(This can be read without reading part one, but if you want you can find part one here)
Ian stood open mouthed watching the car disappear behind a dusty cloud. He half-expected the car to stop, to turn round. To return. For Gemma to open the door of the car and tell him to get in, of course she wasn’t going to leave him. Not like this. Not now. Not here, anyway.
But no, of course she wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t stupid. Their relationship wasn’t a ‘forever’ thing, they both knew that. Even if he had wanted it to be. At first, at least.
He closed his mouth, looking behind him to see if anyone was watching. He had a sudden feeling that Gary, was standing there, laughing at him like he did when they were kids: “Ha ha! You look like a right gormless dick! What’s the matter, bro? Gonna cry? You big girl”.
Ian wiped at his eyes. No, he wasn’t going to fall apart. Not this time.
There was no one there. Unless someone was watching from the cafe. He peered at the building. No one at the window, not that he could see. Not that he could see much, as the window was covered in hand-painted celtic designs. On the roof, there was the strange arty sculpture thing, made out of things that should have been thrown away, looking vaguely like a woman. Ian couldn’t help but feel she was mocking him, too.
He stepped back and nearly slipped over.
Brilliant, like he needed any more crap today.
He picked up a stick and, leaning against the wall, scrapped the sole of his shoe.
The café appeared to be open, at least. He could get a coffee, maybe something to eat, gather his thoughts, phone a cab.
Perhaps, it wouldn’t be as hippy-dippy-artsy-fartsy as he feared.
Perhaps things might start to go right, for once. Life might surprise him in a nice way for a change.
Or maybe not.