Page 19 of Never Too Late

“Course you do. That’s why you’re smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.” I made a concerted effort to straighten my face. “Was he really sad?”

“Sometimes!”

“Shit!” The word was hard to force out around the sudden lump in my throat. “He shouldn’t give me another chance. He should forcibly march me to the airport and put me on a flight back to Heathrow.”

“He should, but him not doing that should tell you something.”

“What?”

“That he still has feelings for you. Don’t fuck it up this time, Cillian.”

“Don’t say fuck in the office.”

“Or what? You’ll fire me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still fired from the last time.”

“You’re reinstated.”

“Thanks.”

“And now you’re fired.”

“Oh, I’m devastated.” We both laughed at the conversation we’d had so many times before. “Are you going to get a new phone?” Amrita asked.

“Not yet.”

“How am I supposed to contact you, then?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Fine. Say hello to Finn for me. Tell him he deserves a really nice man in his life and not to settle for anything less than the best. And then make sure you prove to him, that’s you.”

“I will. I intend to. No matter how long it takes.”

“Call me if you need me.”

By the end of the second conversation, I felt wrung out, and the hardest phone call lay ahead. A check of my watch told me Finn would still be at work, so I grabbed my coat and went for a long walk.

It was strange to have time on my hands when I wasn’t used to it. Finn was right about one thing: my life did mainly consist of work. I loved my job, but if I carried on the way I was, I risked that being all I had. And was that what I wanted in twenty… thirty years’ time? A successful advertising agency that made shitloads of money, but no one to leave it to when I died because I’d never had the kids I’d thought I would. Did Finn want kids?

I laughed to myself, a passing woman shooting me a strange look. Pondering Finn’s attitude to an extended family was somewhat getting ahead of myself. I could see him as a father, though. He’d make a great one. The kind who attended all his son or daughter’s school plays without fail, and who had brilliant advice to offer no matter what stage of their life they were at.

What kind of father would I be?An absent one, my subconscious insisted.The kind who doesn’t get home from work until after their son or daughter is already in bed. Rinse and repeat until one day you wake up and they’re in their teens and you wonder why all you get them from on the rare occasions your paths cross is backchat. And that’s assuming your marriage actually lasted. It’ll be far more likely that your husband got fed up with being the sole caregiver and left you. Just like Finn did when he came here.As glimpses of a possible future went, it was bleak.

It was so bleak that I did a U-turn and headed back to the hotel, newly bolstered with plans of creating a different future. And that all started with Finn. My feelings for him had been strong enough to bring me here, and strong enough to ignore all the telltale signs of him not exactly being thrilled to see me, of him not regretting what he’d done, and of him doing it again if he got the chance. I needed to press on with my original plan: a fresh start where we did things the right way. And then, and only then, could I ensure the bleak future I’d just envisioned never came to pass.

Finn took long enough to answer his phone that I feared he was otherwise engaged. Maybe with Laurent—the handsome Frenchman who I’d itched to punch in the face for kissing Finn. “It’s me,” I said in answer to his slightly breathless hello.

“Oh.”

There was one of those small signs again. “Hotel phone,” I said. “Therefore, the number isn’t blocked.”

“Easily rectified,” he said semi-seriously.

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