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I take the plastic picnic cutlery she hands me before she gets one of the other seats and sits beside me.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” She digs into her pasta. “I know you like Bolognese, Cass said it’s your favourite, second to shitty McDonalds.”
Shovelling a forkful of meaty pasta into her mouth, she moans like that’s meant to make me want to eat it any more than I do. “Please eat, I’d like to know that I managed to do something right by Cassie.”
Nodding, I spear my fork through the starchy strands and shovel them into my mouth.
“Why would she tell you about what I like to eat? It seems like a bit of a dud conversation.”
Shaking her head, she laughs so loud that I’m sure if anything is going to wake my Little Queen up, it’ll be her friend’s raucous laugh.
“Oh man, you are such a boy. Seriously, how can you not see that everything about you fascinates her? She’s got this silly arse obsession with you, it’s cute, but still weird. I like it, it makes her a mere lusty mortal like the rest of us.” Fleur wipes her mouth, licking her teeth clean. Her eyes find mine and she exhales breathily. “She likes to talk about you, a lot. I’ve never heard her talk so much, it’s like you’ve unleashed a lifetime’s worth of words from the moment she saw you.”
I have to take a minute to right myself. My insides are scalding with all these feelings and needs. Every single one revolving around Cassie.
God, I miss her.
I keep thinking and saying that to myself, and the yearning inside me keeps growing.
When Kit and I were little, we used to have a Brazilian housekeeper. She was a quiet and unassuming woman. She always looked sad. One day Kit asked why. Why was she so down?
I didn’t think much of her reply then. In fact, to a little boy it seemed silly, I think it’s only now that I fully understand her.
She used one word—saudade—I’d never heard it before. She explained that it was impossible for her to tells us why, because there is no word in the English dictionary that translates to it. She said that it was such a soul deep yearning, a melancholy and furious nostalgia for something that’s missing or gone, that there were no other words in the world that could ever really portray it’s meaning.
That’s exactly how this feels. Every part of me is filled with this impossible, soul deep need to have my Little Buttercup back. My existence misses it’s meaning.
“She loves you,” Fleur smiles at me like she knows what I’m thinking. “It’s sort of funny, isn’t it?” she muses. “She never gave two shits about guys until you came along, and I hated you a little bit because you took part of my friend away, but she was happy even with all the crazy…”
“All the crazy?”
She laughs again, dryly, “My father is the Foreign Secretary, do you think I don’t know about what Francis does? Thin walls are made for listening through, there are a lot of thin walls in all these secure places.”
There’s a silent pause as she looks around the room.
“You know, I really did hate you at first and I’ve tried to every day since the accident. But this isn’t your fault. And you love her too, the way every girl wants to be loved, I think.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and my chest constricts at her words, because that’s all I ever want to do. I want to love Cassie with everything I have. “My father said that your grandfather was in over his head and that he would’ve done anything to get himself out. I guess it worked, he’s gone and she’s here.”
“He isn’t in over his head, Fleur, he’s just a money drunk fool. And I’m an even bigger fool, I trusted him…”
“Trust is for the weak,” she murmurs. “It’s what my dad always says. But I think he’s wrong. It takes a lot of bravery to put your hope and faith in another person.”
My hands clench around the empty Tupperware container and my stomach threatens to purge itself with the way it knots.
“Your father says that?”
“All the time, like it’s gospel.” Taking the container from my hands, she tidies everything up and puts everything away before she gets her laptop and puts one of her sappy films on. She keeps saying that they’re not for her, that they’re Cassie’s favourites.
Sappy films for the hopeless romantic, unconscious girl.
Arranging it on the overbed table, she brings her chair closer to mine as the opening credits for My Girl come on. Her knees tuck into her chest and she says, “Cassie’s going to be all right. She’s not going to give us up easily.”
I hope so. I tell myself through my spinning thoughts.
I know that my grandfather’s saying isn’t something exactly unheard of, but it’s not just coincidence that her father is saying it. I’ve got this feeling that there’s more, and I don’t know whether Fleur knows it or not, but God help her if she does.
God help her if she’s another liar. Another person that burns my trust.
“Leo?” she whispers after we’ve sat in silence for most of the movie. “When she’s back, you’re going to find them, aren’t you? You and the guys…you’re going to find the people that put her here, right?”
