Recognising that he was feeling an attraction to his one-time client, while trying to play it cool and professional, Luke felt his cheeks flush as he pulled open the door. He was so distracted he almost wiped out the young man who was trying to enter as he exited.
He looked up at the guy, saw an expensive wool coat, faint stubble on a sharp chin and a short haircut. But then he stopped as if he’d walked into a wall.
The eyes, the nose, the colouring of both his skin and hair, and it was like time had reeled him back to another era. To another young man. The resemblance was uncanny.
‘Jamie? Wee Jamie Morrison? God, you’re his spit.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I should apologise,’ Luke said, hand over his heart. ‘I only saw you the once, as a kid. Your brother had to bring you along with him this one time.’
‘You knew my big brother?’ the lad asked.
‘We … eh … grew up together,’ Luke replied.
‘He died, you know,’ Jamie said. ‘Long time ago now.’
Just then an elderly man approached the door and made as if he was trying to get in.
‘Ah’ve seen everything now,’ the old man said with a wink that included them both. ‘Bouncers on the door o’ a bookshop.’
‘Sorry,’ Luke said, wondering if the old man had come across him doing his other job: doorman at the local pubs and clubs. He aimed a wave to the desk at the back of the shop. ‘Thanks, eh … miss. I’ll come and collect my book in a couple of days.’
He stepped to the side, indicating to Jamie that he should too.
‘How the hell are you? God, you were only a wee mite when I saw you last. But, man, that face. You’re a Morrison and no mistake.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Jamie said, and crossed his arms. He looked away and then back. ‘I only have a few memories and some tatty photos to compare.’
Luke examined the young man and, thinking through the years, guessed that he would be in his mid-twenties. A kaleidoscope of memories pushed through his mind. Some good, some he wouldn’t want to look at unless he was sedated with whisky, or in the presence of a good therapist.
He could feel his pulse hammer in his throat and his mouth dry.
Would the guilt ever leave him?
‘Listen, it’s great to see you, man,’ he said as he began to turn, thinking now that he had to get away.
‘Hey, man,’ Jamie said. ‘I know next to nothing about Danny. I was so small when he died, but in some ways he was so big in my imagination.’ Jamie looked into his eyes, and there was a please framed there. ‘It would be great to talk to someone who actually knew him. You got time for a coffee? You can tell me all about the good old days.’
The good old days.
Little about those days was good, thought Luke.
‘Sorry, mate. Another time, eh? I’ve got to go and pick up my wee man from school.’
‘Ah, okay,’ Jamie said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and Luke felt a charge of guilt. Whatever his big brother’s sins were he shouldn’t judge the younger man by the same measure. Besides, in spite of all the therapy he’d undergone he was still to examine those times properly. Perhaps a chat would prove helpful to them both.
‘Listen…’ He fished out his wallet, pulled out a business card and handed it to Jamie. ‘Here’s my number. Give me a call and we can arrange to meet up sometime.’
Jamie looked from the card to Luke. ‘The Therapy Shed? That’s you?’
‘Yeah,’ Luke replied, his tone a request for clarification.
Jamie waved the card in front of him. ‘This is weird. I’ve got an appointment with you next week.’