Another Cup of Coffee (32 page)

‘Tube delays. I couldn't get a signal down there to let you know.' Paul felt awkward, not quite sure what to say next, having held her slightly longer than perhaps was normal for a couple of friends. He'd engineered this opportunity to get her alone, and now he was here, he was tongue-tied.

Amy unwittingly came to his rescue. ‘You getting a coffee then?'

‘Yes, sure. You want a top-up? Black I assume?'

‘Yes please.'

‘Any cake?'

‘No thanks.'

Amy watched Paul flirt with the Polish girl behind the counter as he placed his request. He seemed taller than she remembered. His black hair was still cropped very short, but it wasn't as severe as the shaved style he'd favoured as a student. His jeans were blue rather than black, and his shirt, although crumpled, was smarter than the off-white T-shirts she'd always associated with him. Smarter. He was definitely smarter. A huge brown overcoat, which probably weighed a ton, covered the back view of him almost completely, with the heels of his Doc Martens only just visible below the hem.

How come she hadn't noticed how attractive he was back then? Amy felt taken aback at the alien notion, and abruptly pushed the idea away. Yet that hug …

Amy reined in and dismissed her wild flight of fancy as Paul returned with their refreshments. After they'd covered a wide range of comfortable reminiscences and laughed heartily at their past selves, Amy brought the conversation back up-to-date.

‘So, is anyone special waiting for you back on site?'

Paul pushed his cup aside. ‘No. No one's twiddling their trowel and pining for my return.'

‘That's not like you.'

Paul regarded Amy as if she was nuts. ‘I'm not stuck in a timewarp, Amy. I'm thirty-four. That pretty much makes me the father figure. I'm the oldest guy on site by at least five years. It's the twenty-somethings that have the trowel-twiddlers waiting for them these days.'

‘But surely …' Amy was genuinely shocked. She was so sure that things would have been just as she'd left them. ‘You must meet heaps of nice people.'

‘Sure I do. I have many friends, both male and female, right across the world.'

Amy wasn't quite sure why she pushed further, ‘But no one special?'

‘Not since uni.' Paul sighed, not sure if he was ready to go where this conversation might take them.

‘Uni?' Amy couldn't believe it. This was Paul. The guy every girl had wanted to date back then. Well, every girl bar her. Yet none of the string of young women he'd dated had ever lasted more than a fortnight, and for the life of her, Amy couldn't remember if Paul had especially liked any of them. ‘Who was that then? You never said at the time.'

Paul hesitated, before taking the easy way out, ‘You never met her. Let's go and explore. Gallery, museum, or a walk in the park?'

Amy was disappointed by his answer, but accepted it for now. She looked at her watch; it had already gone one. ‘How about we nip into the National Portrait Gallery, have a quick mooch around and then grab a bit of lunch.'

‘Good idea, is there a good café in there?'

‘Two; but the Portrait Restaurant is fantastic, you get views right across London. I went in with my friend Kit before Christmas.' Amy paused. ‘It's a bit expensive though. We could go into the Lounge area, that's better price-wise, although maybe we shouldn't …' Uncertainty took hold, as Amy's words trailed off.

Paul intercepted her rambling, ‘Amy, this is my treat.'

‘But archaeologists earn crap money.' Amy blushed as she blurted out the sentence.

‘Oh, thanks!' Paul laughed at her, ‘Although I can't argue. However, I have news on that front. Come on, I have heaps to tell you yet. Show me these amazing views of yours, and tell me about your new friends.'

They were in luck. After a companionable hour soaking in the diverse art work, they found a two-seater table available at the very edge of the lounge bar. After purchasing a glass of white wine each, they sat in silence for a moment, staring at the world through the window. It was all there. London. Everything the tourist could hope to see in one complete eyeful. St Paul's, the Eye, Big Ben. Everything.

‘It quite takes the breath away Amy. All that history.'

Without turning from the view, Amy ran through their personal history as she replied. ‘I knew you'd appreciate it.'

The waiter came over and took their order for two bowls of wild mushroom soup and homemade bread, before leaving them to soak up the panorama. Amy was the first to break the silence, ‘You were going to tell me something?'

