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‘Yes. Finn. The British guy. With the beard. Yes.’
‘Did he, erm …’ I step from one foot to the other, run the palm of my hand hard down my mouth and chin. ‘Did he say where he was headed?’
‘Nope.’
‘Was he –withanyone?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did he, I mean, was he …?’ I don’t know what to ask.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. I’m fine. I’m just – annoyed that I missed him. I just – I wanted to see him, he’s very …important to meand now I feel like—’ I am starting to crack and I can see the bartender is becoming concerned. I pull myself back into shape and smile. ‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘Never mind. I’ll come back another time. I’m sure our paths will cross eventually.’
‘You want me to say anything to him? If he comes back?’
‘No. Don’t say anything. It’ll just—’It’ll just freak him out, is what I want to say. Because that’s exactly what it will do. It will freak him out and he will run for the hills. I ramp up my smile. ‘Thank you. Anyway. I’m Joshua. By the way.’
‘Joshua. Great. Can I get you anything?’
‘No. Thank you. I think I’ll head home.’
‘Sure. Have a good night, Joshua.’
On the street I stare left and right. And then I stare straight ahead. There is a man leaving the organic supermarket opposite. A tall man. With sandy blond hair and a clipped golden-brown beard. He has a tan. He is wearing a khaki T-shirt and black shorts and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Two large bags of shopping hang from his hands. He stops as he leaves the store and he glances across the street.
I see that he is peering through the windows of the Magdala. Looking for someone.
And it is only then, with a kick to my gut so hard that I almost fall back into the doorway of the bar, that I realise I have found him.
