Connor grunts something monosyllabic and incomprehensible in reply. His cheeks are flushed and he seems particularly twitchy, but if Rita’s noticed, she doesn’t let on.
‘Hey, I’ve got an idea for you. How about I cut your hair now? We’re not open yet, as Luke said, but I’m prepared to make an exception for a handsome regular customer like you. Luke could even watch over me and make sure I do it right. How does that sound?’
I’m totally blown away by how well Rita is handling this situation and I assume Connor will take her up on her generous offer.
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, he starts vigorously rubbing his forehead with the fingers of one hand and stutters: ‘I, I, d-don’t th-think that’s a g-good idea. Sorry.’
He turns to leave, grabbing the door handle.
‘Wait, mate,’ I say. ‘It’s fine. There’s no need to race off. You don’t have to get a haircut now if you don’t want to. Why don’t you stay for a brew?’
‘I have to get b-back to work.’
‘Right. Well, don’t be a stranger. I’ll have my old phone number back up and running again soon. I’ve been meaning to sort it, but with one thing and another, I haven’t got around to doing so yet. I do have a temporary number I can give you, if you like. Hang on, I’ll grab it for—’
‘That’s okay,’ he says, a fresh look of alarm on his face at the prospect of me leaving him alone with Rita. ‘I really have to g-go.’
And with that he leaves.
‘Sorry,’ Rita says.
‘What for? You were amazing with him. So much so, I thought he’d go for what you suggested. He blooming well should have.’
‘He didn’t, though.’
‘Please don’t take it personally. He’s, er, unconventional at the best of times. And he was very close to his mum, who died suddenly. He still lived with her and he’s obviously struggling. That’s why I gave him my number last time he was in, which was just before the funeral. I don’t usually hand it out to customers. In fact, I’m struggling to think of a time I’ve ever done so before. But I don’t think he has a lot of friends or people to look out for him, so—’
‘It’s all right. I get it,’ Rita says. ‘There’s a heart of gold hidden away somewhere deep inside that chest of yours, isn’t there?’
Her comment throws me. ‘I, um, don’t know about that. He’s been coming here a long time, that’s all.’
‘Whatever you say, Luke.’ She pinches my cheek like my mum used to do. ‘I wish my boys were half as thoughtful as you are.’
I head to the supermarket on the way home, having declined the kind offer of a lift from Rita, telling her a walk in the fresh air will do me good. It’s pretty warm today, albeit a bit drizzly. Now we’re near the end of March, I’m hoping we’ll start to get some more consistent spring-like weather.
I’m feeling a lot more relaxed than earlier, now Rita and the barbershop are sorted. I’ve still got my date with Nora ahead of me, but knowing how she feels is a big help. Hopefully I’ll be able to enjoy that rather than get too worked up about it.
However, on approaching the supermarket entrance, my new-found calm goes out of the window when I spot Tommy sitting on the pavement outside, chatting to a departing female shopper.
Heart racing, I consider trying to slip past him without being noticed. But the woman moves on at just the wrong moment, having handed over some change, and he spots me.
‘Luke! Bloody hell, are you all right, mate? I heard what happened with Moxie – that frigging psycho. I called by the barbershop a couple of times to see if you were there, but it was closed.’
‘Hello, Tommy,’ I say, employing slow, deep breaths. ‘I’m on the mend, thanks.’
He eyes my bandages and, standing up to chat to me, pulls a pained face. ‘It’s true that he took a knife to you, then?’
‘Yes.’
He shakes his head and frowns. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Luke. I knew he was trouble – I’ve had a few run-ins with him myself – but I didn’t think he was capable of that. And after you’ve done so much for us. I bet you wish you’d never got involved.’
‘I think he was on some kind of drugs,’ I say. ‘He was after money, probably to get another fix.’
Tommy nods but falls silent at this.
‘I understand why people take stuff when they’re on the streets,’ I continue, pulse rising as I say what I feel I must. ‘It’s a temporary way out, I guess, a means of escaping reality. But it’s not a real answer to any of your problems, is it? Ultimately, it’s only going to make things worse.’