‘Ah, right,' he put down his own glass and sat back in his seat, ‘I will, but first I want to know if you saw sense and took the management post you were offered?'

‘I did,' Amy took a draft of alcohol, ‘thanks to you.'

‘Me?'

‘You helped me clarify a few things. I was so sure I had been set up, I felt feeling manipulated, but you made me see it wasn't really like that.'

‘Of course it wasn't.'

‘My friends were just trying to do their best for me.'

Paul was pleased, ‘Good. I'm glad. Now I can press ahead with my plans.'

Amy was intrigued, and more than a little impatient, ‘Tell me, then!'

‘As I said, I'm no spring chicken on the excavation circuit. If I'm not actually running the dig, then I'm at least responsible for a good part of it.'

‘That's great. Your CV must be excellent. You always were the only one who could tell an ordinary stone from a Neolithic axe-head.'

Paul smiled in acknowledgement, ‘I've seen the world Amy. I've found and seen all sorts of marvellous things. Written thousands of reports, drawn a million diagrams, been cited in heaps of books, but I've had enough.'

Amy was startled. ‘But Paul, it's your life!'

‘Yes, it is. But I'm fast heading towards my forties, Amy. I have, as I've said, friends everywhere, but no one waits for me when I do get home. Only my parents miss me if a dig is extended at the last minute. It's just not enough anymore.'

Like me,
Amy thought.
There's no one at home, not for me anyway
. ‘So, what will you do?'

Paul returned his gaze to the view; the people below looked tiny as they scuttled about, oblivious to the fact that they were being observed. ‘Is it nice living in London?'

‘Bit expensive I guess, and a touch overwhelming sometimes, but I like it.' Amy began to nibble at the soft granary bread which a waiter had placed in the centre of their table.

‘Rob loves it, and I guess Jack does. I suppose the night life suits him.' Paul verbally pounced as Amy reddened at the mention of Jack's name, ‘What is it? What's he done to you now?'

‘Nothing.' Amy put up a hand, ‘Really, nothing. I'll tell you all about it later. Go on with what you were telling me about London. Are you coming here to work? Are you?' Amy felt as if she was on tenterhooks as she waited for his answer.

She seemed so eager; Paul felt more hopeful than he had dared allow himself to before. ‘I have the chance to. I wanted to know what you thought.'

‘And what Rob thinks, of course,' Amy added.

‘Oh yes, and Rob.'

Fifty-seven

January 23
^rd
2007

There was a crispness in the air as they walked through St James' Park. Striding side-by-side with Paul in the fading light of a winter afternoon, Amy took advantage of the comfortable silence and replayed almost every word of the day's conversation through her head. Suppressing the nagging voice at the back of her head, that was desperately trying to tell her she was missing something important, she reflected on Paul's career plans.

After a series of interviews, about which he'd told no one for fear of jinxing himself, Paul had been offered the position of assistant curator behind the scenes at the British Museum, in charge of finding and acquiring new exhibits for the medieval department. Paul had said that, if both she and Rob were staying in the area, then he'd be very tempted to take the job.

Amy had just about been able to stop the internal whoops of joy escaping from her mouth by keeping her face as impassive as possible. Having felt herself manipulated (all be it with good intentions), into taking a job, she didn't want her happiness at having Paul around more often to be a factor in his decision about whether he took the job or not. By the time Paul had finished explaining about it, Amy's facial muscles were aching from lack of expression, as she simply said it sounded great, and that it would be fantastic to see him more than once a decade.

Paul risked a glance at her as they passed Duck Island. After her initial enthusiasm, Amy hadn't even blinked when he told her about the job. She'd said she was pleased for him, and that had appeared genuine enough.
What did you expect?
He had no reason to think she'd gush. They had only ever been friends. Jack had always been the one.
Jack
?

He broke into Amy's companionable silence, ‘You were going to tell me something about Jack?'

‘So I was. He's found someone at last. A nice guy called Toby. They're going to go travelling together for a while.' Amy, not daring to look at Paul, groaned inwardly at the sing-song tone of her voice.

Paul listened carefully as she brought him up to date, wondering why Amy had flinched when he'd mentioned Jack's name. ‘I'm surprised. I assumed he'd play the field forever.'

