Nick's Blues (17 page)

“Maybe it wouldn't have. Maybe it would've been different.”

His father looked away.

“Do you ever think of that?” Nick said, suddenly angry. “Do you?”

“Only every day.”

Nick closed his eyes.

“All my life, Nick,” his father said, “I said no to things, all kinds of things, stayed in my own little world, found excuses for turning them down.”

“You stuck to what you believed in,” Nick said.

“Look where that got me,” his father said and laughed.

Nick wanted to hug him, hold his hand.

“Your mum, she's okay?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That business where she works…”

“You know about that?”

“She was brave.”

“Yes, she was.”

“And you? How's school?”

Nick shrugged. “You know.”

“You've taken up the guitar.”

“I don't know for how long.”

“Maybe it's not your thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Photography, though…”

Nick smiled.

“And the girl? Ellen, is it?”

“What about her?”

“Stop thinking you're not good enough for her, that's all.”

“Is that what I'm thinking?”

And suddenly he was no longer there. Nick leaned back against the bridge and felt the iron of the railings hard against his back and arms. The stars, some of them, had been swallowed up by clouds. So many more questions he had wanted to ask. Maybe if he waited, patient, believed, there would be another chance.

Starting to walk, he felt a little sick, a little hollow inside.

But not for long.

Tomorrow, he thought, as he walked down the steps, I'll give Ellen a call, see what she's doing at the weekend. Get her to come somewhere with me. Take the camera, maybe.

He quickened his pace as he realised tomorrow was only a few hours away.