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‘You’re the second American to ask me that today.’ Her accent was unmistakable.
‘Irish?’
She nodded.
‘Fancy a jam tart?’ He opened the lid of the cake box to reveal a stack of tarts.
The woman tilted her head and raised one eyebrow into a question.
‘I asked forsix– she hearddix. My pronunciation leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘Ah,’ she said, reaching for a tart, ‘I have that problem, too.’
‘Am I and my compatriot being too nosy?’
‘No, no. It’s nice, actually, to be asked in a genuine way, you know?’
‘I do know.’
‘Anyway, I am alright, I think, or at least I’m fairly sure I will be.’
‘That certain, eh?’
She smiled. ‘It’s been a strange day.’
‘I know what you mean.’
It was just a turn of phrase. He didn’t intend to confide in this woman, but her eyes opened wide, and her eyebrows raised again in enquiry. It must have been a habit she had: three faint lines on her brow remained as evidence of her curiosity. What the heck. It might be good for him to say it out loud.
‘When I woke up this morning, I thought I was dead.’ The sense of relief he felt was immediate and intense.
‘Janey Mac, that’s not good. Was it a nightmare?’ The social smile held up, but her eyes showed real concern. Her accent cheered him.
‘Something like that. And then, well, I was wrong about something.’
She didn’t ask, just made the same twitch of an eyebrow.
He went on: ‘I got hold of the idea that I was going to be a grandfather, and I kinda liked it.’ He noticed the way the corners of her smile wobbled. ‘But I was wrong. Tell me, what happened to you?’
‘Oh, you know – my husband told me over breakfast that he cheated on me.’
Harry felt a thud in his chest cavity. ‘Ah, sweetheart. I’m guessing he’s sorry.’
‘D’ya think?’ She couldn’t hold back an edge of sarcasm.
‘I know he is.’
‘You’re right. He says he’s sorry anyway, but sorry doesn’t make it all go away.’
‘We’re awful fools, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Men. You have to make allowances for us.’ He smiled ruefully, and she laughed out loud. She had a great laugh, kinda raucous.
* * *
Claire liked this man. She liked the way he looked straight into her eyes, as if he was really interested in her. His eyes, she thought, were the greenest she’d ever seen. He was attractive in a way you rarely came across, in real life. He must have been fecking gorgeous when he was young, she thought. Even sitting down, she could tell that he was tall. His legs were stretched out in front of him, a good foot beyond hers, and his feet were huge. He took off his reading glasses and leaned back, left arm stretched along the back of the bench. The sleeve of his brown leather jacket was crinkled inside the elbow. She imagined he’d been wearing it since the eighties. She could see a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into an inside pocket.