‘I think he did too. Toby was as much a surprise to Jack as everyone else.' Amy was studying the ground as she spoke.

‘You OK about it?'

‘Yes,' Amy sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, I wasn't, but I am now. I was foolish.'

Paul spoke softly, ‘Tell me.'

So she told him everything from the very beginning, repeating information he knew, and filling him in on what he didn't. The letter and the tape. How she'd put off meeting Jack at first, but when they'd got together, the old spark had been there, just as before. How on the surface nothing had changed, and yet how everything had – and how something in her had foolishly refused to see it.

‘Amy,' Paul sank down onto the nearest bench, pulling her down next to him, ‘Jack is a nice person, most of the time at least. But he is a totally, completely, utterly
crap
boyfriend.'

‘That's exactly what Rob and Debbie said!'

‘I'm not surprised.' Paul was irate, his arms animating his words as he spoke faster and faster. ‘He treated you like shit. One minute on, one minute off. God! It was agony watching you so unhappy. He had you hook, line and sinker.'

Amy was so surprised at his explosion that she sat down next to him, open-mouthed. She tried to say she knew that, and that she should never have let it last so long, but her words stuck in her throat in the face of his unexpected rant.

Paul registered her newly pallid face, and stopped talking. ‘God, I'm sorry Amy.'

‘It's OK,' she felt unsettled as her mind raced.
Why was Paul so upset about it now, all these years later?

‘It was horrible watching you with Jack. You were worth ten of him. Jack was my friend, still is I hope, but for a while I hated him. And now he's gone and hurt you
again.
'

‘Paul!' Amy had to shout to get him to stop. ‘Please! Listen; in the past, yes, it was mostly him, not all him, but mostly. This time it was me.'

Paul's brow furrowed as he listened, ‘What do you mean?'

‘It was comfortable being with him. I was in a new place with new people, and he was familiar, easy to relax with after a day's work. I let my imagination run away with me. My fault. My problem.'

‘But …'

‘
And
,' she spoke forcefully. ‘I'm past all that now.' Amy continued more calmly. ‘I've got a new job, friends, and a future. That's why I came here, why I left Scotland. Jack was simply the catalyst, I see that now. He will always be important to me; a special friend, but that's all.'

Accepting what she said, Paul filed the information away to be dealt with later. He stood back up. ‘Come on, it's getting dark, let's walk.'

‘Have you heard from Amy today? I've been trying to call her. I think her mobile must be off.' Jack was on his hands and knees sorting out a batch of children's books for the Spring window display, before he closed the shop for the day.

Rob, busy at the computer, replied without looking up. ‘She's out with Paul today; they're probably in a museum or something.'

‘Paul's here? That's great, you should have said.' Jack paused, mildly put out that he hadn't been told one of his oldest friends was in the area. ‘I would have covered if you'd wanted to go out with them.'

Rob, his face hidden by the monitor, grinned to himself, ‘Thanks Jack, but Paul asked if I'd cry off.'

Jack straightened up, a pile of the stuffed toy chicks and lambs Phil had asked them to order, balanced in his arms, ‘Paul did? Why?'

Rob winked at him, ‘Why do you think?'

‘Paul! No way! Really?' Jack was stunned.

‘Oh yes.' Rob felt a childish thrill at shocking Jack where Amy was concerned.

Jack found he had to speak slowly so that his voice didn't waver. ‘So, when did he start liking my Amy then?'

‘Always, mate. Always. And,' Rob spoke with deliberate clarity, ‘she hasn't been
your
Amy for a very long time.'

Jack felt himself go hot as he watched Rob, his head bent as he studied the latest email order. ‘Paul liked her? Even back then?' Jack asked quietly.

This time Rob didn't raise his head from his work. ‘Even back then, mate, even back then.'

Kit felt bizarrely satisfied as she examined the text from Rob. She'd been thinking about Amy, on and off, as she sat writing in Pickwicks, wondering if Paul had declared himself yet. Rob shouldn't have told her really, and Kit desperately hoped that Amy wasn't going to be the last one to know how much Paul cared for her.