The Last Letter from Your Lover

without. She read the words of the man who had loved her more than even he could convey, a man for whose death she had been unwittingly responsible. She finally saw his face: animated, hopeful, full of love.
    Jennifer Stirling fell to the floor, curled up with the letter clutched to her chest and, silently, began to cry.

Dear J . . . I know I have been a cow and I am sorry. I know you are coming home tomorrow but I will not be there to see you. David and I are getting married at *** and I will not be seeing you any more. Deep down inside me I love you, but the other side I love David even more. Bye, G xxx
    Female to Male, via letter

11
    He saw them through the window of the coffee shop, half obscured by steam, even on this late-summer evening. His son was seated at the table nearest the window, his legs swinging as he read the menu. He paused on the pavement, taking in the longer limbs, the loss of the soft edges that had marked him out as a child. He could just make out the man he might become. Anthony felt his heart constrict. He tucked his parcel under his arm and walked in.
    The café had been Clarissa’s choice, a large, bustling place where the waitresses wore old-fashioned uniforms and white pinafores. She had called it a tearoom, as if she was embarrassed by the word ‘café’.
    ‘Phillip?’
    ‘Daddy?’
    He stopped beside the table, noting with pleasure the boy’s smile as he caught sight of him.
    ‘Clarissa,’ he added.
    She was less angry, he thought immediately. There had been a tautness about her face for the past few years that had made him feel guilty whenever they met. Now she looked back at him with a kind of curiosity, as one might examine something that might turn around and snap: forensically, and from a distance.
    ‘You look very well,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said.
    ‘And you’ve grown,’ he said, to his son. ‘Goodness, I think you’ve shot up six inches in two months.’
    ‘Three months. And they do, at that age.’ Clarissa’s mouth settled into the moue of mild disapproval he knew so well. It made him think briefly of Jennifer’s lips. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that thing with her mouth; perhaps the way she was designed forbade it.
    ‘And you’re . . . well?’ she said, pouring him a cup of tea and pushing it towards him.
    ‘Very, thank you. I’ve been working hard.’
    ‘As always.’
    ‘Yes. How about you, Phillip? School all right?’
    His son’s face was buried in the menu.
    ‘Answer your father.’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Good. Keeping your marks up?’
    ‘I have his report here. I thought you might want to see it.’ She fished in her bag, and handed it to him.
    Anthony noted, with unexpected pride, the repeated references to Phillip’s ‘decent character’, his ‘genuine efforts’.
    ‘He’s captain of the football team.’ She couldn’t quite keep the pleasure from her voice.
    ‘You’ve done well.’ He patted his son’s shoulder.
    ‘He does his homework every night. I make sure of that.’
    Phillip wouldn’t look at him now. Had Edgar already filled the father-shaped hole that he feared existed in Phillip’s life? Did he play cricket with him? Read stories to him? Anthony felt something in him cloud over and took a gulp of tea, trying to gather himself. He called over a waitress and ordered a plate of cakes. ‘The biggest you have. An early celebration,’ he said.
    ‘He’ll spoil his supper,’ Clarissa said.
    ‘It’s just one day.’
    She turned away, as if she was struggling to bite her tongue.
    Around them the clamour of the café seemed to increase. The cakes arrived on a tiered silver platter. He saw his son’s eyes slide towards them and gestured that he should help himself.
    ‘I’ve been offered a new job,’ he said, when the silence grew too weighty.
    ‘With the Nation ?’
    ‘Yes, but in New York. Their man at the UN is retiring, and they’ve asked me if I’d like to take his place for a year. It comes with an apartment, right in the heart of the city.’ He had barely believed Don when he’d told him. It showed their faith in him, Don had said. If he got this right, who knew? This time next year he might be on the road again.
    ‘Very nice.’ She took a small cream cake and put it on the plate in front of her.
    ‘It’s come as a bit of a surprise, but it’s a good opportunity.’
    ‘Yes. Well. You always did like travelling.’
    ‘It’s not travelling. I’ll be working in the