‘Holly. Do you work here too, then?’
He nods. ‘I wash up and wipe tables, important stuff like that, and for all my hard work I get a hot meal. I recommend the chicken pie. And Scottie’s curries are famous round here, plus the syrup sponge is to die for.’
Angus looks like he eats a lot of syrup sponge.
‘This is the result of a good life, Holly,’ he says, patting his stomach affectionately, as if it’s a dear friend. ‘A life well lived. I couldn’t care less that my blood pressure is sky high. If I die now, at least I’ll die knowing I never once turned down a second helping of syrup sponge and custard.’
‘Don’t die,’ I say without thinking, irritated he is playing Russian roulette with his life, his health. Then again, so am I.
He looks at me curiously.
I’m not fooled by Angus. This man has a story. I mean, don’t we all? The tone of his voice is rich, he’s well-spoken. I imagine he went to boarding school. I can see him playing cricket and rugby. Growing up he was fit and sporty, but as he’s careered towards middle-age he has let himself go. Something’s gone wrong. Derailed him. I decide if he brushed his hair, if he didn’t stink of smoke, if he quit burping and lost at least a couple of stone… Basically, if he changed completely, he wouldn’t be so bad.
‘I’ve got a joke for you,’ he says, mischief in his eyes, ‘to cheer you up.’
‘I don’t need cheering up.’
‘Trust me, you do. I don’t mean to be rude but here you are, on a Saturday morning, when you could be in a million-gazillion other exciting places, like climbing a mountain.’
‘I don’t want to climb a mountain.’ I can barely climb out of bed.
‘Why not?’ He looks at me as if I’m the mad one. ‘Who doesn’t want to be a mountain goat?’
‘Me.’
He narrows his eyes, places a hand on my forehead, as if I might have a fever.
‘I’m not an outdoorsy kind of person, I’m more a sit by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate reading a book.’ Jamie used to make the best hot chocolate, with vanilla.
‘I don’t want to get to thetopof a mountain,’ he explains, ‘that’s the disappointing part, but the climb itself is the thrill, the act of getting there, don’t you think? Slightly like dating. The chase is the best part.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been on a date for years.’
‘Sensible. Love’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘Hmm. Anyway,’ I say, not wishing to be quizzed on my love life, not that there is anything to quiz me on. That would be the shortest conversation in history. Where’s Nina? ‘Do you volunteer here?’ I realise I’ve asked him this already, but never mind. He doesn’t seem to notice.
He nods. ‘I’m living with Scottie, rent free, providing I do my bit at the café. Have you ever slept on a futon?’
‘No.’
‘Kills your back. Might as well be on the floor.’
Angus looks about my age. I’m forty-four but I still think of myself in my ‘early’, not ‘mid’ forties. He could be older, maybe late forties. ‘Sorry, were you trying to ask me something?’ He takes another gulp of coffee. ‘I have a bad habit of talking over people, butting in. My wife always said I never listened to her. Should have listened, shouldn’t I?’ Another smile creeps on to his face. ‘Tip to self.’
I register his wedding ring, recalling he’d said he had children, before wondering why he’s sleeping on his brother’s futon. Has he had an affair? It’s none of my business. Yet I want to know.
‘I deserved it.Morethan deserved it,’ he says, as if reading my mind.
‘Deserved what?’
‘If you knew what I did you wouldn’t be talking to me right now or ever again for that matter.’
‘Try me.’
‘Anyway, back to my joke to cheer you up. There’s a woman on the motorway,’ he begins, ‘she’s driving and knitting at the same time, obviously something she shouldn’t be doing. Naughty.’ He taps his wrist. ‘She hears a siren, and a copper winds down the window and tells her “Pull over!” She winds down her window, and holds up her knitting saying, “No, officer, it’s a scarf!”’
His contagious laughter reminds me of Jamie’s. It fills the room.
