Matt lifted one elegant shoulder in a shrug and his eyes skimmed the compact living space. I guessed a slim door at one end led to a bedroom and bathroom. “Six years, maybe?”
He filled the kettle with water, and I sat on a narrow sofa watching as he moved gracefully about the kitchen area. I’d transplanted to Bournemouth more than fifteen years ago. I thought of all those times idling in traffic on my route to work or on the school run, when a song had come on the radio—Blur or The Cure or something. Triggering memories of him. And all that time he’d been so close by.
“Do you remember Cartwright?” He passed me a mug of something hot—tea—before sliding into the bench seat at the breakfast table.
I shook my head.
“He was my history teacher at St George’s.”
The name might have rung a vague bell, but I’d studied the sciences, not the arts.
“He used to take detentions.”
“Then I should have remembered him.” I raised an eyebrow. “Because according to my son, Ryan, I had a detention almost every week.”
Matt’s lips twitched, and he brought his drink up to his mouth, taking a small sip.
“He…we…became friends. He died a few years ago and left me some money to buy somewhere with. Not much, but enough for this. He wanted me to move down south—he wanted me to get out of the Midlands for good.”
He looked around the caravan again, fondly. “I miss him. We used to visit Bournemouth a lot. He had family here.”
I had a hazy memory of a dusty office and a tired little man. Older perhaps, but then when you were a teenager, anyone over thirty seemed ancient.
“Were you and he…”
“Having a ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me’ moment?” He shook his head. “No. Just friends. He had the same partner, Eric, for over thirty years. A truly lovely man—they both were. They died within six months of each other. His partner died of a broken heart, I reckon.”
If anything, Matt had thrown up even more questions for me.
“Why are you here?” he asked abruptly.
Because having you back in my life, albeit a grumpy, sick version of you, was the high point of my last ten years? Because I haven’t slept since you vanished—again? Because seeing you here, now, and so delicately beautiful, makes my heart soar in a way no one else ever has?
“Because you have a hospital appointment you really should attend.”
“I didn’t bother going to the last one.” He took another sip of tea.
“I know. Your surgeon told tales on you.”
He ran his fingertips across the light stubble covering where his jaw had been fractured.
“Does it still hurt?”
He made a moue. “A little. If I yawn too widely, or sneeze too vigorously.”
“What about your arm?”
“That’s fine.” As if to demonstrate, he gave it a little shake.
“And what about headaches? Any double vision?”
His forehead pulled into a frown. “I didn’t realise doctors still made house calls.”
We sipped our tea in unison. Matt examined his fingernails.
“The appointment is on Friday afternoon. Can I give you a lift?”
“Will you keep pestering me if I say no?”