It’s funny how in this world we all rush about like hordes of teeming worker ants, focused on our individual errands, together but not together, our paths coming close. They may sometimes cross, yet so often we aren’t even aware of it.
Jack is intent on his own troubles, his dark head bent low into the torrential wind and rain driving relentlessly into his face. The fateful papers are clutched to his chest in a simple plastic wallet. Not very classy, but he can’t afford leather after all the solicitor’s fees.
Besides, ‘there’s nothing more we can do at this point,’ the incredibly serious, smartly suited man had said with a sigh. Honestly, did he really have to be so dismal?
‘You’ll soon bounce back, mate – you’re like a rubber band,’ he could hear his brother Sam saying. Sam is four years older than him and therefore supposedly more mature, but can usually be relied upon to create comedy even in the most hideous of situations. ‘When life gives you lemons, just make a darn good gin and tonic,’ is one of his favourite sayings.
Everything is a bit of a mess now, though, just when Jack thought he’d got his life all worked out. It had all been going so well. Finally he had been having some fun, being normal, right up until he blew it. Maybe he should have stayed in Greece; he’d been happy there – not settled with a family like Sam of course, but at least he’d had a good time. He remembers his first day in Agios Nikolaos, learning how to make Ouzotini. The Greek people treated him like family. The endless blue skies, the brilliant white of the ancient buildings glistening in the sun, the banter in the taverna had all been exhilarating. He wished it could have gone on forever.
Especially on days like this, though to be fair the weather seems to match his mood. He pulls his hood further over his head and huddles deeper inside his coat against the onslaught of rain, as a car races past and splashes water up his leg.
Greece had been wonderful, but he’d missed Sam. And now Sam is going to be a dad, and ‘Uncle Jack’ has a certain ring to it. He wouldn’t want to miss out on that. Not that it had been an easy decision. After years of medical tests, sheets of rules, special diets and regulations, Greece had been the sanctuary he needed. But it was an escape, running away from reality. Sam knew that and unlike their parents, he had vaguely understood. ‘Main thing is you got it out of your system, mate,’ he had said. But on the upside, Jack loves his job at Soho. It’s a laugh and there’s a terrific crowd of regulars, especially on a Saturday night. His daiquiri is legendary, so deceptively simple to make but incredibly difficult to get the balance right. He’d learned that on his course and it was well worth all the practising.
Jack hurries across the street. It’s not long until his hospital appointment – nothing serious, just his regular blood test. He hopes they are more accurate than usual when they jab the needle in. His veins are all too prone to playing hard to get and afterwards he often looks as though they have been using him for target practice.
His phone blasts out.
‘Where are you, mate?’ Sam asks. ‘I’m driving into the car park.’
‘I’ll meet you inside,’ says Jack. ‘The solicitor took longer than I thought, boring old sod.’
‘You’re always bloody late. Any news?’
‘No of course not.’
‘What a surprise! See you in ten.’
Jack is half-running towards the multi-storey – he’s going to be far longer than ten minutes. No one minds lateness if you’ve achieved what you needed to, but it had been such a waste of time. He cuts through the street and round the corner, slap bang into two women who are hurrying the other way.
One is carrying a pile of magazines and papers, most of which spill onto the rain-soaked pavement.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she shouts.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jack says, attempting to scrape sodden pages off the unforgiving cobbles.
‘It’s fine,’ the woman, who has a choppy blonde bob, says tightly. It obviously is not at all fine, thinks Jack. The wet magazines in his hand are covered with images of brides resplendent in various white frothy dresses, now looking splodgy, the colour of the print running into the white.
Next to her is another young woman – although it’s difficult