He took his eye off the road for a moment to glance at his watch.
‘It not all that late yet. Would you like to head back to Great Bishopsford tonight?’
I sighed unhappily and considered the options for a moment. Our original plan had been to spend the night in London, believing that we would need that time to explore both the two locations in the city where I appeared to reside and the two separate places where I was believed to be employed. In my stupid optimism I had envisioned our quest ending with us spending the evening in my small flat, perhaps sharing a bottle of wine and a takeaway, piecing together at last the final mystery of my broken memories. Now there would be no such ending to the day, but the thought of going back and facing my father with this new revelation seemed too hard to bear.
‘I don’t want to go back tonight.’ I spoke in a quiet determined voice. ‘I need time to think this all through properly: time to get it all straight in my head, before I’m ready to deal with what will happen next.’
Jimmy gave an understanding nod of his head, and I was pleased he wasn’t about to insist on driving me straight back to my father’s.
‘I think I’d be better off being alone tonight,’ I ventured.
He kept his attention on the road as he negotiated our passage through a narrow gap, before he turned to me with a smile.
‘Absolutely. Of course. Couldn’t agree more. As long as you realise that my definition of “alone” incorporates me staying right by your side. I have absolutely no intention of leaving you by yourself tonight, Rachel.’
We compromised in the end.
Yes, we would stay in London and not attempt the journey back while there was still so much to think through.
And no, we wouldn’t be spending the night in the only accommodation in London that seemed to belong to me. I didn’t feel anywhere near ready to accept the Victorian apartment as my home yet, and I think the association the place held with Matt easily decided Jimmy against opting for that location. That really only left us with one option: to find a hotel.
It was already after six o’clock on a busy Friday night in central London, so we were lucky to secure accommodation in the first place we tried. We left the car in the hotel’s car park, and Jimmy carried both our bags into the reception. I hung back while he went to enquire about availability, staring unseeingly into the hotel gift shop’s window.
It was only when he returned to my side several minutes later that I saw he had been successful in booking us in for the night. For the first time a rather obvious question that I had completely ignored up until then occurred to me: had he booked us into one room or two? The query was answered before I could give it voice, when he pressed one plastic entry card into my palm, retaining a second in his own.
‘Adjacent rooms,’ he informed, as I turned the plastic card over in my hand.
I smiled back at him but couldn’t decide if my predominant feeling was one of relief or disappointment.
At Jimmy’s suggestion, we agreed that we would find somewhere to eat; somewhere quiet where we would could talk without interruption. He said he’d seen a small Italian restaurant just around the corner when we approached the hotel, so we settled on that and he gave me fifteen minutes to freshen up before meeting him back out in the corridor.
I used my time alone to splash reviving cold water on my face and attempted to drag a comb through my wind-tangled hair. I hadn’t brought much make-up with me, so I just did what little repairs I could, and then sat on the bed until the remainder of the fifteen minutes ticked away. The room, although pleasant enough, was hotel-bland, and there was precious little in it to distract my incoherent thoughts from running wildly away from me.
The restaurant was within easy walking distance, situated on the corner of a side road only a few minutes away from the hotel. As we walked past the large glass frontage to the front entrance, I peered inside and couldn’t escape the feeling that the place looked strangely familiar. It really felt like I’d seen it somewhere before. The answer came to me as we waited for the waiter to confirm whether or not they could accommodate us.
‘Lady and the Tramp!’
Jimmy looked down at the fresh pair of jeans he had changed into and his crisp white shirt.
‘Tramp? That’s charming, I must say. I didn’t think I looked that bad!’
‘Not you, you idiot. This place.’ I nodded to indicate the room around us, and it was true, the cartoonist could have used the restaurant as the inspirational blueprint for his design. Here were the chequered cloths on the small intimately grouped tables, each one of which held a flickering red candle trickling its wax down onto an empty Chianti bottle. Lilting violin music, played discreetly through concealed speakers, served only to complete the picture.