‘Look, what the hell is—’ I begin, but he holds up a finger to stop me.
‘Just a moment.’
He wrangles the ball from the Schnauzer’s mouth and hurls it back across the park – with impressive force for a man who could well be pushing seventy. The little dog blazes after it, yelping with delight, and the old man watches it go with a fond smile.
‘He gets rather fidgety if we stand around talking. Now then …’ He pats my shoulder gently, and we set off on the Schnauzer’s trail. ‘What do you think?’ He glances around the park. ‘Is it everything you hoped for?’
I ignore this question and instead vent the thought that’s been gnawing at me all day. ‘This isn’t it, is it? This isn’t really where I end up?’
The old man shrugs. ‘Why not? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That night in the pub, the night I met you, this was exactly where you were heading. You’ve just arrived a little earlier than expected, that’s all.’
I stop dead and stare at him. Any trace of hope I felt is starting to disappear with the fading sunlight. ‘So you’re telling me this is the final stop?’ I say breathlessly.
‘Your life is the decisions you make,’ the watch-seller says with his trademark infuriating vagueness. ‘Those decisions have led you here.’
It doesn’t compute somehow. My brain won’t let it. ‘But … I can’t be stuck here!’ I’m shouting now. People are starting to stare. ‘There has to be a way back!’
The old man tugs at his beard thoughtfully. ‘But do you want a way back? You know as well as I do what you were thinking on Christmas Eve 2020: that you’d made all the wrong choices, taken the wrong path. Perhaps this is the right one.’
‘This is not the right path!’ I yell.
‘How do you know?’ He looks genuinely curious as he asks this, his blue eyes narrowed, his shaggy head tilted.
I feel the desperation boiling up inside me. ‘Because I’m not in love with Alice! I’m in love with Daphne! She’s …’ My throat tightens and I find I can’t shout any more. ‘She’s my home,’ I say quietly. ‘I have to get back to her. I just have to. If I could only see her, talk to her, just for a minute …’ My eyes are stinging now, and I rub a hand across them. ‘I just … I just want to find out what happened. I want to find out if she’s OK.’
The old man takes this in silently as the Schnauzer comes trotting back over with the red ball.
He reaches down to pet the dog.
‘OK,’ he says softly. And then he glances at something – or someone – behind me.
I turn to follow his gaze, and the whole world starts to blur at the edges.
Chapter Forty-Five
Daphne is not alone.
That’s the first thing I notice. There’s someone sitting beside her on the bench on the other side of the park.
He’s too far away for me to see him clearly, but I know instantly who he is, and suddenly the identity of that sun-hatted man in her profile picture seems agonisingly, gut-wrenchingly obvious.
The old man says something that I don’t catch, because I am on autopilot now: walking away from him, moving towards the bench. I feel like I’m in a snow globe that’s been shaken violently. I want to stop walking, but I can’t. I have to get closer. I have to know.
They’re sitting together, talking animatedly. I can’t tell if they’re holding hands, but they might be. Daphne is turned away from me; I haven’t even seen her face yet.
And as I get closer, all I can think is: I made this happen. Your life is the decisions you make. Well, this was my decision. The worst one I ever made.
Suddenly Rich turns and looks in my direction. Panic rushes through me, freezing me to the spot. I see him mutter something, and then Daphne looks round too, eyes wide, palms out in a what-are-the-chances gesture.
They both stand up, and in the few seconds it takes me to reach them, my whole body clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
‘Hey,’ Daphne says. ‘This is weird. Merry Christmas.’
Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose have been brushed pink by the chilly air. She’s wearing a smart black coat I don’t recognise and a brick-red scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She doesn’t look a day older than when I last saw her. In fact, she looks so beautiful I actually have to glance away.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I say, somehow.
Rich eyes me warily and gives a curt nod. ‘Merry Christmas, mate.’
‘It’s been ages.’ Daphne smiles. Fucking hell, her smile. She hugs herself tightly against the cold wind. ‘So … how are you, Ben? What are you doing here?’ She glances around. ‘Are you by yourself?’
I swallow hard and do everything I can to keep my voice steady. ‘No. Alice is …’ I nod in the direction of the bandstand.
‘Oh, OK. Is she all right?’
‘Yeah, she’s … good.’
‘Good. And hey – congratulations are in order, right?’ She taps her gloved ring finger. ‘Saw her posts on Facebook.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Thanks.’
‘Yeah, nice one, mate.’ Rich gives another unsmiling nod. ‘Congrats.’
He seems obviously on edge – like he’s more than ready to thump me if I come one step closer. But Daff … Daff doesn’t seem fazed. It’s almost like we’re work colleagues who’ve bumped into each other randomly, and she’s obliged to go through the awkward motions of small talk.
I don’t know how I was expecting her to react. I suppose I imagined her breaking down in tears, or screaming at me, or calling me every name under the sun. Whatever I imagined, this is a million times worse.
It’s like she hardly even knows me.
‘So …’ Rich shifts from one foot to the other. ‘We’d better be heading back, actually, mate. Only came out to get a bit of a breather from Daphne’s lot.’
‘Oi.’ Daff rolls her eyes at him. She looks half annoyed, half amused. It’s a look I remember well, and it blows yet another hole straight through me. ‘My mum’s been on the sherry,’ she deadpans. ‘You remember how she gets. Very … Greek.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I remember.’
I must be staring at her too hard now, because she glances down at the ground, and Rich slinks a protective arm around her waist. The sight makes my stomach flip.
He has aged since I last saw him, but maddeningly, he actually looks better for it. Back in 2020, he was lean and skinny and almost boyish, but he must have been hitting the gym hard, because he’s now filled out into a proper, handsome, sturdy man. He has Phil’s salt-and-pepper stubble, as well as his apparently immovable hairline. There is no denying it: he and Daff make a very good-looking couple. The realisation is like a punch in the gut.
My eyes drift back to her. I can’t help it. Is she happy with him? Is this what she wants? Is she happier than she was with me? My head is throbbing with so many questions, but just as I take a breath to steady myself, Rich clears his throat and gives Daphne a look.
‘Well,’ she says. ‘It was good to see you, Ben. Really. Take care of yourself, OK?’