“Quite possibly.”
A glimmer of a smile. A glimmer of hope.
It felt like a date. I reminded myself it wasn’t a date.
“Why are you dressed all smart?” Ryan asked over his cornflakes. “Weren’t you wearing a different pair of trousers five minutes ago?”
Bloody hell, I thought teenagers weren’t supposed to be observant.
“I’m…um…I’m meeting my friend, Matt, after work. Remember him? I’m giving him a lift to his hospital appointment. We might go for a coffee or a bite to eat afterwards. Is that okay?”
Ryan slurped up some milk. “It’s weird, but I suppose it’s okay.”
Christ, was I that obvious? “What’s weird about it?”
“That you’re going out. Like, leaving the house and not for the sole purpose of going to work or rugby training. Or to B&Q. Can you actually remember how restaurants and cafés work?”
“Yes, but thank you for checking.” Sarcastic bugger. “I know how they work. You tell me you’re visiting one and I ask you how much money you expect me to hand over.”
Matt didn’t know about the invitation for a coffee part of the afternoon. In advance and in hope, I’d scouted out a beach café in Southbourne. Not too far from the hospital, so my suggestion would look casual and spontaneous. And not a place frequented by dog walking/running/cycling acquaintances. Or where I might bump into any of Samantha’s ladies who lunched. In other words, anonymous.
Ryan had stayed at my place for the last two nights. Very lovely, but out of the ordinary, as I tended to be more his weekend hangout. A short text exchange reassured me he hadn’t fallen out with his mother. To confuse me even more, he’d left his phone charging in the kitchen overnight, instead of next to his bed, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to know his whereabouts. Even more strange; on both nights he’d joined me in the sitting room to watch telly andthen gifted me with a hug on his way upstairs to bed. Recalling how my previous gentle questioning of his social life had resulted in slammed doors and a shutdown of communication channels, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
“Why isn’t Matt driving himself to his appointment? Or his wife or someone?”
I smoothed my shirt. I’d selected a checked one I’d bought on a whim when my sister had dragged me out Christmas shopping, and had cost far more money than I tended to spend on clothes. She’d got it into her head that if I acquired a fresh wardrobe, then a new female in my life would follow suit. As if my beige sartorial choices had been grounds for divorce. The shirt still had parallel creases down the front from the packaging, which I hoped a morning hanging-up in the theatre changing rooms might resolve.
“Matt doesn’t drive. And he’s not married.”
“So, he’s single, like you?”
I nodded.
“Perfect! You could go out on the pull together!” Ryan chuckled around a mouthful of breakfast cereal. “A pair of manthers! You could be his wingman. Like, you know, his ugly mate, who only gets invited along because he’s got wheels? I could totally see you cruising through Westbourne in the German whip, with the roof down.”
“Charming.” I laughed and pretended to cuff him around the head as I headed for the door. I swear I hadn’t understood half of his vocabulary. “Are you here tonight or at your mum’s?”
“Dunno. Depends on what she’s cooking for dinner.”
For the first ten minutes of the journey to the hospital, Matt was silent, but in a good way. I covertly eyed him as he fiddled with the heated seat (it met with his approval now he was no longer in pain), the blower, the headrest, and the radio. He wore the same jeans as before, this time paired with an equally cool, ancient REM T-shirt. Alongside him, I felt square and middle-aged. For the latter ten minutes, he occupied himself chewing his nails, jiggling his knee, and criticising my driving.
“There’s nothing to get worked up about,” I observed. “It’s just a check-up. And you’re clearly doing fine.”
“I’m not worked up,” he snapped, in a totally worked up way. “I don’t like hospitals, that’s all. Full of nosy people, wanting to know your business. Doctors and nurses are all as bad as each other. The police are the same. Schools, too. And don’t get me started on social services.”
I wouldn’t dare. Seemed my companion had an issue with authority.
“Do you include me amongst that lot?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
I took that as a tease. Matt side-eyed me.
“That surgeon guy, though, who did my op. He was okay, which is the only reason I’ve agreed to come. Bent as a three-bob note, mind.”
“What? Alistair?” I spluttered. “How do you know that?”
Matt shrugged. “I could just tell. Just like he could tell about us. Obviously, he assumed we were together. He wouldn’t have agreed with me going home with you otherwise.”