present for every day I saw you,’ she said, trying not to think of that month in Elliot’s life where they didn’t know whether his body would accept the new heart.
Elliot placed the disc down on the desk and she saw him glance at the neat piles of books.
‘Come on then, give me the lecture about how some poor bastard died and gave me his precious heart and how I only have one life to live and that I’m wasting it. And I’ll listen to you and nod, and change for twenty-four hours, and then we can all pretend the lecture worked.’
Maggie stared at him and then frowned. ‘Damn you, no spoilers please. If you knew how this was going to play out, you should have saved me the trip over.’
Elliot shrugged. ‘It’s the same shit I hear from Dad every other day, Mags. Lather, rinse, repeat.’
Maggie said nothing, she just watched him until he held his hands up at her.
‘What do you want me to say? I still feel like shit and I have no idea why I survived and some poor person died.’
‘Have you told the doctors?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s not the heart, the heart is fine, it’s in here,’ he said, tapping his head. ‘I don’t feel myself any more, but I don’t want to anyway, you know? I didn’t much like who I used to be. But I feel different and no one understands. I can’t go back to college; it feels like a waste of time, even though Dad’s freaking out.’
‘How can it be a waste of time when all you do is stay down here every day wasting time?’ she asked.
‘I knew you wouldn’t get it,’ he said and he slumped in the desk chair.
Maggie nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I do get it. I don’t understand what having a new heart feels like, but I get the whole bit about trying to be something or go somewhere without directions or a destination.’
Elliot said nothing, just stared at the floor.
‘Why don’t you leave the house at least? Go and do stuff, whatever it is young people are doing these days.’ Maggie smiled. ‘I mean, I know this place is like living in the Hotel California, with everything you need at your fingertips, but you really need to get out of here. Go see your friends, get drunk, have sex.’
‘Most of my old friends are away at college. And those that are here just want to party, and I can’t party like that,’ he said, looking down at his chest.
‘So you’re friendless, depressed and aimless,’ she said. ‘That sounds normal for Hollywood.’
Elliot tried to raise a smile, but couldn’t. Just the idea of heading out into the world made him anxious.
He felt Maggie staring at him as he ran his fingers through his dark hair.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to be an actor? Zoe would rep you in a heartbeat.’
Elliot gave her a look.
‘Okay, a poor choice of words, I admit, but you know you’re good-looking enough.’
‘Good looks don’t translate into being a decent actor, Maggie, you know this,’ he said wryly.
‘Are you saying I’m an average actor because I’m so beautiful?’ she asked, in mock horror.
‘No, you know you’re both, but how many kids my age want to be actors just because they’re good-looking? It’s insane. Half the girls in my final year at school were making sex tapes and the guys were taking steroids so they could all be famous and hot.’
‘And this is why I weep for the future generation.’ She sighed.
They were silent for a moment and then Elliot found himself saying out loud what he had only admitted to himself.
‘I feel like I’ve been sick for so long, in and out of hospital and stuff, I don’t even know how to live normally.’ He shot her a look. ‘I mean, I’m twenty-three and I’m still a freaking virgin, Maggie. I’m a joke!’
‘Oh, El, you’re so not. Having sex doesn’t make you a grown-up, trust me.’
The room filled with an awkward silence and Maggie took a new tack.
‘If you don’t want to go to college, then what do you want to do?’ She glanced at the books. ‘Writing?’
Elliot laughed meanly. ‘As if Dad will say yes to that. You know what a prick he can be.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I was married to him, remember? But in a perfect world, if you could write, what would it be about?’
Elliot took his eyes off the floor and met hers. ‘I’d like to write a book about what I’ve been through,’ he said slowly. ‘Is that self-indulgent?’
Maggie smiled. Her voice was gentle. ‘Nothing about you is self-indulgent. You’re amazing.’
Elliot laughed. ‘No, I’m not, I just have a few ideas I wouldn’t mind trying to put down. Except I don’t really know how to start.’
Maggie leaned forward. ‘I know an amazing writer,’ she said. ‘He’s a bit of a mess right now, but I think you two need to meet.’
‘Maybe,’ said Elliot. ‘I don’t really want to share my sad story with strangers.’
‘Isn’t that what writing a book is, though?’ asked Maggie with a smile.
‘I guess,’ said Elliot, looking down at his clasped hands. He was such a lovely kid, thought Maggie, wishing life had been different for him, and then she thought about herself at that age.
At twenty-three she was just coming up through the ranks of Hollywood, and while she may not have had a heart transplant, she did have an emotional, geographical transplant.
‘El, here’s the thing,’ she said slowly, formulating the tack to take to not put him offside.
‘What happened to you is awful and the fact you have a dead person’s heart in you is weird and unsettling,’ she said.
Elliot looked up at her, surprised by her candour.
‘But I think things happen for a reason. And while you can’t change the past, you can change your future, because you have one now. Write your story and see what happens afterwards, get the thoughts out of your head so you can start to think clearly.’
Elliot was nodding profusely. ‘Yes, that’s it, my head is filled with thoughts, I need to get it all out. I will write, I don’t care what Dad thinks, I have things to say.’
His eyes were wide and his voice passionate and Maggie bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in joy at finally seeing some excitement in him.
‘And if you’re writing a book, you’ll need an assistant,’ said Maggie, her eyes shining.
He laughed. ‘What the hell for? Sharpening my pencils?’
‘To
