44

Angela phoned me that evening. ‘Up for a coffee tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘That would be nice,’ I said and we arranged to meet the next morning in a café just along from the Kelvingrove Museum. Part of me was dismayed at the fact this was a morning meet and in a public space; the other, less selfish, part of me realised it was a clever move on Angela’s part. She could continue to be a friend to me without sending out signals that I might misconstrue.

Across a table from each other in that large space it was difficult to be too personal, but it hopefully showed Angela that I was still able to function as a human being.

‘Have you been in touch with Survivors Scotland yet?’ she asked me. In our phone call I’d filled her in about what happened at work and my subsequent visit to the doctor.

‘Not yet,’ I replied, studying the sugar bowl in front of me. ‘I will though. I will definitely get in touch with them.’ Even I could hear the reluctance in my voice, and I wasn’t sure where it came from.

‘Okay. Good,’ she smiled, and pretended to be satisfied with my answer.

We fell into silence. The coffee machine ground out beans and spat out steam. The chatter from the people nearby hung in the air. I looked around me, noting a smile here, a pair of linked hands there, people eating, people talking, people just getting on with everyday life, and I resented them for it.

Staring into my now-empty cup, I thought about Angela and our future. Did we have one? Pleasant as the chat was, and no matter how much I enjoyed just being in her presence, I could feel her keeping a distance. There was a child-shaped space in the air between us, and until I reconciled with that we didn’t have a future.

I sneaked a look over at her, just as she sneaked a look at me.

‘Penny for them?’ she asked.

‘I was just thinking how nice you looked.’

A faint flush filled her cheeks, and she ducked her head as if she felt unable to take the compliment. Or perhaps she saw it as the deflection that it was.

I should walk out that door and out of her life, I thought. Save both of us a lot of pain. But I loved her. I knew that now more than ever. I would have to find a way to keep her in my life.

The silence we fell into then was a little more awkward. Angela fiddled about with her bag, and then got to her feet.

‘I really should…’

‘Sure,’ I replied and did likewise. ‘It was nice to get out of the flat.’

‘Good,’ she said, holding her bag in front of her like a shield. ‘When you’re ready to talk…’ Her eyes were brimming as she gave me one last look and walked away.

When Angela left I went out to my car and contemplated what I should do next. I wondered about Thomas. Would he welcome a visit from me? Would he be wondering why I had stayed away for the last few days?

Then it occurred to me how selfish I had been. I’d pulled him out of his safe existence and forced him to seek refuge in a stranger’s hotel room. Then I’d abandoned him to whatever happened next.

The Hamilton was only a few minutes away, so, feeling guilty and dreading more awkwardness in my life, I fired up the engine and set off.

After a quick phone call from the young woman at reception, Thomas joined me in a quiet corner of the bar.

‘I don’t know whether to be pissed off at you for just leaving us here, or pleased to see you,’ Thomas said as he sat down.

‘The first is probably a legit reaction,’ I admitted. ‘Sorry.’

He studied me for a moment. ‘By the looks of you this hasn’t been easy,’ he said quietly.

‘And then some.’ I gave a little nod, and trying to look as if I was relaxed I sat back in the seat and crossed my legs. ‘Liz and the kids?’

‘They went out for some fresh air. It’s not good for them to be cooped up inside all the time.’ He clapped his hands on his thighs, a move that was so like Dad I started. ‘Where are my manners?’ he said. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

‘Glass of water would be fine, ta,’ I replied.

He rushed off and returned moments later with a glass.

I sipped. We studied each other. No sound inside the room, but passing traffic from the busy road outside was audible through the double-glazing.

‘Your memory has returned, hasn’t it,’ Thomas said at last, his face full of empathy.

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out save a little croak. I took another sip of water, swallowed and said, ‘How could you tell?’

‘I see those same haunted eyes every morning when I look in the mirror.’

‘Does it get any better?’

‘With help, it will.’

I looked at him, then looked away out of the window. Who could understand better than him, so why was I reluctant to say any more?

‘Believe me, John,’ he said. ‘It’s better out than in.’