“It’s so lovely to see you again,” Libby said. “Shall we head up Parliament Hill as usual? I’ve brought my sketchbook with me.”
“Can we walk along to the ponds instead? I’m not sure I’m up to the climb today.”
“Of course.”
This was the first time Libby had ever heard Frank admit defeat, and she felt a knot of anxiety. Dylan had warned her this might happen, that the disappointment if they didn’t find Frank’s woman might be too much for him. But Libby had insisted on pushing on with her search anyway, determined that she knew better. What had she done?
They turned and began to make their way along the path toward the ponds.
“How have you been?” Libby said as they passed the infants’ playground, the sound of children’s laughter floating over to them. “Dylan tells me you’ve not been on the 88 this week.”
“No, I’ve not really felt like it.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve been a little under the weather. I think I may have a head cold. I’ve been enjoying catching up on some nature documentaries.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I really do enjoy TV; I should watch it more.”
“And how have you been feeling about what happened last week?”
“Last week?”
“Yes, your meeting with Mrs.Stokes.”
Frank hesitated for a fraction of a second, and when he spoke again, it was in a too-jovial voice. “She was a nice lady, wasn’t she? Very friendly.”
“She did seem lovely,” Libby said carefully. “What did the two of you chat about?”
“Oh, this and that: the weather, her grandchildren, how expensive London is these days. The usual conversation of two lonely pensioners on the bus.”
Libby was unused to hearing Frank talk like this, and shestopped in the middle of the path. “I’m so sorry it wasn’t her, Frank. I feel terrible.”
“Why? It’s notyourfault that it wasn’t her.”
“I know, but I was the one who suggested the whole search, who got your hopes up. If it wasn’t for me, you would never have been disappointed like this.”
Frank shook his head. “It had to happen sooner or later. I’ve been living in a dreamland and it’s time I woke up to the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I’m never going to find her.”
“Oh, Frank, that’s not—”
He held his hand up to stop her. “I know that sounds very dramatic of me, Libby, but it’s quite all right; you don’t need to try and make me feel better. I know that she probably left London decades ago or that she’s passed away.”
“That’s not true. Just because this woman wasn’t her doesn’t mean she isn’t out there somewhere.”
Frank turned and walked over to a bench on the side of the path, then sat down heavily.
“Even if she is still alive, the chances of me finding her are minuscule, aren’t they?” he said as Libby sat down next to him. “I’ve been holding on to this fantasy of some grand reunion on the bus, but it’s silly, really. I can see that now.”
“I believed we could find her too; otherwise I’d never have offered to help.”
“You were being kind.”
