The Girl You Left Behind

physical constraints or the genuine fear of rival gangs and illegal
     trespass.
    It’s a small thing, this charity. A
     chance to make her feel as if David’s life was not wasted; that his ideas
     continue. Sometimes a really bright kid emerges – one who immediately locks on to
     David’s ideas – and she tries to help them in some way, to talk to their teachers
     or organize scholarships. A couple of times she has even met their parents. One of
     David’s early
protégés
is now doing an architecture degree, his
     fees paid by the foundation.
    But for most of them it’s just a brief
     window on to a different world, an hour or two in which to practise their
parkour
skills on someone else’s stairs and rails and marble foyers,
     a chance to see inside Mammon, albeit under the bemused eye of the rich people she has
     persuaded to let them in.
    ‘There was a study done a few years
     back, which showed that if you reduce the amount of space per child from twenty-five to
     fifteen square feet, they become more aggressive and less inclined to interact with each
     other. What do you think of that?’
    Cam is swinging around an end rail. ‘I
     have to share a bedroom with my brother and I want to batter him half the time.
     He’s always putting his stuff over my side.’
    ‘So what places make you feel good?
     Does this place make you feel good?’
    ‘It makes me feel like I got no
     worries.’
    ‘I like the plants. Them with the big
     leaves.’
    ‘Oh, man. I’d just sit here and
     stare at the fish. This place is restful.’
    There is a murmur of agreement.
    ‘And then I’d catch one and make
     my mum cook some chips for it, innit?’
    They all laugh. Liv looks at Abiola and,
     despite herself, she starts to laugh too.
    ‘Did it go well?’ Sven rises
     from his desk to meet her. She kisses his cheek, puts down her bag and sits in the white
     leather Eames chair opposite. It is routine now that she will come to Solberg Halston
     Associates after each outing, to drink coffee and report back. She is always more tired
     than she expects.
    ‘Great. Once Mr Conaghy realized they
     weren’t about to dive into his atrium pools, he was quite inspired, I think. He
     stuck around to speak to them. I think I might even be able to persuade him to provide
     some sponsorship.’
    ‘Good. That’s good news. Sit
     down, and I’ll get some coffee. How are you? How’s your dangerously ill
     relative?’
    She looks blankly at him.
    ‘Your aunt?’
    The blush creeps above her collar.
     ‘Oh. Oh, yes, not too bad, thanks. Better.’
    Sven hands her a coffee and his eyes rest on
     hers just a moment too long. His chair squeaks softly as he sits down.
     ‘You’ll have to forgive Kristen. She just gets carried away. I did tell her
     I thought that man was an idiot.’
    ‘Oh.’ She winces. ‘Was it
     that transparent?’
    ‘Not to Kristen. She doesn’t
     know that Ebola isn’t generally fixed by surgery.’ And then, as Liv groans,
     he smiles. ‘Don’t give it a thought. Roger Folds is an ass. And, if nothing
     else, it was just nice to see you out and about again.’ He takes off his glasses.
     ‘Really. You should do it more often.’
    ‘Well, um, I have a bit
     lately.’
    She blushes, thinking of her night with Paul
     McCafferty. She has found herself returning to it relentlessly over the days since,
     worrying at the night’s events, like a tongue at a loose tooth. What had made her
     behave in that way? What had he thought of her? And then, the mercurial shiver, the
     imprint of that kiss. She is cold with embarrassment, yet burns gently, the residue of
     it on her lips. She feels as if some long-distant part of her has been sparked back to
     life. It’s a little disconcerting.
    ‘So, how’s Goldstein?’
    ‘Not far off now. We had some problems
     with the new building regs, but we’re nearly there. The Goldsteins are happy,
     anyway.’
    ‘Do you have any pictures?’
    The Goldstein Building had been
     David’s dream commission: a vast organic glass structure stretching halfway around
     a square on the edge of the City. He had been working on it for two years of their
     marriage, persuading the wealthy Goldstein brothers to share his bold vision, to create
     something far from the angular concrete castlesaround them, and he
     had still been working on it when he died. Sven had taken over the blueprint and
     overseen it through the planning stages, and was now managing its actual