The Last Time I Saw You Read Online Free PDF Page B

petty and bitter, a suburban single girl with an ax to grind.
    “I think that’s why,” said Lola sharply, two high discs of color throbbing on her plump cheeks.
    “What do you mean?”
    “She said you were unbelievably negative. You really hurt her feelings, Livvy.”
    Was she hurt? I suppose it was possible, but it seemed more like an inexplicable counter-move. I didn’t understand her, and even more painfully, I didn’t understand myself. Why had I been stupid enough to go back for more? It’s a question I’ve never really been able to answer, a question that’s lingered and festered ever since.
    “You know what she was like,” says James, momentarily taking his gaze away from the driving rain. “She had to be the one calling the shots. It doesn’t mean she stopped caring.”
    “Oh I think she did.”
    “But that was Sally, wasn’t it? She was a good actress.”
    The atmosphere thickens and congeals, both of us rendered silent. Not in our comfortable, easy way: it’s a lid we’ve slammed down so we don’t have to go back to a time that we move heaven and earth to avoid. Maybe it was a mistake to invite him, I think, but as soon as I’ve thought it I feel how grateful I am to have the solidity of his presence.
    “There are special oldie sites my dad could try, aren’t there?”
    “Yeah, totally. My Single Tooth?”
    I laugh, laugh too much in fact. I’m actually starting to feel slightly hysterical the closer we get to our turnoff, my heart pumping like a piston, my palms clammy and cold.
    We drive into the nondescript commuter-belt town Sally grew up in. I remember coming here one Easter for a visit,the ordinariness of it in total contrast to Sally. I was so fascinated by her then, transfixed; it almost felt to me that she must’ve been found in a Moses basket, transported from somewhere more fitting. “Manhattan,” she cried, gleeful at the compliment, too cool to say New York.
    The streets around the church are packed with cars, and I can’t help thinking how gratified she’d be. She thrived on attention, on popularity; it was a drug for her. James narrowly avoids scraping a BMW, his hands shaking on the steering wheel.
    “Shit,” he mutters.
    “It’s fine, you missed.”
    The churchyard is thronged, Sally’s gray, wan parents surrounded by family, her younger brother at their side. The sight of them makes a lump rise up in my throat, the enormity of what it is that they’re facing horribly vivid. I stand there for a second, but before I can get myself together I’m ambushed by Sinead, a girl from college who was much more Sally’s friend than mine. She gives me a long hug, eyes full.
    “It’s awful, isn’t it?” she says.
    “It’s horrible,” I agree, wondering what else there is to say—absolutely nothing, judging by the long pause. It seems crass to swap news, but I feel so awkward talking about Sally when we’d been so long estranged. Why did I come? I can’t order my thoughts enough to recap on my reasons, and yet I know in my gut that it was right. “This is James,” I say eventually.
    “Hi!” says Sinead, unable to avoid looking impressed. James does look particularly handsome in his dark suit. “How long . . .”
    “Oh no, we’re not a couple,” I say, swiftly. “James is my roommate . . . he, he knew Sally.”
    We’re spared further social embarrassment by the sheer volume of mourners. I have the same exchange about the tragedy of it with person after person, some of them people I’d almost forgotten existed. It’s such a terrible way to glean an instant snapshot of how time’s moved on. “It’s a shocker, isn’t it?” says Max, a pothead chancer who we shared our first year halls with. He’s plumped out now, got a kind of toadiness about him that makes total sense. “Can’t believe she’s actually dead.” I feel myself recoiling—I believe he’s shocked, but there’s something about him that’s tangibly enjoying the drama of it all.