"Yeah," Roger said, eyes falling closed for a moment when she brushed his hair back. "I know you would. This just fucking sucks." He waited a while because she looked like she had something to say, but she didn't. So they just stood there for what felt like ages, quiet, until he heard her say something in French. Maybe it was a prayer, he didn't know. But it sounded pretty. He was almost sad when she stopped talking.
"I'm selling the house," he said finally, as a means to some kind of conversation that wasn't revolved entirely around his dead best mate. "Moving out to Portree. I know it's smarter to wait until I get my contract extension, but I need to get out of London. Kind of sick of it."
He turned back to her, but her head was down and he couldn't study her face. "Are you staying?" It was a loaded question, because he didn't' just mean London. He meant London, and Bill. And even though he wanted her to stay here, he would rather her be in France forever than back with her ex-husband.