Chapter Thirty Nine

Thursday 4th July

Thump Thump

It was coming back to him alright.

July 4th. Independence Day. How could he have forgotten?

He even had that same churning feeling in the pit of his stomach as if he would be sick. It was a year ago today she had found out he was leaving. Found out because he hadn't had the guts to tell her. Found out at the end of year LSSE knees up, because the band had played, 'New York, New York' and he'd legged it to the locker rooms of the Lyell to vomit up his treachery and desertion.

"I'm sorry," Harry said as he stood in the doorway and watched her pull a book off the shelf, flick through the pages and consign it to one of the boxes in the middle of the floor. Harry had moved the rest of the furniture out earlier so now it was just books, bookshelves and boxes. There was the bin box, the charity box, the LSSE box, a Harry box, a Nikki box and a 'we'll have to talk about these ones' box. He watched her move, she still had the earphones in, but he could tell from her movements that no music was playing. The way she reached up to a book and flicked through it would have followed the rhythm of the music; her actions were jumpy, angry and irregular so unless she had developed a love of thrash metal, he suspected the earphones were just there for defence.

"Nikki?" he called a little louder and moving into her line of vision. Playing the game by her rules as he had done once before to prolong a conversation with her.

She pulled out the earphones and Harry couldn't help but listen to hear if his assumption about the music was right. If there was music playing it didn't have a base line and was very quiet.

"I'm sorry and I owe you a dance," he said.

"Pardon?"

"I owe you a dance," Harry repeated.

Nikki just shrugged.

"This time last year, at the party before I left."

"The one when you were ill?"

"That's the one, I promised to dance with you; I ran off and left you."

"As I recall you ran off to be sick; I'm glad you didn't stay, I wouldn't have wanted it all over my shoes." She paused, "Leo took your place anyway." Her hand picked up an earpiece and hovered by her chin threatening to plug it back in.

"But Leo's not here anymore." It was cruel but it had to be said. He knew they weren't really talking about his actions at the party. He didn't add 'and I'm back now' because he saw her chest jerk on hearing him talk about Leo in such a way. He didn't know where he stood at all with her. She had read his letter, but she had barely looked at him since. She'd hardly looked at him at all since he'd returned from America, finding the floor or the dirt so much more interesting. Even on reading the letter again he couldn't think of any more he could have said.

"You think you can just walk back in and everything will be ok again?" she began. He looked up at her then, this was a tone of voice he'd not heard from her for a while. He shook his head in answer to her question.

"I knew it wouldn't be easy," he refrained from adding, 'I told you it wouldn't be easy in the letter,' she didn't need him to rile her further.

"This is not some cheesy film; this is real life. Leo's dead, we're going through his things and we're throwing out his life." He could hear her voice beginning to catch.

"We're not throwing out his life, Nikki," Harry said patiently. "We're throwing out some of his stuff, but we will never forget Leo."

She tugged another book off the shelf and flicked through the pages angrily.

"Why do you do that?" Harry asked.

"Leo was forever leaving things in his books, odd book markers, notes, money, mostly it's supermarket receipts but sometimes there are photos other stuff. You must remember that! The amount of stuff that fell out anytime you borrowed a book from Leo?"

He nodded again. How could he have forgotten? Here he was claiming that they would remember their friend and yet he'd forgotten so much. He looked at the small pile of books that he'd consigned to the boxes earlier and back to the pile of papers and photo's that Nikki had already found in the books she'd checked and neatly stacked on the shelf in front of her.

"Sorry, I had forgotten. Looks like I'm starting again," he sighed and sat down and started flicking through the books. Nikki replaced her earphones and went back to tugging books from the shelves. The only sound for a while was the flicking of pages and a dull thump as each book was consigned to its new box setting up an unnerving drum beat, not dissimilar to the sound of gravel hitting a coffin, or an army preparing for battle.

Harry finished redoing the books he'd already placed in the boxes, finding a boarding pass from South Africa, three supermarket receipts, two telephone message slips in Nikki's handwriting and a couple of post its. He stood up and set to work on the shelf on the opposite wall to Nikki. That way she wouldn't have to see him, she could work in her cocooned safety zone. It wasn't exactly the fourth of July celebration he'd have had if he'd not returned.

He'd worked his way through another ten books when her voice suddenly made him jump.

"Doesn't it make you angry?" Nikki asked.

"What?" Harry looked back at her. "Having to sort through Leo's things, or the fact that he's dead?"

He watched her wince again. "Who could I be angry with?" he added.

"There are plenty of people," Nikki replied, a hard edge coming to her voice which was much lower than normal.

"I've had plenty of time to be angry," Harry insisted.

Nikki scoffed, "You used to do angry so well," and she pulled out her earphones and turned to face him with a challenging stare.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"You did, you used to do angry really well but now? You say you've been angry but when? When have you been angry? I've not seen angry!"

"Nikki!" he chided unwilling to be drawn into whatever little showdown she was planning.

"Why aren't you angry that he's gone? Didn't you care for him even a bit? Why aren't you angry that he's left you to clear up this mess? Why aren't you angry with me?"

"Nikki, stop this," he said quietly. "Why would I be angry with you?"

They faced each other across the room, the boxes a barricade between them. But even without the boxes, the distance and distrust between them yawned like a crevasse in an ice sheet. Something was coming, Harry might be out of practice but he recognised the look in her eyes now. She was spoiling for a fight. She'd taunted him about his temper; it was a low blow for her. The sick feeling in his stomach returned. Jorge and Beto were looking forward to their fourth of July fireworks. He on the other hand was not.

"Why don't you hate me?" she thundered. Harry felt his stomach plummet, he was trapped. It was fight of flight and she and the boxes were blocking his way to the door.