Still Me

  "I--I didn't steal it."

  He looked at me intently for a long moment, as if waiting for something. When it didn't come his expression hardened. "This is disappointing, Louisa. I know Agnes is very fond of you and feels you have been very helpful to her. But I cannot have someone in my household whom I do not trust."

  "Leonard--" Agnes began, but he held up a hand.

  "No, darling. I've been through this before. I'm sorry, Louisa, but your employment is terminated with immediate effect."

  "Wh-what?"

  "You will be given an hour to clear your room. You will leave a forwarding address with Michael and he will be in touch regarding whatever is owed to you. I would take this opportunity to remind you of the nondisclosure element of your contract. The details of this conversation will go no further. I hope you can see that this is for your benefit as much as ours."

  The color had drained from Agnes's face. "No, Leonard. You can't do this."

  "I am not discussing this further. I have to go to work. Louisa, your hour starts now."

  He stood. He was waiting for me to leave the room.

  I emerged from the study with my head spinning. Michael was waiting for me and it took me a couple of seconds to grasp that he was not there to see if I was okay but to escort me to my room. That from now on I really was not trusted in this house.

  I walked silently down the corridor, vaguely conscious of Ilaria's stunned face at the kitchen door, the sound of impassioned conversation somewhere at the other end of the apartment. I couldn't see Nathan anywhere. As Michael stood in the doorway I pulled my case from under my bed and began to pack, messily, chaotically, pulling out drawers, hauling things in as quickly as I could, conscious that I was working against some capricious clock. My brain hummed--shock and outrage tempered by the need not to forget anything: Had I left laundry in the laundry room? Where were my trainers? And then, twenty minutes later, I was done. All my belongings were packed into a suitcase, a carryall, and a large checked shopping bag.

  "Here, I'll take that," said Michael, reaching for my wheelie case as he saw me struggling to get the three bags to the bedroom door. It took me a second to realize this was less an act of kindness than efficiency.

  "iPad?" he said. "Work phone? Credit card." I handed them over, along with the door keys, and he put them into his pocket.

  I walked along the hallway, still struggling to believe this was happening. Ilaria was standing in the kitchen doorway, her apron on, her plump hands pressed together. As I passed her, I glanced sideways, expecting her to curse me in Spanish, or to give me the kind of withering look that women of her age reserve for alleged thieves. But instead she stepped forward and silently touched my hand. Michael turned away, as if he hadn't seen. And then we were at the front door.

  He passed me the handle of my case.

  "Good-bye, Louisa," he said, his expression unreadable. "Good luck."

  I stepped out. And the huge mahogany door closed firmly behind me.

  --

  I sat in the diner for two hours. I was in shock. I couldn't cry. I couldn't rage. I just felt paralyzed. I thought at first that Agnes would sort this out. She would find a way to convey to her husband that he was wrong. We were friends, after all. So I sat and waited for Michael to appear, looking slightly awkward, ready to pull my cases back to the Lavery. I gazed at my cell phone, waiting for a text message--Louisa, there has been terrible misunderstanding. But none came.

  When I realized it probably wasn't going to come, I thought about simply heading back to the UK, but to do so would wreak havoc on Treena's life--the last thing she and Thom needed was me turfing them out of the flat. I couldn't return to Mum and Dad's--it wasn't just the soul-destroying thought of moving back to Stortfold but I thought I might die if I had to go home as a failure twice, the first time broken after drunkenly falling from a building, the second fired from the job I had loved.

  And, of course, I could no longer stay with Sam.

  I cradled my coffee cup with fingers that still trembled and saw that I had effectively boxed myself out of my own life. I considered calling Josh, but I didn't feel it was appropriate to ask him if I could move in, given I wasn't sure we'd even had a first date.

  And if I did find accommodation, what was I going to do? I had no job. I didn't know if Mr. Gopnik could revoke my work permit. Presumably that only existed as long as I worked for him.

