I leave it, but I walk leaning in to him, his navy wool coat soft against me.
The sky is clear and shaken out with stars. A curve of moon hangs idly over the houses. It’s grown colder. A glitter of frost sugars the cars parked on the street.
As we walk I point out pieces of the old Ranelagh, places that were around long before new money moved in and took over.
‘A friend of mine used to live above the shop here.’ We are outside a gallery, its window lit by a single spotlight. Inside, the walls are hung with paintings of varying sizes. An event had been taking place earlier, when I walked past on my way into town, a launch of some kind. Suited men checked invitations, consulted a list. Caterers unloaded trays from a van. ‘Her family ran the shop, and they all lived upstairs. Seven kids. I don’t know how they all fitted.’
‘Did you like growing up here? Here as in Ranelagh, I mean?’ Adam’s face is in profile. We walk on.
‘It was fine, I suppose.’ But it wasn’t fine, not really. Place is important only up to a certain point, and beyond that what matters is how you are at home, your family life. As a child, I was on the edge of things. I’d learned to be watchful from an early age, mindful of angering my mother over the slightest thing. Spilled milk, extra laundry, books scattered around. It was invariably the small things, because I was too fearful to do anything really bad.
‘Are your family still living here?’
We’ve reached my house. Maude’s bedroom lamp is lit. Light seeps around the edges of the window frame.
‘No, there’s just my great-aunt left.’ I gesture at the garden flat. ‘She lives downstairs.’
Adam faces me. ‘My family are all over the place. My parents are still at home, but my two sisters are away, both married, neither of them coming back any time soon. My daughter lives in Sweden, with her mother.’
‘You have a daughter?’ Surprise shades my voice a tone or two higher than normal. This shouldn’t be shocking, but it is. Adam has a child.
He smiles, a proud, proprietorial grin that can’t help itself. ‘I have the greatest child ever born. Annalie. She’s 10, and amazing.’
‘You lucky man.’ The words are out, hanging between us. I want to take them back, but I can’t.
‘I am. I’m very lucky.’ Adam blows on his hands. ‘Christ, it’s freezing. So anyway, what about your folks?’
‘They’re both dead.’ I tug the belt on my coat. It feels strange to talk about them. It’s not something I do easily. A boarded-up house, that’s my family. Doors, locks, entry difficult at best. ‘That’s actually why I came back here. My mother died a few months ago.’
Adam offers sympathy, which I sidestep. Another day, possibly, but not now.
A taxi swishes past. I’d like to ask Adam in, but I’m not sure what that will mean, or where I even want to take things. Next time. Next time I’ll offer coffee.
He makes it easier for me. ‘Look, I’m going to turn to ice here, and so will you. You don’t have enough extra flesh on you to keep you warm.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Seriously though. We can do this again, another night. Somewhere different.’
‘I’d like that.’
His forefinger is icy as he trails it down my cheek. ‘I like you, Doctor Perry. There’s something about you that I don’t find in most women I meet.’
Of course I should respond, but what can I say that won’t sound contrived? Words, once my greatest strength, consistently fail me in moments like this when I need them most.
‘And next time, I’ll invite myself in.’
‘Deal.’
He leans towards me, kisses my forehead. ‘See you soon. Sleep well.’
It’s only eleven, but tiredness lies heavy on my eyelids. Adam hails a taxi and waves as it pulls away.
The knocker bangs against the front door as it closes. The sound is hollow, and it echoes through the empty house.
CHAPTER 13
T he photograph of Andrew was taken when he was 16, and good-looking in a way that no
The sky is clear and shaken out with stars. A curve of moon hangs idly over the houses. It’s grown colder. A glitter of frost sugars the cars parked on the street.
As we walk I point out pieces of the old Ranelagh, places that were around long before new money moved in and took over.
‘A friend of mine used to live above the shop here.’ We are outside a gallery, its window lit by a single spotlight. Inside, the walls are hung with paintings of varying sizes. An event had been taking place earlier, when I walked past on my way into town, a launch of some kind. Suited men checked invitations, consulted a list. Caterers unloaded trays from a van. ‘Her family ran the shop, and they all lived upstairs. Seven kids. I don’t know how they all fitted.’
‘Did you like growing up here? Here as in Ranelagh, I mean?’ Adam’s face is in profile. We walk on.
‘It was fine, I suppose.’ But it wasn’t fine, not really. Place is important only up to a certain point, and beyond that what matters is how you are at home, your family life. As a child, I was on the edge of things. I’d learned to be watchful from an early age, mindful of angering my mother over the slightest thing. Spilled milk, extra laundry, books scattered around. It was invariably the small things, because I was too fearful to do anything really bad.
‘Are your family still living here?’
We’ve reached my house. Maude’s bedroom lamp is lit. Light seeps around the edges of the window frame.
‘No, there’s just my great-aunt left.’ I gesture at the garden flat. ‘She lives downstairs.’
Adam faces me. ‘My family are all over the place. My parents are still at home, but my two sisters are away, both married, neither of them coming back any time soon. My daughter lives in Sweden, with her mother.’
‘You have a daughter?’ Surprise shades my voice a tone or two higher than normal. This shouldn’t be shocking, but it is. Adam has a child.
He smiles, a proud, proprietorial grin that can’t help itself. ‘I have the greatest child ever born. Annalie. She’s 10, and amazing.’
‘You lucky man.’ The words are out, hanging between us. I want to take them back, but I can’t.
‘I am. I’m very lucky.’ Adam blows on his hands. ‘Christ, it’s freezing. So anyway, what about your folks?’
‘They’re both dead.’ I tug the belt on my coat. It feels strange to talk about them. It’s not something I do easily. A boarded-up house, that’s my family. Doors, locks, entry difficult at best. ‘That’s actually why I came back here. My mother died a few months ago.’
Adam offers sympathy, which I sidestep. Another day, possibly, but not now.
A taxi swishes past. I’d like to ask Adam in, but I’m not sure what that will mean, or where I even want to take things. Next time. Next time I’ll offer coffee.
He makes it easier for me. ‘Look, I’m going to turn to ice here, and so will you. You don’t have enough extra flesh on you to keep you warm.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Seriously though. We can do this again, another night. Somewhere different.’
‘I’d like that.’
His forefinger is icy as he trails it down my cheek. ‘I like you, Doctor Perry. There’s something about you that I don’t find in most women I meet.’
Of course I should respond, but what can I say that won’t sound contrived? Words, once my greatest strength, consistently fail me in moments like this when I need them most.
‘And next time, I’ll invite myself in.’
‘Deal.’
He leans towards me, kisses my forehead. ‘See you soon. Sleep well.’
It’s only eleven, but tiredness lies heavy on my eyelids. Adam hails a taxi and waves as it pulls away.
The knocker bangs against the front door as it closes. The sound is hollow, and it echoes through the empty house.
CHAPTER 13
T he photograph of Andrew was taken when he was 16, and good-looking in a way that no
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