The car jolts and I shoot my head around to look at the road, but can’t see why he had to brake. Was it accidental?
‘When?’ he asks with disbelief.
‘Just before I came away.’
The silence stretches out before us, but his mind is ticking over.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says eventually. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Getting there.’ I look out of my window again and clear my throat. ‘How about you?’ I ask. ‘Any of those blind dates come to fruition?’
‘No,’ he replies, and, as I turn to glance at him, he catches my eye.
The jitters in my stomach intensify.
He takes me to the Holly Bush in Hampstead, a cosy pub tucked away up the hill and slightly off the beaten track. Luckily, a booth comes free, right by the window, as we walk into the room off the entrance.
‘What are you having?’ he asks as I slide onto the bench seat.
‘Cider, maybe?’
He nods and heads off to the bar in the next room along. I look around, taking in the dark-wooden interior. There’s a fireplace against the opposite wall, but it’s not lit. It is July, after all. There aren’t many people in here, but then again, I realise, as I check my phone, it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon.
Alex returns after a minute with two pints. ‘Shandy,’ he tells me, nodding at his own drink to let me know he’s not planning on getting blathered and driving.
We chink glasses and smile across the table at each other.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he says.
‘Do you mind? After your initial freak-out?’ I add with a smirk.
‘I didn’t freak out,’ he scoffs. ‘But it was a bit bloody strange to come back to work and find you standing there on our doorstep. I thought I was seeing things. What if I’d been out at a meeting?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I probably would’ve emailed you at some point to say hi. I’m flying back to Australia on Sunday, so I doubt we would’ve had another chance to catch up.’
He swallows and looks down, but not before I’ve seen pain flicker across his features. ‘So soon,’ he says quietly. ‘So you’ve already been to Bridget’s wedding?’ He rests his chin on his palm and stares at me.
‘Yeah, a few days ago. I’ve been down in Cornwall for a couple of weeks already.’
‘How was it?’
‘Amazing,’ I reply with a smile.
‘Did you enjoy doing the pics?’
‘I loved it,’ I enthuse, lighting up from within.
His smile is warm and genuine. ‘You always did seem to feel at home behind a camera. What are your plans for the next couple of days?’
‘I don’t have any. I’m staying with Polly tonight and at a hotel near Heathrow tomorrow. I fly out first thing Sunday. Polly has to work tomorrow, annoyingly, so I’ll probably go shopping or something.’
Polly is in hospitality, so her work doesn’t stop at the weekends.
‘Is she still in Borough Market?’
I reel backwards and slap my hands on the table. ‘Sorry, but how do you do that? You remember everything!’
He laughs and shrugs. ‘Only some things. Anyway, you can talk. You’ve also got an uncanny knack of remembering. How did you recall where my parents live?’