  Worst of all, I was haunted by the way he had looked at me, his expression of utter disappointment and faint contempt when I had failed to come up with a satisfactory answer. His quiet approval had been one of the many small satisfactions of my life there--that a man of such stature had thought I was doing a good job had boosted my confidence, had left me feeling capable, professional, in a way I hadn't since looking after Will. I wanted so badly to explain myself to him, to regain his goodwill, but how could I? I saw Agnes's face, eyes wide, pleading. She would call, wouldn't she? Why hadn't she called?

  "You want a refill, sweetheart?" I looked up at the middle-aged waitress with tangerine-colored hair holding the coffee jug. She eyed my belongings like she had seen this scenario a million times before. "Just got here?"

  "Not exactly." I tried to smile but it came out as a kind of grimace.

  She poured the coffee and stooped, lowering her voice. "My cousin runs a hostel in Bensonhurst if you're stuck for somewhere to stay. There are cards over by the till. It ain't pretty, but it's cheap and it's clean. Call sooner rather than later, you know what I'm saying? Places fill up." She put a hand briefly on my shoulder and walked on to the next customer.

  That small act of kindness almost did it for my composure. For the first time I felt overwhelmed, crushed by the knowledge that I was alone in a city that no longer welcomed me. I didn't know what I was supposed to do now that my bridges were apparently pushing out thick black smoke on two continents. I tried to picture myself explaining to my parents what had happened, but found myself once again butting up against the vast wall of Agnes's secret. Could you tell even one person without the truth slowly creeping out? My parents would be so outraged on my behalf that I couldn't put it past Dad not to ring Mr. Gopnik just to set him straight about his deceitful wife. And what if Agnes denied everything? I thought about Nathan's words--ultimately we were staff, not friends. What if she lied and said I had stolen the money? Wouldn't that make things worse?

  For perhaps the first time since I had arrived in New York I wished I hadn't come. I was still in last night's clothes, stale and crumpled, which made me feel even worse. I sniffed quietly and wiped my nose with a paper napkin while staring at the mug in front of me. Outside, life in Manhattan continued, oblivious, fast-moving, ignoring the detritus that piled up in the gutter. What do I do now, Will? I thought, a huge lump rising in my throat.

  As if on cue, my phone pinged.

  What the bloody hell is going on? wrote Nathan. Call me, Clark.

  And, despite myself, I smiled.

  --

  Nathan said there was no bloody way I was going to stay in a bloody hostel in bloody God knew where, with the rapists and the drug-dealers and God knew what. I was to wait until seven thirty when the bloody Gopniks had left for bloody dinner and I was to meet him at the service entrance and we would work out what the hell to do next. There was quite a lot of swearing for three text messages.

  When I arrived his anger was uncharacteristically undimmed.

  "I don't get it. It's like they just ghosted you. Like a ruddy Mafiosi code of silence. Michael wouldn't tell me anything other than it was a 'matter of dishonesty.' I told him I'd never met a more honest person in my bloody life and they all needed their heads looking at. What the hell happened?"

  He had shepherded me into his room off the service corridor and closed the door behind us. It was such a relief to see him it was all I could do not to hug him. I didn't, though. I thought I'd probably clutched enough men in the last twenty-four hours.

  "For Chrissakes. People. You want a beer?"


  "Sure."

  He cracked open two cans and handed one to me, sitting down on his easy chair. I perched on the bed and took a sip.

  "So . . . well?"

  I pulled a face. "I can't tell you, Nathan."

  His eyebrows shot somewhere toward the ceiling. "You too? Oh, mate. Don't tell me you--"

  "Of course not. I wouldn't steal a teabag from the Gopniks. But if I told you what really happened it would . . . it would be disastrous. For other people in the house . . . It's complicated."

  He frowned. "What? Are you saying you took the blame for something you didn't do?"

  "Sort of."

  Nathan rested his elbows on his knees, shaking his head. "This isn't right."

  "I know."

  "Someone's got to say something. You know he was thinking about calling the cops?"

  My jaw might have dropped.

  "Yeah. She persuaded him not to, but Michael said he was mad enough to do it. Something about an ATM?"

  "I didn't do it, Nathan."

