The Girl You Left Behind

haunt people. I don’t want Liv to look at me one day and be fighting the
     thought:
You’re the guy who ruined my life
.’
    Greg pads across the kitchen and puts the
     kettle on. He makes three cups of coffee, and hands one to Paul. He puts his hand on his
     brother’s shoulder as he prepares to take the other two through to the living
     room. ‘I know you like to fix stuff, big brother of mine. But honestly? In this
     case you’re just going to have to hope to God it all works out.’
    Paul doesn’t hear him. ‘List of
     owners,’ he is muttering to himself. ‘List of current owners of
     Lefèvre’s work.’
    Eight hours later Greg wakes to find a
     small boy’s face looming over him. ‘I’m hungry,’ it says, and
     rubs its nose vigorously. ‘You said you had Coco Pops but I can’t find
     them.’
    ‘Bottom cupboard,’ he says
     groggily. There is no light between the curtains, he notes distantly.
    ‘And you don’t have any
     milk.’
    ‘What’s the time?’
    ‘Quarter to seven.’
    ‘Ugh.’ Greg burrows down under
     the duvet. ‘Even the dogs don’t get up this early. Ask your dad to do
     it.’
    ‘He’s not here.’
    Greg’s eyes open slowly, fix on the
     curtains. ‘What do you mean he’s not here?’
    ‘He’s gone. The
     sleeping-bag’s still rolled up so I don’t think he slept on the sofa. Can we
     get croissants from that place down the road? The chocolate ones?’
    ‘I’m getting up. I’m
     getting up. I’m up.’ He hauls himself into an upright position, rubs his
     head.
    ‘And Pirate has weed on the
     floor.’
    ‘Oh. Good. Saturday’s off to a
     flying start.’
    Paul is indeed not there but he has left a
     note on the kitchen table: it is scribbled on the back of a list of court evidence, and
     placed on top of a scattered pile of papers.
Had to go. Pls can you hang on to Jake. Will call.
    ‘Is everything okay?’ Jake says,
     studying his face.
    The mug on the table is ringed with black
     coffee. The remaining papers look as if they have suffered a small explosion.
    ‘It’s all fine, Small
     Fry,’ Greg says, ruffling his hair. He folds the note, puts it into his pocket,
     and begins dragging the files and papers into some sort of order. ‘I tell youwhat, I vote we make pancakes for breakfast. What do you say we pull
     our coats on over these pyjamas and head down to the corner shop for some
     eggs?’
    When Jake leaves the room, he grabs his
     mobile phone and stabs out a text.
If you are over there getting laid
     right this minute,
you owe me BIG TIME.
    He waits a few minutes before stuffing it
     into his pocket, but there is no reply.
    Saturday is, thankfully, busy. Liv waits in
     for the buyers to come and measure up, then for their builders and architect to examine
     the apparently endless work that needs doing. She moves around these strangers in her
     home, trying to strike the right balance between accommodating and friendly, as befits
     the seller of the house, and not reflecting her true feelings, which would involve
     shouting, ‘GO AWAY,’ and making childish hand gestures at them. She
     distracts herself by packing and cleaning, deploys the consolations of small domestic
     tasks. She throws out two bin-bags of old clothes. She rings several rental agents, and
     when she tells them the amount she can afford there is a lengthy, scornful silence.
    ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere
     before?’ says the architect, as she places the phone back in its cradle.
    ‘No,’ she says hurriedly.
     ‘I don’t think so.’
    Paul does not call.
    That afternoon she heads over to her
     father’s. ‘Caroline has thrown you
the
most spectacular pot for
     Christmas,’ he announces. ‘You’re going to love it.’
    ‘Oh, good,’ she says.
    They eat salad and a Mexican dish for lunch.
     Caroline hums to herself while eating. Liv’s father is up for a car-insurance
     advert. ‘Apparently I have to imitate a chicken. A chicken with a no-claims
     bonus.’
    She tries to focus on what he is saying, but
     she keeps thinking about Paul, replaying the previous day in her head. She is secretly
     surprised that he hasn’t rung. Oh, God. I’m turning into one of those clingy
     girlfriends. And we’ve not even been officially together for twenty-four hours.
     She has to laugh at ‘officially’.
    Reluctant to go back to the Glass House, she
     stays at her father’s for much longer than usual. He seems delighted, drinks too
     much, pulls out