Page 38 of The Last One to See Him

Outside the restaurant, she’s stopped short by an attack of nerves. This really isn’t like her – Jamie has done this, shred every ounce of her that made her Harper Nolan. But beyond her nerves at being appraised by a man she doesn’t know, lies something else. Jamie’s the only man she’s ever pictured herself settling down with – she’d rather be alone than with someone just for the sake of it. She should walk away now and send Pierre an apologetic message.

She’s about to walk away when she glances through the window, doing a double take when she sees a man who looks like Jamie sitting in the corner with a dark-haired woman. Typical, she’s seeing him everywhere, even though she knows it’s highly unlikely he’d be at the same restaurant on the same evening that she’s planned to go there.

But when Harper looks again, she realises itisJamie, and her stomach lurches as she clamps her hand to her mouth. It’s shock. Confusion. But what had Harper expected? She’d moved out of their flat, and she’s here to meet a man for a date, so why shouldn’t he be able to do the same?

Because it’s his fault our baby is dead.

With a surge of defiance, Harper thrusts open the door and steps inside, praying that Pierre is already in there. She spots him on the opposite side of the restaurant, and he gives a small wave when he looks up. He will never know how close Harper came to not being there, or that his fate has been decided by the man who sits in the corner of this restaurant, engrossed in the conversation he’s having with the dark-haired woman, who looks older than Harper had thought from outside.

Pierre stands up as she approaches their table, giving her a tight hug and beaming. He looks different to his photo – slightly larger than he’d appeared, his hair thinner. If she’d been at all invested in this date, then she’d be disappointed.

‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ Pierre taps his expensive-looking watch. ‘Ten minutes late usually means a no-show. But you’re here now. I feel as if I know you so well already,’ he says.

Harper stifles a sarcastic response. They’ve only spoken three times, and shared a few text messages. This man doesn’t know her – and he never will. How strange it feels to have dinner with someone you know you will never see again.

‘I was bit early,’ Pierre continues when they sit. ‘So I ordered a bottle of red. I hope that’s okay. I hate to be presumptuous.’

‘Red is fine.’

He pours her a glass and her eyes flick to Jamie in the corner, still captivated by the conversation he’s having with his date. He looks nice. Jeans and a black shirt. And he’s shaved his stubble. Harper can’t remember the last time she saw him without it – she’d always told him she preferred him clean-shaven but Jamie had insisted his facial hair was his security blanket.

Rage bubbles inside her – how can he sit there laughing with someone when their baby is dead? Yes, he’d been crushed when it happened, but six months on and it barely seems to register with him any more. Their lives would be different if Molly had survived – a small part of Harper wants to believe becoming a father would have made Jamie a better man.

‘The food is great here,’ Pierre says, handing her a menu. ‘Have you been here before? I think I’ll go for the steak.’

Harper has no appetite, but she’ll have to force some food down. She scans the menu, opting for a mushroom risotto that she hopes she’ll be able to stomach.

And while Pierre talks without taking a breath, Harper’s eyes drift back to Jamie. The sight of him sitting there makes her body burn, yet she can’t pull her eyes away.

‘That’s crazy, isn’t it?’ Pierre’s voice cuts through her reverie.

‘Um, yeah. It is. Crazy.’

‘This must be fate then – not many others agree with me about that.’

Their food arrives just as she notices Jamie standing up, flicking through his wallet to find money for a tip before pulling on his coat. She watches helplessly as he takes the arm of the dark-haired woman – who Harper sees now is clearly at least a decade older than Jamie – and leads her towards the door.

‘I have to go,’ Harper says, grabbing her bag and coat.

Pierre stares at her. ‘What? But the food’s just come!’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She forages in her purse and pulls out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here,’ she says, putting it on the table. ‘I’m sorry, Pierre. I suddenly feel a bit sick. I think I need to go home.’

He continues gawping at her, but doesn’t say anything.

‘I’ll call you,’ she says. But they both know she won’t.

Outside, Jamie and the woman have crossed the road, heading towards Tottenham Court Road Tube station. Buttoning her coat, Harper follows them at a safe distance.

And when she gets closer, neither of them pays her any attention; Harper is invisible. In the harsh light of the Northern line Tube train, she gets close enough to take in the woman’s features: sharp, thin nose, eyelashes that are far too long to be the work of mascara alone. Faint lines on her forehead.

Harper is right by them, no longer caring if Jamie sees her, and she can hear their conversation – something about cocktails at the woman’s place – and she sees her place her hand on Jamie’s chest, her long, deep-red fingernails lingering too long.

Something crosses Jamie’s face – is it fear? Does he really want to be with this woman? Is she the reason he hasn’t checked up on Harper for months, since she threw him out the day she got out of hospital?

Jamie and the woman get off at Camden Town, and Harper follows them through bustling streets, until they turn onto a tree-lined street of Victorian terraces.

Only when they disappear into the woman’s house does Harper wonder why she followed Jamie. It’s clear what he’s doing – she didn’t need to torture herself. But still, she crosses the road to the bus stop opposite the house and sits.

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