  "I know that, Clark. You'd make a crap criminal. Worst poker face I ever saw." He took a swig of his beer. "Dammit. You know, I love my job. I like working for these families. I like Old Man Gopnik. But every now and then it's like they remind you, you know? You're basically just expendable. Doesn't matter how much they say you're their mate and how great you are, how much they depend on you, yada-yada-yada, the moment they don't need you anymore or you've done something they don't like, bang. You're out the door. Fairness doesn't even come into it."

  It was the longest thing I'd heard Nathan say since I got to New York.

  "I hate this, Lou. Even knowing so little it's clear to me you're being shafted. And it stinks."

  "It's complicated."

  "Complicated?" He gazed at me steadily, shook his head again, and took a long swig of his beer. "Mate, you're a better person than I am."

  --

  We were going to order takeout, but just as Nathan was climbing into his jacket to head off to the Chinese restaurant there was a knock at the door. We looked at each other in horror and he motioned me into the bathroom. I skidded in and closed the door silently behind me. But as I stood wedged up against his towel rack I heard a familiar voice.

  "Clark, it's okay. It's Ilaria," said Nathan, a moment later.

  She was in her apron, holding a pot with a lid on it. "For you. I hear you talking." She held the pot toward me. "I made it for you. You need to eat. It's the chicken you like, with the pepper sauce."

  "Aw, mate." Nathan clapped Ilaria on the back. She stumbled forward, recovered, and placed the pot carefully on Nathan's desk.

  "You made this for me?"

  Ilaria was prodding Nathan in the chest. "I know she does not do this thing they say. I know plenty. Plenty that goes on this apartment." She tapped her nose. "Oh, yes."

  I briefly lifted the lid--delicious smells seeped out. I suddenly remembered I had barely eaten all day. "Thanks, Ilaria. I don't know what to say."

  "Where you go now?"

  "I haven't got a clue."

  "Well. You're not staying in a hostel in bloody Bensonhurst," Nathan said. "You can stay here for a night or two to sort yourself out. I'll lock my door. You won't say anything, will you, Ilaria?"

  She pulled an incredulous face, like it was stupid of him even to ask.

  "She's been cursing your woman out all afternoon like you wouldn't believe. Says she sold you down the river. She made them a fish thing for dinner that she knows they both hate. I tell you, mate, I've learned a whole new bunch of swear words today."

  Ilaria muttered something under her breath. I could only make out the word puta.

  --

  The easy chair was too small for Nathan to sleep in and he was too old-fashioned to countenance me sleeping in it so we agreed to share his double bed with an arrangement of cushions down the middle to protect us from accidentally touching each other in the night. I'm not sure who was more ill at ease. Nathan made a great show of shepherding me into the bathroom first, making sure I'd locked the door, and waiting for me to get into bed before he emerged from his ablutions. He was in a T-shirt and striped cotton pajama bottoms, and even then I didn't know where to look.

  "Bit weird, eh?" he said, climbing in.

  "Um, yes." I don't know if it was shock or exhaustion or just the surreal turn of events but I started to giggle. And then the giggle turned into tears. And before I knew it I was sobbing, hunched over in a strange bed, my head in my hands.

  "Aw, mate." Nathan plainly felt awkward hugging me while we were actually in bed together. He kept patting my shoulder and leaning in toward me. "It'll be all right."

  "How can it be? I've lost my job and my place to live and the man I loved. I'll have no references, because Mr. Gopnik thinks I'm a thief, and I don't even know which country I belong in." I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "I've messed up everything again and I don't know why I even bother trying to be something more than I was because every time I do it ends in disaster."

  "You're just tired. It'll be all right. It will."

  "Like it was with Will?"

  "Aw . . . that was completely different. Come on . . ." Nathan hugged me then, pulling me into his shoulder, his big arm around me. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore and then, just as he said, exhausted by the day's--and night's--events, I must have fallen asleep.

  --

  I woke eight hours later to find myself alone in Nathan's room. It took me a couple of minutes to work out where I was and then the previous day's events hit me. I lay under the duvet for a while, curled up in a fetal ball, wondering idly if I could just stay there for a year or two until my life had somehow sorted itself out.

