“…not ideal in terms of surprise management.”
I stare at him.
He exhales.
“I had a better opening in the car.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“It made more sense.”
“That would not have been difficult.”
That almost gets the corner of his mouth moving, but nerves wipe it away again before it can settle.
I pull the key from my pocket and walk towards him slowly.
Not because I’m afraid he’ll bolt.
Although maybe that too.
Mostly because I still haven’t caught up with the fact that he is here.
Actually here.
At my front door.
In Whitstable.
I stop a foot away.
Close enough to see the crease between his brows, the way he is breathing slightly too fast.
“What are you doing here?”
There.
Simple question.
Philip blinks.
“Yes,” he says. “That is, in hindsight, the obvious question.”
I wait.
He looks over my shoulder at the cottage, then at the suitcase, then back at me as if hoping one of those objects will provide assistance.
“I came down from London.”
“Not the bit I’m confused about.”
“Right.”
His throat moves.
“I know thisis strange.”
“A bit.”
