"On the roof."
I push the door open, still smiling; my head full of Dr Argyle – Andrew; handsome, persistent, caring Andrew. I raise my thoughts from that warm, slightly pink place and my smile grows brittle. He's not there. I step outside, catching Cathy and ask, "Where's Robert?"
"On the roof, he borrowed my lighter."
My smile dies. I want to grab her, spin her round and shout, "Why? Why'd you let him? What if –" what? Images flash into existence and disappear nearly as fast. I hurry for the lift, my heart tangling in my chest. He's on the roof. On the roof. On the roof…
The lift is smooth, clinical, but time seems to slow to a crawl, it inches up the building. I keep glancing at my watch, seeing the minutes tick away – precious minutes, perhaps even lifesaving ones. No! He wouldn't! He's not going to. He's shown no signs. No inclination to – to – he's not going to.
But, I've seen it before.
No warning.
No signs.
And Robert never goes to the roof.
He isn't.
He might.
I won't let him. Harry needs him. He needs Harry. It's just the two of them now.
But why? Maybe he wants to be alone. I'll just peek out the door, see where he is.
He's standing on the edge, one leg braced.
Oh God. Robert. Please…
"Robert?"
He turns.
He sees me.
He smiles.
I start breathing again.