  --

  I checked my phone: two missed calls and a series of messages from Josh that seemed to have come through in a clump late the previous evening.

  --Hey, Louisa--hope you're feeling okay. Kept thinking about your dance and bursting out laughing at work! What a night! Jx

  --You okay? Just checking you did make it home and didn't take another nap in Times Square ;-) Jx

  --Okay. So it's now gone ten thirty. I'm going to guess you headed to bed to sleep it off. Hope I didn't offend you. I was just kidding around. Give me a call x

  That night, with its boxing match and the glittering lights of Times Square, already seemed a lifetime ago. I climbed out of bed, showered and dressed, setting my belongings in the corner of the bathroom. It limited the space somewhat but I thought it was safer, just in case a stray Gopnik happened to poke a head around Nathan's door.

  I texted him to ask when it would be safe for me to go out and he sent back NOW. Both in study. I slipped out of the apartment and down the service entrance, walking swiftly past Ashok with my head low. He was talking to a delivery man but I saw his head spin and heard his "Hey! Louisa!" but I had already gone.

  Manhattan was frozen and gray, one of those bleak days when ice particles seem to hang in the air, the chill pierces your bones, and only eyes, occasionally noses, are visible. I walked with my head down and my hat rammed low over my head, not sure where I was going. I ended up back at the diner, reasoning that everything looked better after breakfast. I sat in a booth by myself and looked out at the commuters with somewhere to go and forced down a muffin, because it was the cheapest, most filling thing on the menu, trying to ignore the fact that it was claggy and tasteless in my mouth.

  At nine forty a text arrived. Michael. My heart leaped.

  Hi, Louisa. Mr. Gopnik will pay you to the end of the month in lieu of notice. All your healthcare benefits cease at that point. Your green card is unaffected. I'm sure you understand this is obviously beyond what he was required to do, given the violation of your contract, but Agnes intervened on your behalf.

  Best, Michael

  "Nice of her," I muttered. Thank you for letting me know, I typed. He didn't respond further.

  And then my phone pinged again.

  --Okay, Louisa. Now I'm worried I did do som
ething to upset you. Or maybe you got lost headed back to Central Park? Please give me a call. JX

  --

  I met Josh near his office, one of those buildings in Midtown that are so tall that if you stand on the sidewalk and look up a little part of your brain suggests you should probably topple over. He came striding toward me, a soft gray scarf wrapped around his neck. As I climbed off the small wall I had been sitting on he walked straight up and gave me a hug.

  "I can't believe this. C'mon. Ah, boy, you're freezing. Let's go grab something warm for you to eat."

  We sat in a steamy, cacophonous taco bar two blocks away while a constant stream of office workers filed through and servers barked orders. I told him, as I had Nathan, the bare bones of the story. "I can't really say any more, just that I didn't steal anything. I wouldn't. I've never stolen anything. Well, apart from once when I was eight. Mum still brings it up occasionally, if she needs an example of how I nearly ended up on a path to a life of crime." I tried to smile.

  He frowned. "So does this mean you're going to have to leave New York?"

  "I don't really know what I'm going to do. But I can't imagine the Gopniks are going to give me a reference, and I don't know how I can support myself here. I mean, I don't have a job and Manhattan hotels are a little out of my price range . . ." I had looked online in the diner at local rentals and nearly spat out my coffee. The tiny room I had felt so ambivalent about when I had first arrived with the Gopniks turned out to be affordable only with an executive salary. No wonder that cockroach hadn't wanted to move.

  "Would it help you to stay at mine?"

  I looked up from my taco.

  "Just temporarily. It doesn't have to mean a whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. I have a sofa bed in the front room. You probably don't remember." He gave me a small smile. I had forgotten how Americans actually genuinely invited people into their homes. Unlike English people, who would issue an invitation but emigrate at short notice if you said you were going to take them up on it.

  "That's really kind. But, Josh, it would complicate things. I think I might have to go home, for now at least. Just till another position comes up."

  Josh stared at his plate. "Timing sucks, huh?"

  "Yup."

  "I was looking forward to more of those dances."