Tom nodded. ‘I think that’s right.’
‘Well.’ A shadowy smile. ‘It’s been nice seeing you again.’
‘How are you, really?’
‘I get by.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t fight her now. She’s got a right to quite a few of my brain cells.’
They’d come to a fork in the path. ‘You’re over there,’ Danny said, pointing. ‘Keep on the path. It brings you right round to the front door.’
They shook hands. Tom watched him walk across the grass to the bar. As he reached the terrace, a group of people sitting at one of the tables called out a name that Tom convinced himself he hadn’t heard, and Danny went over to join them. One of the girls kissed him. A young man threw a proprietorial arm across his shoulder. Tom wondered if either of them knew who he was.
But no. Danny would have learnt to take what he wanted and keep a safe distance. There was no limit to what Danny might learn.
And that’s the way it has to be, Tom thought. He was looking at success. Precarious, shadowed, ambiguous, but worth having nevertheless. The only possible good outcome.
The smell of lilacs was overwhelming. Tom closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the sight of Danny and his friends, and saw instead, with almost visionary clarity, a woman with white hair walking down a garden path, five or six cats following her, their tails raised in greeting. She lifted a handful of dry cornflakes to her mouth and ate them, peering into the sun she could hardly see, enjoying its warmth on her face.
There, under the lilacs, with nobody to care or know, he stood for a moment in silence, remembering Lizzie Parks.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Border Crossing
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
Pat Barker, Border Crossing
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