44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [57]
Was it inclusive to like everything?
They had parted in a civil fashion. After a small amount of rather stiff conversation, Chris had looked at his watch and remembered another commitment, just seconds before Pat had been planning to recover from a similar lapse of memory.
“Maybe we’ll meet again,” he had said, looking dubiously around at the décor of the wine bar and at the other customers.
“You never know.”
“Maybe,” said Pat. “And I’m really sorry if I offended you. I really am . . .”
He raised a hand. “Water under the bridge. Don’t worry. It’s just that this place gets me down from time to time. It’s not your fault. Maybe I should go back to Falkirk.”
“You can’t go back to Falkirk,” said Pat. She said this and then stopped: it sounded as if she was expressing a major truth about life, and about Falkirk, which was not the case. Chris looked at her quizzically. “Why not?”
“Well, maybe you can. Maybe Falkirk’s all right to go back to, if you come from there to begin with, if you see what I mean. What I wanted to say was that in general, in life, you can’t go back.”
He looked at his watch. “I actually do have to see somebody,”
he said. “I really must go.”
After Chris had gone, Pat stood by herself at the bar for a
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short while. The barman, who had observed the scene, came over towards her, casually wiping the bar with a cloth.
“Chris gone?” he asked.
Pat looked down into her glass. “He did hear,” she said quietly.
“He heard what I said about his laugh. I feel terrible.”
The barman reached over and touched her lightly on the wrist.
“You shouldn’t. That was nothing. You should hear some of the things that are said in this place. Horrible things. Cruel things. What you said was nothing.”
Pat looked at him. “But he was upset. He said that’s how people are in this city.”
“He’s a bit marginal if you ask me,” said the barman. “I see all types in this job, and I know. He’s a cop, by the way. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I did. But how did you know? Had you met him before?”
The barman winked at her. “I can tell a mile off. And it’s not a good idea to get too involved with cops. They can be difficult.”
He paused. “Anyway, you see that guy at the end there, the one in the cord jacket? He’s been wanting to talk to you all evening. But take my advice, don’t.”
Pat glanced at the young man, who had remained at his place further down the bar throughout her ill-fated encounter with Chris. 120
Irene and Stuart: A Breakfast Conversazione He was picking at a small dish of olives before him, looking ahead, although now he glanced at her quickly, and then looked away again.
“Why?” asked Pat.
“Just don’t,” said the barman. “I know. Just don’t.”
The barman turned away. He had customers to deal with and Pat, left by herself, finished the last of her drink, and walked out of the wine bar. She noticed that the young man in the cord jacket watched her as she left, but she kept her eyes on the door and did not glance in his direction. It was fine outside, and night was just beginning to fall. She looked up at the sky, which was clear. It was still blue, but only just, and in minutes would shade into darkness.
47. Irene and Stuart: A Breakfast Conversazione It was a Saturday, and there was no need for Stuart to rush to catch the bus to work, yet he was an early riser and by the time that Irene got up he had already chopped the nuts and sliced the bananas for the Bircher muesli. He had also gone out to the newsagent for the papers, and was reading a review when Irene came into the kitchen.
“Anything?” asked