Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro [90]
We talked for about twenty minutes: I didn’t leave until the last possible moment. A lot of it was about her, how exhausted she’d been, how difficult one of her donors was, how much she loathed this nurse or that doctor. I waited to see a flash of the old Laura, with the mischievous grin and inevitable wisecrack, but none of that came. She talked faster than she used to, and although she seemed pleased to see me, I sometimes got the impression it wouldn’t have mattered much if it wasn’t me, but someone else, so long as she got to talk.
Maybe we both felt there was something dangerous about bringing up the old days, because for ages we avoided any mention of them. In the end, though, we found ourselves talking about Ruth, who Laura had run into at a clinic a few years earlier, when Ruth was still a carer. I began quizzing her about how Ruth had been, but she was so unforthcoming, in the end I said to her:
“Look, you must have talked about something.”
Laura let out a long sigh. “You know how it gets,” she said. “We were both in a hurry.” Then she added: “Anyway, we hadn’t parted the best of friends, back at the Cottages. So maybe we weren’t so delighted to see one another.”
“I didn’t realise you’d fallen out with her too,” I said.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t any big deal. You remember the way she was back then. If anything, after you left, she got worse. You know, always telling everyone what to do. So I was keeping out of her way, that was all. We never had a big fight or anything. So you haven’t seen her since then?”
“No. Funny, but I’ve never even glimpsed her.”
“Yeah, it’s funny. You’d think we’d all run into each other much more. I’ve seen Hannah a few times. And Michael H. too.” Then she said: “I heard this rumour, that Ruth had a really bad first donation. Just a rumour, but I heard it more than once.”
“I heard that too,” I said.
“Poor Ruth.”
We were quiet for a moment. Then Laura asked: “Is it right, Kathy? That they let you choose your donors now?”
She’d not asked in the accusing way people do sometimes, so I nodded and said: “Not every time. But I did well with a few donors, so yeah, I get to have a say every now and then.”
“If you can choose,” Laura said, “why don’t you become Ruth’s carer?”
I shrugged. “I’ve thought about it. But I’m not sure it’s such a great idea.”
Laura looked puzzled. “But you and Ruth, you were so close.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. But like with you, Laura. She and I weren’t such great friends by the end.”
“Oh, but that was back then. She’s had a bad time. And I’ve heard she’s had trouble with her carers too. They’ve had to change them around a lot for her.”
“Not surprising really,” I said. “Can you imagine? Being Ruth’s carer?”
Laura laughed, and for a second a look came into her eyes that made me think she was finally going to come out with a crack. But then the light died, and she just went on sitting there looking tired.
We talked a little more about Laura’s problems—in particular about a certain nursing sister who seemed to have it in for her. Then it was time for me to go, and I reached for the door and was telling her we’d have to talk more the next time we met. But we were both of us by then acutely aware of something we’d not yet mentioned, and I think we both sensed there’d be something wrong about us parting like that. In fact, I’m pretty sure now, at that moment, our minds were running along exactly the same