And in amongst the spam … ‘From: Matt Ridout. Subject: Coffee’
I feel in my pocket for the curling piece of cardboard, torn off a paper cup. It’s nearly unreadable now, his number. The biro is blurring into nothing, and there’s a crease across the middle two digits, but I think I can make out that they’re both sevens, or possibly ones.
I was going to let fate decide. If I got my phone back from the police before the number disappeared …
And now this.
I remember the way he buried his face in his hands as he cried over James.
I remember his smile.
I remember the expression in his eyes as he said goodbye.
I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not sure I can let go of everything that happened, start again. For a minute my finger hovers irrationally over the delete button.
And then I click.