‘Best in town,’ I say, wiping the ketchup from my fingers. ‘You don’t have a bit of paper, do you? I need to write a letter.’
He laughs. ‘That’s quaint. A love letter?’
‘Not really.’ I shift in my seat uncomfortably.
‘Doesn’t she have a phone?’
‘I didn’t say it was a she.’ I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t said anything to Jack, anything bar a compliment about his bacon.
‘I can give you a napkin. Very romantic, napkins. Drinks coasters are better if it’s a swanky bar, a bar with kudos. But you can’t fit much on a coaster. You can get a hell of a lot on a napkin if you don’t press too hard. Have you got a lot to write?’
I sigh. ‘Not sure. Think so.’
‘Then you’re definitely best with a napkin.’ He goes to the grill station and pulls out three, smoothing them down with his hand before passing them to me.
‘And…’ He pulls a pen from behind his ear. ‘You’ll be needing this.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, grasping the pen firmly and lining up the napkin as he walks away.
I’m not good at this. The only real relationship I had, or thought I had, was with Fitz, and that was born out of growing up together. We were literally thrown together, and then parental pressure and expectations kept us there. There was never really any choice. What I’m feeling now is different. Less than a week ago, I met the most amazing woman in the history of the universe: beautiful, kind, funny, intelligent. The kind of woman you want to be with for the rest of your life, and it all went so well. So brilliantly. That night at the gala, it couldn’t have gone better. If I hadn’t had to run off to protect her from Fitz’s parents, it would have all worked out okay. A letter is the only way I can get across exactly what I’m feeling. I start to write, making sure not to press too hard.
Hi Clara,
I know this is kind of strange. We’ve only just met, but since that day in my office, my whole world has been tipped upside down. I’m sorry we had to part so suddenly at the gala. That would not have been my choice. I would never have given you up. I just wanted to protect you. Works gone…
I pause. Can I write batshit?
‘You okay, Shakespeare?’ Jack asks as he cleans down the grill.
‘Yeah, just wondering, can I put work has gone batshit? I mean, is that okay?’
Jack stops with the grill scraping, sucks in his cheeks as he mulls it over. ‘I’m not sure you want to bring work up in a love letter.’
‘Well, it’s more of an apology. A declaration of intent.’
‘Intent.’ Jack nods. ‘I think batshit’s fine.’
I write batshit and call me and add my number.
‘Done?’ Jack asks.
‘Done.’ I fold it into my pocket and pull my cigarettes out.
‘Oh no. Not in here, mate.’
‘Course.’ I stand, pushing back my chair. ‘Is it okay if I leave my stuff at the table?’ I indicate back to my chair, my coat, my bag.
‘Knock yourself out,’ Jack says.
Wearily I head out onto the street. Most of the shops are closed, and there’s a late summer nip in the air. Directly opposite, the last greengrocer is taking in his veg, pulling down the awning, getting ready to wind down the blinds. I take a cigarette from its packet. I don’t really smoke. Not anymore. Not much. As I get my lighter out I wonder if Clara smokes. I could give up. I can give up tomorrow. I’ll deliver the letter on Wednesday. Probably, I’ll transfer it and put it on some better paper. Maybe get some nice stuff. Nelly has nice stuff. I could always… Then out of the corner of my eye, I see him. The scrawny blond-haired man. The valet parking guy. The guy who knows her. He’s heading towards Jack’s. Just before he’s about to step onto the road, he turns his head to shoot a line of banter to the guy packing his veg away. It’s just a line. I don’t catch it, but what I do see is the van. The van reversing into the street, reversing into the path of the valet guy.
‘Stop!’ I shout. But he doesn’t, and the van doesn’t. In a split second, without thinking, I lunge into the road. The valet guy looks at me. His eyes widening as my outstretched hands hit him hard in the chest and he falls back into the stall. Veg is flying. I’m flying. Nothing is right. And then everything is dark. Very dark.
CHAPTER 18
CLARA
I’m standing outside Delagado Towers. It’s Thursday. I’ve stood here many times before. So many times, I’ve crossed the road, said hi to Stan, and got on with my day. Only this particular Thursday, I’m terrified.
