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Authors: Mark Morris
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conversation last night, so I texted her back to say I was working on it. Then I logged on to the internet and looked at the news and sport headlines without taking anything in. I finished my wine, and at first decided not to get another until Benny turned up, then thought it’d look a bit pathetic if I was sitting there with nothing in front of me when he arrived. So I got up from my seat and went over to the bar, purposely ignoring the blonde who’d eyed me earlier and who I could see out of the corner of my eye was doing so again.
I ordered another Merlot, and was rooting in my pocket for change when I sensed a presence behind me. Thinking it was the blonde, I turned, and suddenly there he was.
‘Hello, Alex,’ he said.
He’d aged well. He had a few lines around his eyes and mouth, and his sandy hair, now cropped short, had turned grey at the temples, but otherwise he was tanned, slim and fit-looking. He was wearing a grey suit and a pale blue shirt with no tie – classy, but not too flash. Seeing him gave me a renewed and vertiginous realisation that I’d reached into the past and pulled it into the present despite my good intentions, and that there was now no turning back. I covered my apprehension by smiling and holding out my hand.
‘Benny. It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming.’
His grip was firm and dry. I was surprised to find he was shorter than I’d remembered, certainly a good three or four inches shorter than my own six-two. In prison he had always seemed to dominate any room he was in, and I supposed in the intervening years I’d mistakenly linked the force of his personality with a physical presence more intimidating than he actually possessed.
‘Good to see you too, Alex. What are you drinking?’
‘My shout,’ I said. ‘It’s because of me that you’re here, after all.’
His expression didn’t change, nor his stance. Yet suddenly I became aware that his pale blue eyes were fixed on me, and it was as if a chill had crept in from somewhere. I felt the muscles tighten in my cheeks.
Pleasantly he said, ‘Take it from me, I never go anywhere unless I want to.’
‘Course not,’ I said, trying to keep my own voice light. ‘Which is why I’m so grateful you agreed to see me.’
His ice-chip eyes regarded me a split second longer, and then flickered away to assess the array of bottles behind the bar. ‘I’ll have a Scotch and soda,’ he said. ‘No ice.’
Rather than making small talk at the bar he turned and padded across to a table near the window. He moved confidently, almost daintily, like a dancer. He sat and turned his face to the last of the day’s meagre daylight dribbling in through the distorted glass, his hands folded in his lap. He didn’t move until I had placed our glasses on the table and sat down, and then he turned to me.
‘Suppose you’re good at reading people, picking up signals?’ he said without preamble. ‘Non-verbal communication and all that?’
I shrugged, wondering whether I was being tested, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to psychoanalyse him. ‘Well, I know the theory. But practical application’s a different matter. What you become aware of more than anything, the further you read into the subject, is how many hang-ups you’ve got.’
Benny chuckled. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, that blonde over there’s got the hots for you.’ He indicated where he meant with the slightest twitch of his head.
I resisted the impulse to look over. ‘I’d have to have been blind not to have noticed that.’
We laughed together, and I felt my tension slowly easing. Then Benny said, ‘You’ve been regretting ringing me all day, haven’t you, Alex? You’ve been wondering whether you made a mistake by picking up the phone this morning?’
I’d half-raised my glass to my mouth, but now I froze and looked at him. ‘What makes you say that?’
He took a sip from his own glass, as if encouraging me to do the same. ‘Relax, son. I’m not
I ordered another Merlot, and was rooting in my pocket for change when I sensed a presence behind me. Thinking it was the blonde, I turned, and suddenly there he was.
‘Hello, Alex,’ he said.
He’d aged well. He had a few lines around his eyes and mouth, and his sandy hair, now cropped short, had turned grey at the temples, but otherwise he was tanned, slim and fit-looking. He was wearing a grey suit and a pale blue shirt with no tie – classy, but not too flash. Seeing him gave me a renewed and vertiginous realisation that I’d reached into the past and pulled it into the present despite my good intentions, and that there was now no turning back. I covered my apprehension by smiling and holding out my hand.
‘Benny. It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming.’
His grip was firm and dry. I was surprised to find he was shorter than I’d remembered, certainly a good three or four inches shorter than my own six-two. In prison he had always seemed to dominate any room he was in, and I supposed in the intervening years I’d mistakenly linked the force of his personality with a physical presence more intimidating than he actually possessed.
‘Good to see you too, Alex. What are you drinking?’
‘My shout,’ I said. ‘It’s because of me that you’re here, after all.’
His expression didn’t change, nor his stance. Yet suddenly I became aware that his pale blue eyes were fixed on me, and it was as if a chill had crept in from somewhere. I felt the muscles tighten in my cheeks.
Pleasantly he said, ‘Take it from me, I never go anywhere unless I want to.’
‘Course not,’ I said, trying to keep my own voice light. ‘Which is why I’m so grateful you agreed to see me.’
His ice-chip eyes regarded me a split second longer, and then flickered away to assess the array of bottles behind the bar. ‘I’ll have a Scotch and soda,’ he said. ‘No ice.’
Rather than making small talk at the bar he turned and padded across to a table near the window. He moved confidently, almost daintily, like a dancer. He sat and turned his face to the last of the day’s meagre daylight dribbling in through the distorted glass, his hands folded in his lap. He didn’t move until I had placed our glasses on the table and sat down, and then he turned to me.
‘Suppose you’re good at reading people, picking up signals?’ he said without preamble. ‘Non-verbal communication and all that?’
I shrugged, wondering whether I was being tested, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to psychoanalyse him. ‘Well, I know the theory. But practical application’s a different matter. What you become aware of more than anything, the further you read into the subject, is how many hang-ups you’ve got.’
Benny chuckled. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, that blonde over there’s got the hots for you.’ He indicated where he meant with the slightest twitch of his head.
I resisted the impulse to look over. ‘I’d have to have been blind not to have noticed that.’
We laughed together, and I felt my tension slowly easing. Then Benny said, ‘You’ve been regretting ringing me all day, haven’t you, Alex? You’ve been wondering whether you made a mistake by picking up the phone this morning?’
I’d half-raised my glass to my mouth, but now I froze and looked at him. ‘What makes you say that?’
He took a sip from his own glass, as if encouraging me to do the same. ‘Relax, son. I’m not
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