Page 6 of The Sound Between Us
Push G for Granddad.
Mum’s voice. From another life.
My stomach folds in on itself.
I take out my phone and stare at the message I’ve sent a dozen times: Back on home soil. Want to come visit?
Send. Regret. Pocket.
Rosie Carter collects me like an award.
Through the lobby. Straight to the bar.
It’s barely noon and I’m already spiralling. Again.
Not many people around—just two businessmen in matching navy suits, whispering over espresso like they’re plotting a coup.
I slide onto a stool and drag the plate of overpriced nuts toward me like it’s dinner.
The bartender turns, sees me. Eyes widen.
She recovers quickly. “Mr Carter. What can I get you?”
She’s beautiful. Blonde ponytail. Perfect shirt. Tiny waist.
“Bloody Mary,” I say. “And a pint.”
“Would you prefer a booth?” she asks.
“No, thanks. I like it here.” I lean forward slightly. “Means I can talk to you.”
She blushes and turns away.
Christ, Harrison.
Her hands work—vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco, celery stick. She slides the drink over.
The Bloody Mary tastes like sin and Sunday morning.
I pull out the notebook. Spiral bound and fraying at the edges.
“What are you working on?”
Henry drops onto the stool beside me, bumping my shoulder like we’re in on a secret we’ve both forgotten.
“Nothing.” I shove the notebook back.
“You look like shit. Are you ill?”
“Lack of sleep.”
We drink.
“You’re on it early,” he says, using the paper napkin to dab at his mouth.
“It’s always early somewhere.” I crush a peanut between my fingers.
He checks behind him for cameras.
