Page 4 of The Meet Queue-t
“It was my mum,” he says at last. “In case that wasn’t immediatelyobvious.”
I resist the urge to give him an entirely weird thumbs up and just nod encouragingly. “Yeah, I figured.”
“She . . . has Alzheimer’s.”
Oh. Shit.
Grief hits me hard and fast. Grief for him, because Alzheimer’s sucks, and grief again for me. Like that first day, like all the days after, when the force of it knocks you on your back and pummels you until you can’t breathe.
The kind of pain you think you won’t survive.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay.” He rubs at the space above the bridge of his glasses. His frown eases. After another second, he says, “My dad lives with her. She was diagnosed fairly recently, so most of the time she’s okay, still herself, but sometimes she gets confused. Just sees my number in her phone and calls.” Another hesitation, like he’s searching for the words but doesn’t know where to find them. I don’t dare say anything that might break the spell. “It’s like she knows I’m important to her, but often she doesn’t knowwhy. So I guess she’s calling to find out. But when she’s that confused, she needs someone there to look after her, so I need her to get my dad, and it’s just . . .” He scrubs another hand through his hair. “It’s difficult.”
My heart hurts for him. Attending Mum’s funeral was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but at least she knew who I was until the bitter end. I can’t imagine being forgotten by the person who’s supposed to love you the most.
“Sorry,” he says, glancing sidelong at me. “That was a bit heavy.”
“It’s okay. I think sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than a friend about this stuff.” I wrap my hands around my elbows. “That sounds really tough. I’m sorry. It’s always hard when someone you love stops being . . . who you love.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “Speaking from experience?”
“I don’t have anyone with Alzheimer’s,” I say quickly. Just a cheating ex-fiancé. “That was just a general statement.”
He nods, and silence falls between us again, but this time he puts his Kindle in his bag, like he’s committing to our conversation, even if it doesn’t exist right now. The queue moves gradually on, and we’re pulled with its tide.
He turns to look at me, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the light from the nearby lamp. His mouth is soft, though it’s probably best I don’t look at his mouth too much. For my own sanity. Getting a crush now would be a terrible, terrible idea.
“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” he says.
“Terribly.” I grin at his expression of shock. “I’m kidding. What is it?”
“I can’t help noticing you’re here alone.”
Ouch. Another blow to my fragile heart. I cover it with a shrug. “So are you.”
“Touché. No one I know wanted to come.” He raises a brow at me in a clear challenge.
“Me neither,” I say. It’s the truth, sort of. Granny would have come if I’d asked—but I needed this one thing to be just mine. Mine and Mum’s. I just hadn’t realised, before I came here, what being on my ownmeant.
It meant being alone.
To distract myself from the depressing thoughts, I reach for my phone. Half past ten. Bedtime for me, usually, seeing as I got up at half five. At least tomorrow won’t be an early start. Or maybe technically it counts if you haven’t slept beforehand. Honestly, I don’t know how all-nighters are considered as, apart from mistakes.
Yawning violently, I shove my phone into my back pocket. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, as Granny always says.
“Want a coffee?” Oliver asks, and without waiting for a response, digs in his bag, pulling out a flask. “You look tired.”
I can’t summon the energy to be offended. “Pretty sure that’s an insult.”
“Pretty sure that’s an observation, seeing as you just yawned wide enough to swallow the moon.”
I accept the thermos and wrap my hands around it, but it’s not warming. Probably because that’s the entire point of a thermos. “Don’t you want it?”
“Thanks to the incredible amount of caffeine I ingested earlier, I think I’d just jitter straight into the Thames. You’d have to fish me out.”
I stare at the water, black in the darkness except for the lights superimposed on the surface. “If you jitter yourself in there, you’re on your own.”
