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My phone rings as I cross the cathedral forecourt. Emily.
‘Hey, Pat, how are you?’ That forced familiarity I remember from when she was going out with Gethin.
‘Emily, I can’t talk now, in a hurry.’
‘Just wanted to tell you I saw Gethin at Fran’s yesterday. I can’t believe he’s being like this, he de-friended you in front of me.’
‘What?’
‘I wish I could help him, you know, this stuff with his dad, it’d be awesome if he could find him.’
‘Find him?’
‘Totally. Find himself as well?’
‘Emily, I need…?’
‘Yeah, sorry, I’ll stay in touch, shall I?’
I pause at the café entrance. It really might be better for her to keep out of it.
‘Emily,’
‘No worries, I know, you’re busy. Bye for now.’
‘Jesus, Pat, look at the state of you?’ Karen sits in the corner under the Chagall print. Cool as his lilac-pale sky, clothed in sea-green muslin, her round face framed by those fading orange hoops of hair, plump arms resting across the platform of her breasts. ‘You didn’t need to rush.’
I catch my face in the mirror on the other corner wall: all red and blotchy, hair soaked with sweat. I feel like a monster.
‘I got you your usual.’ Karen gestures to the cappuccino and iced water.
I grab the water, gulp half of it down, feeling the cold sharp on my teeth.
‘What is the matter, Pat?’
The heat rises in me. I take a gulp of coffee, slopping it into the saucer.
Karen reaches to put her hand on mine. It’s cool and dry on my clammy skin. I look into those swirls of grey and violet eyes, the eyes I gazed into with longing over 25 years ago. Then she blinks and I’m back.
I pull my hand away and drink some more water, the ice clinking as my hand shakes.
‘You really couldn’t leave well alone, could you?’
‘What?’ Karen frowns.
‘You think you know what’s best, but you know nothing.’ The words spit out like they’re not mine.
‘Pat, please, what are you talking about?’ Karen’s voice is quiet and measured, teacher with a bunch of five-year-olds. It does nothing to calm my thumping heart.
‘Ask me how Gethin’s birthday went, go on.’
‘Well, I sent him a text, but he didn’t reply. I wanted to pop round, take him for a drink even.’
‘He’s gone, Karen.’ I feel the tears pricking, trembling in my voice.
‘Gone?’ She leans forward, anxious now.
‘It was the last I saw of him, shouting and waving the letter. I’d ordered champagne and everything. Well, Cava anyway.’