Tommy looks into the distance, still not responding. I think he knows I’m not talking about Moxie any more, so I take the opportunity to hammer the message home.
‘You’re an intelligent guy,’ I say. ‘You know what I’m talking about. I’ve no idea how you ended up where you are, but I bet you could use that brain of yours to get yourself into a better place if you really wanted to. Okay, lecture over. But think about it, yeah, before it’s too late?’
He meets my gaze for the briefest of moments and nods once.
‘Good.’
I continue into the store, adding to my small shopping list a pre-packed sandwich and a bottle of water. I hand these to Tommy on my way out instead of cash I fear he’d waste on spice.
‘Cheers, Luke,’ he says. ‘All the best with your recovery.’
‘You too. I didn’t forget about digging you out another Rebus book, by the way. There’s one waiting for you in the barbershop whenever you’re ready. Just pop by.’
‘Really? After everything that’s happened? Wow. I don’t know what to say, other than thank you.’
‘No problem. I may not be there, as I’m taking some time off, but I’ll make sure Rita knows where it is. She’ll be running the place in my absence.’
I’d like to tell him that the free haircuts for the homeless sessions will be continuing at some point soon but, honestly, I don’t know if that will happen. It’s all still too raw at the moment to make a final decision.
CHAPTER 36
I get home at around 4.15 p.m. and decide to put my feet up for an hour ahead of my date with Nora.
We’re going to a new cicchetti place that recently opened not far from Albert Square. The style of food is a Venetian take on tapas. I’ve heard excellent things about this particular restaurant, which is very authentic, apparently. As the location is a fair slog across the city centre from here, Nora has kindly offered to pick me up in her car. It’s not remotely on her way, as she lives in Chorlton, but she was insistent.
‘I can always walk or get a cab,’ I told her. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier for you to take the tram?’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I prefer to drive and it’s no trouble, honestly.’
I’m really looking forward to spending some quality time with Nora. And I won’t be letting her open her purse at all while we’re out. I want to treat her, although, knowing how independent she is, I’ll probably have to insist. It’s the least I can do after how much she’s helped me. On top of everything else, she did an amazing job of getting rid of that Billy Broome idiot and his sham drug-dealing rumours. Luckily, as she predicted, it turned out he’d simply made the whole thing up to try to force me to talk. I haven’t heard a peep from him since; Nora seems certain he won’t cause me any more bother.
I’m expecting her at about 6.30 p.m., half an hour before our table is booked, so plenty of time to spare.
After showing initial affection when I returned from hospital, Alfred has grown a bit standoffish with me, like he knows I’m not a hundred per cent and doesn’t like it. However, this afternoon he’s back to his usual friendly self. The moment I sit down on the sofa, he claims my lap and falls asleep.
One minute I’m stroking him, feeling a little heavy-eyed myself, and the next I’m woken by a loud buzzing sound.
Dazed and blinking away the sleep, it takes me a moment to get my bearings. Then I look at the ti
me on the wall clock and nearly jump out of my skin. Crap! It’s already 6.20 p.m. That must be Nora, running ahead of time.
I lift Alfred off my knee and race to the intercom by the front door.
‘Hello?’ I say. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘Luke?’
Hang on. That’s not Nora’s voice. It sounds like … no, it can’t be. Can it?
‘Yes, this is Luke. Who’s that?’
‘It’s Helen. I’m sorry to turn up unannounced, but I was in Manchester and – well – I just heard what happened to you. I had to visit and see if you were all right. Could I come up?’
My God. How could her timing be any worse? And what’s she doing in town? She didn’t say anything about that in her letter. I hesitate, unsure what to do, only to realise I have to let her in, especially after everything she wrote to me and having not seen her for so long.
So I tell her it’s fine and press the button to let her inside the building.
