Page 73 of The Last Train Home
‘I never forget a face,’ he tells me. ‘Especially the face of the man who rescued my daughter from death.’
‘Ah, it wasn’t, you know, quite like that.’
‘Don’t be modest,’ he says as we filter out into the street. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I might not have had a daughter to come home to. You took very good care of her that night, and for that we are eternally grateful.’
‘Thanks,’ I say and look down at the pavement, embarrassed and avoiding his gaze. ‘Are you headed this way?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got the day to myself,’ he says. ‘Thought I might try to find a pub and waste a bit of time.’
‘Sounds like agreatplan.’
‘Could I buy you a drink?’ he asks.
I’m ready to instinctively politely decline, but something stops me. I’ve also got the day to myself. If I go home now I’ll have to change the beds, put away Teddy’s laundry and get the towels in the tumble dryer. But if I don’t go home yet, maybe Samantha might step up and do at least one of those jobs, in addition to keeping Teddy occupied all day. ‘Yeah,’ I say, still thinking about it. ‘Yeah, that would be great.’
The pub is packed, but we squeeze in and Abbie’s dad is eagle-eyed, spotting two bar stools becoming vacant at the end of the bar. He moves fast and secures them and I carry our two pints over to him, where we sit and drink companionably.
‘How’s Abbie getting on?’ I ask when we’re settled and have finished analysing the match, like two BBC pundits. I assume she’s not told her dadanyof what happened between us, so I hope this comes across as an innocent question.
‘She’s very well, thank you.’
‘Is she enjoying Singapore?’
‘Yes, she complains about the heat and says she misses the seasons, but she and Sean seem to have found their feet, made some nice friends, settled in well. Did you know they’re engaged?’ he asks me.
I cough on my pint, but I don’t know why I’m surprised. It was bound to happen. In fact it was inevitable really, wasn’t it?
‘No,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t tell you,’ he says. ‘I thought you and she were …’ He doesn’t finish his sentence.
‘You thought Abbie and I were what?’ I ask carefully.
‘Good friends,’ he says, equally cautiously.
‘Yeah, I thought we were too, but …’ Now it’s my turn to leave my words in the air.
‘That’s a shame,’ he says.
‘Mmm, yeah, it is.’ I’m not going to say anything else. I think it’s best we leave it there.
‘Was it because you didn’t attend their leaving party?’ He’s choosing to keep going with this. ‘Abbie told me you were coming, but I noticed at the time you didn’t pop in.’
I make a noise in my throat and I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to say to this.
‘Or …’ he’s offering me a lifeline, ‘did something happen before the party that stopped you going?’ Nope, there’s no lifeline there.
‘It’s complicated,’ I say.
‘I thought as much.’
‘I don’t …’ I start and then, sod it, I’m going to say it, ‘I don’t have her number and so … if you could say hi to her for me, I’d really appreciate it.’
‘I will,’ he says. ‘Any other message?’ I notice he’s not offering to give me her number. I respect this. Abbie wouldn’t reply to me anyway.
‘No,’ I say after a few seconds. ‘Just hi. And maybe … that I’m glad she’s doing well. I’m really happy for her.’
‘I’ll tell her.’ Before the jubilant mood descends too deeply into morose territory, he follows it up conversationally with, ‘And how is that son of yours getting on? Abbie told me you’d had a little boy. Freddie?’
