A Season for Second Chances(70)

“I guess I’d better get this lot cleared up and ready for the morning,” she said.

“I’ll help.”

“Thank you. You don’t have to, but thank you. You can eat leftover cold spuds and cake as payment.”

“How could any man refuse?”

They set about sweeping and cleaning down and moving the tables and chairs back to where they ought to be, chatting as they worked. Annie made them a hot chocolate each before turning off the coffee machine and cleaning it down.

“I see you’ve met Alfred.”

Annie’s guard was suddenly up.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s a good man.”

“He used to sleep in the café when the weather was bad. Mari thought I didn’t know.”

“He still does,” said Annie.

“And you don’t mind?”

“No, why should I? He’s no trouble. Scared the shit out of me when I first found him down here, but now I rather like having him here.”

“He’s too old to live the way he does. He should be living comfortably somewhere in his old age, not kipping on cold floors and in caves.”

“He’s not that old,” said Annie. “What is he? Late fifties? Early sixties?”

“Too old to be sleeping on the streets.”

“Well, yes, I grant you that, there’s no good age to be sleeping rough. But he’s not on the streets at present.”

“Not here, no. But where do you think he sleeps when he heads into the city for winter?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m fairly sure he doesn’t have a café owner in the city willing to let him camp out on her floor every night,” said John.

“I’m not disagreeing with you. I’d like to see Alfred somewhere safe and warm too, but it’s not as easy as just finding him somewhere to live, is it? Gemma said there’ve been attempts to house him before that haven’t worked out. We have to respect that Alfred is a complex man with complex needs.”

“At what point does respect become irresponsible?”

“What do you suggest?” asked Annie. “We can’t force him into housing! It’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s easy to be flippant until somebody finds him dead on the beach from pneumonia.”

“You’re talking as if Alfred is my responsibility,” said Annie.

“Not just yours. Mine. Everybody’s. Apathy is as dangerous as ignorance.”

“I am neither apathetic nor ignorant toward Alfred’s plight,” said Annie.

He held his hands up. “That came out wrong, that’s not what . . .”

“Do you know what?” said Annie. “I’m just about sick of men telling me how life is, or what they think my thoughts on a subject are. Thank you for your help today, but I can take it from here.”

She held out her hand to take the broom from John. John opened his mouth to speak, but Annie gave him a look that brooked no discussion. He sighed and handed over the broom.

“You’re impossible!” said John, and without another word, he picked his jacket from the hook by the door and left.

Damn, Annie thought. I guess the truce is over.





Chapter 55



When she got back up to the flat, she fed Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and got into her pajamas. She couldn’t settle. She tried watching television, drinking hot chocolate with brandy, and reading Lady Audley’s Secret to soothe herself, but nothing held her attention. She was even too fidgety for Tiggs to bother with her.

She hadn’t wanted to argue with John. He just seemed to push her buttons. She harrumphed as she raked over their disagreement. So far, though he was bullish and self-righteous, John’s only real crimes had been to seek enough money to look after an elderly aunt in her twilight years and to suggest that a sixty-something man shouldn’t be homeless. What had happened here, she surmised, was a classic case of transference; she was taking out her feelings of frustration and powerlessness with Max on John.

Max’s passive aggression bordered on abusive; even when she was aware of what he was doing, his words would leave her tongue-tied and impotent, like screaming through duct tape. She’d been frustrated for so long that John’s unthreatening, plain-speaking manner seemed to set all her pent-up words free. She knew, somehow, there’d be no repercussions with John. But feeling safe with him didn’t mean she could behave like an arse; in fact, she reasoned, it ought to garner the opposite response. He did still push her buttons, though . . .

“Oh my God!” She raised her hands heavenward in exasperation. “Why is he so annoying?” She was offered no response to her pleas, other than Tiggs regurgitating and waking herself up with a start.

“Serves you right for eating your supper like a pig,” said Annie.

Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle eyed Annie with contempt and settled back down to sleep.

Annie huffed. “Oh, all right,” she said irritably to no one at all. She picked up her phone and texted John.


I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped like I did. Well, actually, I do know but it’s too complicated to go into over text. The thing is, my anger wasn’t aimed at you and it was unfair of me to go off like that. I’m sorry that our truce ended. Thank you for helping to make my first ever Halloween party so enjoyable.