About thirty seconds later, as I’m waiting by the door to greet her, the buzzer goes again. ‘Isn’t it working?’ I say into the intercom, assuming she’s having problems.
But it’s Nora’s voice this time on the other end of the line. ‘Luke?’ she says. ‘Sorry, isn’t what working?’
‘Oh, Nora, it’s you. Hello.’
‘Were you expecting someone else?’
‘Um, it’s complicated.’
‘Oh, right. Are you ready to go?’
‘No, I’m not. I’m having a bit of a—’
I’m interrupted by a knock on the front door, which must now be Helen. This is a disaster. ‘Could you come up, so I can explain?’ I ask Nora, wincing as the words leave my mouth, and she says she will.
A couple of minutes after that, having hastily tried to explain the situation to Helen before Nora caught up with her, I’m sitting in the lounge with the two of them, wondering what on earth to do next.
I’ve made brief introductions, so everyone knows who’s who, but now an uncomfortable silence has fallen on the room.
‘Well, this is awkward,’ I say to both of them before focusing my attention on Nora, who’s not yet even had the rushed, garbled explanation I gave to Helen. ‘I sat down on the sofa for a moment a couple of hours ago and, apparently, I fell fast asleep. The first I knew of it was when the buzzer went a few minutes ago. I thought it was you, Nora, but it turned out to be Helen. She arrived right before you, although it was a complete surprise. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.’
‘I should have called first,’ Helen says.
She looks good: a little older than I remember and tired around the eyes, but otherwise much like when we were together. In fact, seeing her and Nora alongside each other for the first time, it strikes me – to my discomfort – that they look a little alike. They have similar long, wavy blonde hair, for a start. They’re also both attractive, tall and slim.
Nora is a few years younger than Helen, who’ll be thirty-eight now. And at least they’re wearing totally different outfits. But spotting the resemblance between them is only adding to my embarrassment. Their eyes are a different colour, I note to my satisfaction: Helen’s are hazel, while Nora’s are green. That’s something at least.
‘Is there any chance you could perhaps call back tomorrow?’ I ask Helen. ‘Nora and I do have a table booked.’
Not that I’m dressed as intended. I’ve missed my chance to get changed. But I could probably get away with staying in these smart jeans and shirt – worn, unknowingly, for my scruffy counsellor’s benefit – as long as I use some deodorant, splash a little aftershave and brush my teeth.
‘I would, of course,’ Helen says. ‘But I’m booked on a train back up to Edinburgh first thing tomorrow morning. I can go, though. I should. It’s my own fault for barging in without any warning. I had to see that you were okay, Luke. I only heard about the knife attack this afternoon and I was so shocked.’
I’m racking my brains for a way out of this mess that will keep everyone happy. If Helen’s only around tonight, I don’t see how I can let her go without a catch-up. And yet how can I turn Nora away when we’re supposed to be heading out on our first date? She could be my future, but I’m loath to disregard my past.
How on earth have we ended up here?
Thankfully, Nora speaks up with a potential solution. ‘Why don’t I make this easy and step aside to give you two some space? I can ring and cancel our dinner reservation, Luke. We can always do it another time.’
‘Are you sure?’ I reply, immediately regretting not putting up more resistance, based on the look of disappointment that flashes across her face.
‘Yes, of course,’ she says, by which point her guard is back up and her true feelings hidden. ‘It’s the most sensible solution.’
‘I feel awful now.’ Helen sighs dramatically. ‘I really didn’t mean for this to—’
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ Nora replies with a wooden smile. ‘You don’t need to feel bad.’
Did she place an emphasis on the you – as in my ex-wife doesn’t need to feel awful, but I do – or did I imagine it?
A part of me wants to resist her suggestion now, but it is the only obvious way I can see to break this unexpected deadlock.
Next thing she’s on her feet. ‘It was nice to meet you,’ she tells Helen, who also stands up to say goodbye. Nora moves to shake her hand, by which point my ex-wife is already leaning in to kiss her, resulting in some awkward shuffling around and yet more red faces.
