‘No, Spence. I don’t think it’s a mistake, just… take it one step at a time. See how it feels. You don’t have to rush into a life-long commitment.’ I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. I look away from him, eyes landing on the papers on the coffee table.
‘So…’ He leans forwards, reaching for the photo of Michael. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about all of this?’
I’m grateful for the change in conversation.
‘I… I’ve decided that I want to continue with the story. Give him life again, if that makes sense?’ Spence tilts his head; his eyes scan my face as though he’s trying to find an answer to a question I don’t know. I continue. ‘I thought I would track down his family. Ask them face to face for their permission to share his story… now I know his real name, the date of his death…’
‘You’re going back to Yorkshire?’
I nod. ‘I’d like to meet them, to share his letters…’ I don’t say, find out if it was me he met in 1985.
He reaches for one of the letters, the one where he tells me about Soho. ‘Then what, Al?’
‘Then… write the piece, I guess, and try to salvage my career. It was always history that I loved, digging into the past. The stuffme and Ryan did was never where my heart lay. I realise that now… Maybe it’s time. Time to go back.’
‘To London?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe. Moving back here… It feels like I’ve run away instead of fighting for what’s mine. Like I’m stalling. I need to move forwards, not stay stuck in the past.’
Outside, a baby cries, a bus idles beside the kerb.
‘Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.’ There is an edge to his words.
‘Yeah. Maybe. This was only ever supposed to be a short-time stay. Just until I… got myself sorted.’
‘Looks like we’ve both got some big decisions to make.’ He digs out his phone, eyes scanning the message. ‘I’d better get back…’ He stands, digging his hands in his pockets. ‘Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll come with you.’
I’m about to interrupt, to tell him he doesn’t need to.
But he takes a breath, pausing at the door. ‘You don’t have to do this alone. You never have.’
I don’t have the words to answer.
35
SPENCE
‘And you’re sure you’re OK with this?’ I ask Georgia as she throws her backpack over her shoulder.
‘It’s fine, Dad, Mum…’ My knees feel like they’re going to buckle at the word. ‘Heather,’ she quickly corrects. ‘We’ll have our own cabin on the sleeper train and then she’s going to take me to Arthur’s Seat and the park.’
Heather had asked if she could take Georgia away for a weekend. She’s politely added that I was welcome to come, but the subtext was loud and clear.I want to get to know my daughter without you always lurking in the background.I’d said it would have to be Georgia’s decision. I would be lying if I didn’t say the way my daughter immediately agreed, started planning outfits and texting her friends about her trip with her Mum didn’t feel like my insides were being pulled out and hung around the room like a birthday banner.
‘Well, if you change your mind, I will come and get you. Don’t hesitate, OK?’
‘Dad, it’s Scotland, not the other side of the world. I’ll be fine. What are you going to do with yourself?’
‘I’m going to Yorkshire with Al.’
‘Oh God, she’s still obsessing about that dead guy?’
‘She’s not obsessed?—’
Georgia snorts. ‘She is though.’
‘She wants to write his story and sell it. She’s just trying to get her life back.’
She quirks that eyebrow again. Does she realise she’s already starting to mimic her mum?
