looked at his suit and how well it fit him, at his clear skin and dark eyes, at the clean and scruffy coal-black hair.
‘But is that true?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t know you well enough to bother lying to you.’ He had a smile that was generous and full of china tea-cup white teeth.
I laughed and sneezed, covering my face. ‘Sorry, I’m getting a cold. It’s not bad but …’ I scooped a plastic bottle of antibacterial gel out of my handbag and poured it into my palms.
‘I should use some of that too. You shook my hand.’
I looked up and we locked eyes. ‘Sorry, I forgot. We weren’t supposed to do that because of cross infection. Sorry.’
‘They’re only being careful. It makes sense: as a charity, as an expert in the field of CF, it’s their responsibility to give you the worst-case scenario. But just because something could happen, doesn’t mean it will. Right?’
‘Right.’ And I smiled again because there was something about him that insisted on it.
‘The research is still being done and it’s not conclusively proven that bugs can transfer from patient to patient via a third party and survive long enough to cause symptoms. It’s a bit of a stretch, in my opinion.’
I saw a loose thread at his collar and a patch of stubble he had missed.
‘I’ve read some of the papers,’ I said. ‘There actually is some evidence to suggest …’ He raised his eyebrows as I spoke and it occurred to me that though I may have read a lot, he had experienced CF for years longer than I had. Of course he knew more. ‘In any event, you really don’t want to take my cold back home to your daughter.’
He smiled. ‘No, I do not. She’d kill me if she missed any more school.’
I poured antibacterial gel in to both our hands. I rubbed it into my palms and then around my fingertips as the CF nurses had taught me to do. My broken cuticles stung.
‘I suppose people aren’t used to meeting without shaking hands. Without touching,’ he said. ‘But it can be done. Life with CF can be done. You just have to find new ways.’
He looked at me then, like he recognized me. Perhaps I looked like someone from his past. I had one of those faces, lots of people said it.
Joanna’s voice tore through the moment. ‘A few final things, folks.’ She held her arms aloft and called out again to address the still chattering room, ponytail swinging obediently in her slipstream. ‘Please, folks! A moment of your time before we have to lock up for the evening! Thank you all for coming. There is more advice and further tips for getting involved in fundraising on the website. And our annual conference is coming up in the last week of August. That’s in only six weeks’ time and we’re still hoping that the parent of a newly diagnosed baby will speak. Please do give me a shout if you’re interested. We want to make sure that all the research talks are balanced with the real-life stories of people actually living with the illness. Thank you, and good night!’
‘I need to go,’ I said, glancing at my watch face. Mia would need a feed.
‘Me too.’ Richard walked with me.
‘Is your husband babysitting?’ he said, opening the fire door for me to step through.
‘Kind of. Not exactly. My mother-in-law. She’s trying, I guess.’
Outside the rain had stopped, the rush-hour traffic had thinned and soon the sun would set. The air was still warm but clearer for having been washed by the rain.
‘Let me get you a taxi,’ he said, as he tried to hail one without an orange light.
‘No, it’s OK. Thank you.’
‘You should think about talking at the conference. You’re the kind of person they need.’
‘The kind of person who rambles about how they don’t understand anything any more?’
‘Someone who’s honest, and brave, but doesn’t know all the answers.’
‘But I don’t know any of the answers.’
‘Exactly my point.’
My stomach knotted. ‘I have to go. It’s getting late.’
He touched me lightly on the sleeve as I turned to leave. ‘My daughter and I are very close. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her and CF has given me countless opportunities to fight for her. To make her proud of me. In a strange way, it’s been a gift. Be brave. Go out and fight for your cub’s life.’
He looked down at his feet then, overcome by emotion or else sensing that he had gone too far – I didn’t know which.
But he was quick to look up, smiling, recovered. He loosened his very orange tie and undid a button and I thought, yes, he’s right about going out to fight.
An answer, at last.
‘Here, before I forget.’ He tore a piece of paper out of his notepad. ‘It’s a list of Phil Collins’ most upbeat ballads to cheer you up … and also my contact details in case you want to run that draft speech by me.’ He folded the page and handed it to me.
‘Thanks, but I’m thinking I might do better starting with a fundraising cake sale than standing up and talking to a whole load of people.’
‘Like tonight? Tonight wasn’t all bad, was it?’
‘Goodbye.’ I smiled.
‘Let me know about that speech. Or if you just need other advice, help, whatever.’
I stood on the kerb and watched him hail another cab – a single sharp swing of his arm to command its attention, after which it cut through a lane of traffic to meet him. Its orange light flicked off and I heard him say, ‘Hampstead.’ A mumbled address that I didn’t catch, then, ‘That’s right, near the running track.’ He took his seat and looked out of the window at me.
I smiled, waved, then looked away first because I’d been taught never to look as desperate as you feel.
I bounced on the back of my heels and glanced down the canned goods aisle for any sign of my mother. We’d arranged to meet by the custard but then I was early, much earlier than I usually was to meet a mother who was always, without fail, on time.
We’d last spoken a few weeks ago, the morning after the parents’ meeting, when I’d telephoned to tell her about this thing that I’d met some people at and that I’d felt positive about. But I hadn’t got into the details of the thing before she asked me who had babysat that night. I hadn’t been prepared for the silence that followed when I told her it was Dave’s mum. I hadn’t been prepared for how bad I’d feel when the conversation ended without her knowing anything more about the thing.
In the end I’d been the one to break the silence by calling her