‘Lovely, um, to meet you too, Nora,’ a flustered Helen replies eventually. ‘So sorry for spoiling your plans.’
I walk Nora to the door and, in a quiet voice intended only for the two of us, I tell her: ‘I’m so sorry about this. I feel terrible. I won’t try to make an excuse for falling asleep like I did, but I genuinely had no idea that Helen was going to turn up. I don’t see her for years and then she appears out of nowhere, now of all times. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.’
She gives me the briefest of pecks on my cheek. ‘It’s fine, Luke. Seriously.’
‘It’s not,’ I whisper. ‘I promise I’ll make it up to you.’
Then she’s gone and I’m alone with my ex-wife for the first time in forever.
‘So I got your letter,’ I say. ‘Sorry to hear about you and Adrian. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you got your just deserts, as you put it. You have my sympathy. It’s a horrible feeling to be cheated on, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’
‘Not even me?’ she asks from her seat in the lounge, where I also sit back down so we’re facing but not on top of each other. ‘The person who cheated on you.’
I rub the coarse stubble on my chin, exhaling. ‘I might have felt like that at one point, Helen, but not any more. It was a long time ago. A lot has happened since then. I reckon life’s too short to hold grudges, particularly against someone who was once such an important part of my life. How are you coping? It can’t be easy with the children.’
She talks about this briefly and, when I ask, explains that she came back for a job interview this morning, after which she met up with an old colleague for lunch, who told her about me, having seen it in the news.
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘So you’re thinking of moving back to Manchester?’
She shrugs. ‘There’s no harm in exploring my options, is there?’
‘No, I suppose not. Are the children both with their dad at the moment?’
‘Yes, him and his young floozy.’ She frowns, shaking her head. ‘Sorry, force of habit. Adrian thinks I’m on a social trip. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the interview, although I don’t think it went very well, anyway.’
She speaks a little more about this but soon wants to bring the conversation back to me and my injuries – all that I’ve been through.
I start talking, recounting everything, from the scaffolding accident at the end of January, which Helen read about in the article forwarded by her mum, right up to handing Rita the
keys to the barbershop this afternoon. By the time I’ve finished, a good while later, Helen’s eyes are bulging, her mouth agape.
‘My goodness, Luke. What a couple of months. You have my sympathy, for what it’s worth. And there was me thinking I’d had a tough time lately. It certainly puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’
‘It does,’ I say. ‘It really does.’
As I was telling my story, Helen cut in with various questions: the usual stuff, which I’m used to answering by now. The only subject I particularly avoided mentioning was that of the weird dreams I’ve had involving Iris. I’m not comfortable sharing these with her. Out of context, I fear they could make me sound unhinged.
After putting two frozen pizzas in the oven, since we’re both getting peckish, I say I appreciated her recent letter and its contents. However, I stop short of admitting how much it means to me to know the truth about her not getting pregnant on purpose that first time and that she thinks I’d make a good father. It’s a pride thing. I don’t want her to know quite how much she broke me when she left.
There’s a weird moment when Alfred walks into the lounge and she squeals with delight, calling him over to her. He gives her a suspicious stare from a few metres away. A childish part of me secretly hopes he’ll snub her, despite us once caring for him together. But then, with a happy, bird-like chirrup, he bounds up to her and springs on to her knee, letting her stroke and rub him like she’s never been away.
‘Oh, Alfred, you funny thing,’ she says as he soon settles into a comfy sleeping position on her lap. ‘I’ve missed your furry hugs. You look so old and wise now.’
‘Did you ever get another cat?’ I ask her.
‘No, not so far. Adrian is allergic to most pets, although now he’s gone, perhaps it’s time. The kids would love a cat.’
‘Don’t get any ideas about kidnapping this one,’ I say, smiling but half serious, just in case.
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t even joke about that. He was always more your cat than mine. He might be sucking up to me now, not having seen me for ages, but in the old days he never used to choose my knee to sit on over yours. You were number one, without a doubt.’
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