Jack found his feet coming to a stop. The café across the street, with its window bedecked in fairy lights, was still open; and dodging a taxi coming from his right, and another on his left that honked rudely at him as he ran, he went in and scanned the menu. He ordered a cheeseburger and a large cappuccino to take away, and retracing his route, found himself back opposite the man at the very same intersection.
Jack crouched down. ‘Hey, man.’
The man said nothing. He looked panicked.
‘Here.’ Jack handed him the bag with the burger and set the coffee down beside him. He suspected the man smelled, but the biting cold and the frost on the bricks beside him and the ice on the step where he sat on an old shaggy black blanket, meant it was impossible to smell anything tonight.
Jack estimated the man to be in his early twenties at most, and when he looked up Jack saw green eyes that told tales of happier times, times that hadn’t always been this bleak. The gold flecks in them stood out against his grubby face and begged to ignite change somewhere along the line.
‘Take it.’ Jack pushed the bag at him again. ‘There’s hot coffee in the cup.’ He’d never so much as dropped a dollar in the pot for a homeless person, let alone talked to one of them or bought them something to eat.
‘Thanks.’ The man picked up the bag, wary as though it were some kind of trick, but eventually took out the burger and immediately started devouring it in huge bites. ‘Thanks, man,’ he said between mouthfuls.
‘Don’t forget your coffee.’ Jack pushed himself to standing.
The man held out a hand to shake Jack’s as a thank you, and reluctantly Jack touched his palm to the cold, rough, filthy skin on this young man’s hand.
Jack nodded to him and went on his way without looking back. It felt good to have done a good deed for someone he knew nothing about. He thought back to the night on the patio when his father seemed to fear Evie, a young woman he didn’t know, his fear so great he’d fired his own loyal housekeeper in a moment’s panic. It was as though the not knowing and the air of mystery brought some deep-veiled threat to his father’s life, and Jack had tried to make sense of it then and now, but still couldn’t.
Jack walked on, past Christmas shoppers with bags dangled over their arms, others bracing against the cold or ducking into nearby restaurants for respite. When he walked past the mulled cider cart, the smell was enough to rein him in and he watched the street seller ladle out the hot drink into the polystyrene cup, its sugar and spices snaking into the air, the taste of Christmas. It reminded him of the mulled wine Nicole had made from scratch, every year she was with them. She’d started with wine in a huge saucepan and added seasonal orange, sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg. She’d added sugar to taste, and once heated she’d stir in a little sloe gin before announcing the mixture was ready.
The mulled cider reached every extremity and warmed him through as he walked on. There was a slice of orange in the polystyrene cup to ensure the flavours stayed there, and as he reached the bottom of the drink and tipped the cup to get the dregs, it bumped into his nose. He dropped the cup into a nearby trash can and was about to cross the street when he saw Nicole on the other side. He raised a hand to wave to her, but she didn’t see him. He called over but the sound of one taxi horn arguing with another drowned out his voice.
He looked up at the building she’d gone into, knowing it wasn’t where she lived. It looked like an old office block, but there was no signage to indicate what it was. He watched her go inside and when the street was clear he crossed over.
His father was worried, and so was he. It was time for answers. He took the steps at the front, two at a time, and went inside.
