went and sat down, and a few moments later a woman came and cleared up the two trays overladen with dirty crockery and half-eaten bits of food that were taking up most of the space on the table. ‘It’s a self-clear area,’ she said to me, pointing at the sign. ‘You’d think people could read in this day and age, wouldn’t you?’
I looked up at her and she didn’t speak to me again. Did I have some mark on my face, I wondered? Some sign that said ‘Recently Bereaved, Handle with Care’? I even smiled at her, but still she left me to it, taking the dirty trays with her.
Sam sat down in front of me and slid a mug of beige-coloured foam across the table in my direction, followed by a handful of sugar sachets and a KitKat.
‘I don’t really take sugar,’ I said.
‘Have you eaten anything? When did you last have something to drink? I think you could do with some sugar.’
‘Are you my personal dietician now or something?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Put sugar in it and I might leave you in peace for a while.’
He made me smile, but I did as I was told. When I started eating the chocolate I realised I was hungry. My stomach growled and churned at the food. I sipped at the drink, expecting it to be boiling hot, but it was barely lukewarm.
‘I think their machine’s had it,’ I said. The coffee tasted of UHT milk.
‘Yeah.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me about the case?’
‘Interesting as that conversation might be, that’s not what I’m here for.’
‘Oh? What are you here for?’
He leaned forwards slightly. ‘I rang your office again. Then I rang DI Frost. He told me you’d suffered an unexpected bereavement and that you wouldn’t be in for a while.’
‘So you came here…?’
‘To find you.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if you were alright. Do you have anyone? Brothers, sisters? Other family?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Anyway, as I said to you before, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of things, I always have. I just have to work my way through a list…’
I gulped at the coffee, thinking that the sooner I drank it, the sooner I could get out of here and get home. Something was building up inside me, a feeling of unease, as if I was going to be sick or was coming down with something. I didn’t want to be here any more. I wanted to be outside, in the fresh air, and then I wanted to go home and lock the door and not open it again.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I lost my mum last year. I know a bit about what it’s like. I just thought I might be able to give you a bit of support.’
‘Why?’
‘What?’
‘Why did she die? Was she ill?’
‘She had cancer.’
I nodded, although I had no frame of reference for this. My mother had suffered a stroke. Yes, she was housebound. Yes, she was elderly and frail. But aside from that, and the chest infection, she hadn’t been seriously ill at all. Only yesterday she’d been muttering some complaint about the prime minister while I cooked her dinner and put the shopping away.
I tried to remember the last thing she’d said to me. Had she even said goodbye? When was the last time I’d said something nice to her? Asked her how she felt, if she was happy? When was the last time I’d told her I loved her?
‘I feel as if I should be crying, but I don’t feel like I can,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to do anything,’ he said. ‘And besides, it will take a long time for you to process all this.’
‘What does that mean?’ I snapped. ‘I’m not a manufacturing plant, I’m a human being. I’m not going to “process” anything at all. I’m not going to come to terms with it, get over it or deal with it. I’m just going to carry on with my life because that’s all I am able to do, the same as I’ve always done.’
He made a noise like a sigh and was about to say something, but stopped himself and drank the rest of his coffee instead.
‘Sorry,’ I said, a few minutes later.
He shrugged. ‘No probs. Just trying to help.’
‘So I guess your office went a bit mad after that phone call yesterday, right?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Is this the end of the Love Your Neighbour campaign?’