“It’s complicated.” I wonder what the story is, but before I can ask, he’s changing the subject, asking how long I’ve been at the café.
“Actually, it belonged to my friend Grace. She...” The words buckle on my tongue. “Sorry. She passed away quite recently.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, very quietly, “I’m really sorry. What happened?”
“It was a hit-and-run, a taxi driver. He was drunk.”
The soft stretch of a pause. I feel his gaze sweep gently across me, comforting as a lamp in fog.
“Did they—”
I nod quickly. “He got six years.”
I go on to tell him everything then—about Grace and adopting Murphy, quitting my job to take on the café. “I was a PA before, at a factory. They manufacture metal packaging. You know—for drinks cans, aerosols, paints... Actually, never mind. I’m boring myself just thinking about it.” I put a hand to my face and laugh. “So what is it you do?”
He seems uneasy suddenly. “Did. Actually, I was a vet.”
Incredible—for a moment, I’m not sure what to say. My instinct, irrationally, is to wonder why he never mentioned it, before I realize there’s no reason at all why he should have. “But you’re not anymore?”
“Taking some time out.”
“Burnout?”
“You could say that.”
“I imagine being a vet can be stressful. Like being a doctor.”
“Yeah, it can be.”
“Do you ever miss it?”
He seems to cast around for a response, then tells me he walks dogs as a favor for some of the older folk in the area, that it helps to stave off any pangs of regret.
I smile, happy to be reminded there are genuinely good people left in the world.
Joel sips his wine, his hand seeming large around the stem of the glass. He does have vet’s hands, I think. Capable, trustworthy.
“So where’s Steve moved to?” I ask.
“The new development by the marina.”
“Oh, I spent most of my childhood down there. At the nature reserve.”
“Waterfen?”
“Yes,” I say, pleased. “Do you know it?”
He nods, and I look again into his spilled-ink eyes. “It’s an excellent place to empty your head. If you know what I mean.”
“I do,” I say.
We chat for a few minutes more until we’ve finished our wine. But before I can offer him a refill he’s thanked me, given Murphy a parting pat, and made his way to the door, where he hesitates for just a moment before leaning forward to peck me on the cheek.
The graze of his skin against mine brings a heat to my face I’m still thinking about hours later.
14.
Joel
