate agent says, opening her fridge
     door.
    ‘The oven, in particular, is almost
     unused,’ a voice adds, from the doorway. Mo is wearing glittery purple eye-shadow,
     and her parka over the Comfort Lodge Care Home tunic.
    The estate agent is a little startled.
    ‘I’m Mrs Halston’s
     personal assistant,’ she says. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. It’s
     almost time for her meds.’
    The estate agent smiles awkwardly, and
     hurries the couple towards the atrium. Mo pulls Liv to one side. ‘Let’s get
     a coffee,’ she says.
    ‘I need to be here.’
    ‘No, you don’t. This is
     masochism. Come on, grab your coat.’
    It’s the first time she has seen Mo
     in days. Liv feels unexpected relief at her presence. She realizes she has craved the
     vague impression of normality that now comes with a five-foot Goth in purple eye-shadow
     and a wipe-clean tunic. Her life has become strange and dislocated, fixated on a
     courtroom with its two duelling barristers, its suggestions and refutations, its wars
     and looting
Kommandant
s. Her old life and her own routines have been replaced
     by a kind of house arrest, her new world centred around the water fountain on the second
     floor of the High Court, the unforgiving bench seats, the judge’s peculiar habit
     of stroking his nose before he speaks. The image of her portrait on its stand.
    Paul. A million miles away on the
     claimants’ bench.
    ‘You really okay about selling
     up?’ Mo nods in the direction of the house.
    Liv opens her mouth to speak, then decides
     that if she begins to talk about how she really feels she’ll never stop.
     She’ll be here, burbling and railing, until next Christmas. She wants to tell Mo
     that there are pieces about the case in the newspapers every day, her name bandied about
     within them until it has become almost meaningless to see it. The words
theft
and
fairness
and
crime
appear in them all. She wants to tell her that
     she no longer runs: a man had waited outside the block just to spit at her. She wants to
     tell her the doctor has given her sleeping pills that she’s afraid to use. When
     she explained her situation in hisconsultation room she wondered if
     she saw disapproval in his expression too.
    ‘I’m fine,’ she says.
    Mo’s eyes narrow.
    ‘Really. It’s just bricks and
     mortar, after all. Well, glass and concrete.’
    ‘I had a flat once,’ Mo says,
     still stirring her coffee. ‘The day I sold it, I sat on the floor and cried like a
     baby.’
    Liv’s mug stills halfway to her
     lips.
    ‘I was married. It didn’t work
     out.’ Mo shrugs. And begins to talk about the weather.
    There is something different about Mo.
     It’s not that her manner is evasive exactly, but there is some kind of invisible
     barrier, a glass wall, between them. Perhaps it’s my fault, Liv thinks. I’ve
     been so preoccupied with money and the court case that I’ve hardly asked anything
     about Mo’s life.
    ‘You know, I was thinking about
     Christmas,’ she begins, after a pause. ‘I was wondering if Ranic wanted to
     stay over the night before. Selfish reasons, really.’ She smiles. ‘I thought
     you two might help me with the food. I’ve never actually cooked a Christmas dinner
     before, and Dad and Caroline are actually pretty good cooks so I don’t want to
     mess it up.’ She hears herself babbling.
I just need something to look forward
     to,
she wants to say.
I just want to smile without having to think about
     which muscles to use.
    Mo looks down at her hand. A telephone
     number in blue biro trawls its way along her left thumb. ‘Yeah. About
     that …’
    ‘I know what you said about it being
     crowded at his place. So if he wants to stay Christmas night too it’s totally
     fine. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get a taxi home.’ Sheforces a bright smile. ‘I think it’ll be fun. I think … I think
     we all could do with some fun.’
    ‘Liv, he’s not
     coming.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He’s not