The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

I know he won’t be expecting it. I still need to break the news to him that I won’t be able to go on any more dates after this one tonight, and that will be difficult. The sight of the colourful flowers in his hand only makes it even more so.

‘I got these for you,’ Charles says, holding out the bouquet of purple lilies towards me. ‘It’s why I was so late. I was trying to find a good bunch.’

‘You didn’t have to do that!’ I say, accepting the flowers. ‘They’re beautiful!’

I mean it. They really are. I can’t believe he remembered what my favourite flowers are. I only mentioned it in passing, and it must have been several weeks ago when I did.

‘Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady,’ Charles says, and then he proceeds to pull out my chair a little more from the table. ‘Please, after you.’

I graciously accept the offer of a seat as Charles slowly removes his smart dinner jacket and goes to hang it on the back of his chair.

The waiter who served me my water is quickly on hand to ask if Charles would like to put his jacket in the cloakroom, but I already know what the response will be. Charles will say no because he had an experience where his coat went missing once, and he was rather upset about that because his wife had bought it for him.

‘No, thank you,’ Charles tells the waiter politely but firmly. ‘But could we have some water for the flowers, please?’

‘Of course, sir.’

The waiter scurries away as Charles eases himself into his seat, and I smile at this pleasant man as I hold onto the flowers while awaiting the water.

‘So how have you been, my dear?’ he asks me, his left hand trembling slightly as he fiddles with the button on his shirtsleeve.

‘I’ve been very well, thank you,’ I reply, noticing his struggle with the button but making sure not to let him see that I have. He is a very proud man, and I know he likes to think of himself as still being younger than his years give away.

During our dates, I have noticed that he seems to go through spells where he is surprisingly spritely but then fairly frail. I feel as if being around him is witnessing the body’s constant battle with itself as it descends into old age and can no longer do the things that used to come so easily to it. It’s sad to see, but it will happen to us all, I suppose.

Not for the first time since being around Charles, I think about my own mortality and what it will be like to grow old alone. While Charles had his love life cut tragically short by his wife’s passing, I have no such excuse. The only dates I have been on recently have been the professional kind where I am getting paid for it. Maybe it’s time for me to do something about that. Charles has already told me that it’s a shame for a pretty woman like me to be going to bed alone every night, and I understand what he means, even if I was a little surprised to hear him say it. He was letting me know that I deserve company, and to fall asleep beside the person I love before waking up in their arms and looking forward to a new day with them. I know that I do want that too, even after I have been hurt so many times, and even after what my last boyfriend did to me. But for now, I am focused on myself and my career. I am going to be a writer. That is the goal. But being with Charles reminds me that there is more to life than just personal ambitions.

It isn’t much of a life without love.

As the waiter returns to our table with a vase of water for my flowers, I feel bad that I’m going to be putting a stop to these dates with Charles after this evening. I will have to break the news gently, but I will tell him the truth. He knows that this is just a job for me, and he knows about my big plans, so I doubt he will begrudge me pursuing them. But I expect he will be a little sad to no longer have our dates to look forward to, and I will be too. He has told me that it took him a long time to pluck up the courage to even try escorting and that he wouldn’t want to do it if I stopped. Sadly, that is what I am going to do.

But we can enjoy a few glasses of wine before I tell him that.

25

AMANDA

The sound of the can being cracked open behind me snaps me out of my daydream, and I turn around to see a guy two rows behind me sipping a cheap lager. While I’m not a fan of his drink of choice, I don’t begrudge him a drink on his way home this evening. I went through a little spell where I used to have a can of gin and tonic on my way home every night, but I put a stop to it when one can turned into two and it became the only highlight of my day.

‘Thirsty?’

I turn back around and look at the man at my table.

‘No,’ I reply.

‘I am,’ he tells me. ‘I’m looking forward to a beer when all of this is over. Which reminds me, you’ve only got fifteen minutes left before time is up and Louise pays for your stubbornness.’

He taps his watch again, but it’s his phone I am looking at.

I am praying he lets go of it again.

‘If I’m honest, I’m surprised you have lasted this long,’ he says to me, sitting forward again. ‘I think most mums would have just given up the code the second they found out their child was in danger.’

‘Why