been stained by the tomato juice and Delaney wanted nothing more than to put his arm around her alabaster shoulder and kiss her.
Instead he pulled over a stool, sat beside her and gestured to the barman. 'Another one here please, and I'll have a large . . .' He hesitated for a moment. 'I'll have a large Bushmills. Straight up. No ice, no spittle.'
Kate handed her drink over to the barman. 'Vodka tonic please.' She smiled at Delaney. 'You can only drink so much tomato juice.'
'Of course.'
Delaney waited for her to say more but Kate turned her attentions back to the barman and handed Delaney his drink when it arrived. He took a sip of his whiskey and before he could ask her why she had wanted to see him, Kate spoke.
'I'm pregnant, Jack.'
And for the second or third time in his life the world rocked on its axis. Kate was saying something else but Delaney couldn't hear it. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his temples. He took another sip of his drink and tried to catch her words but failed. 'I'm sorry?' he managed at last.
'It's not a question of anybody being to blame, Jack.'
'No, that's not what I meant. I meant I didn't hear the rest of it.'
'I don't know what the rest of it is, Jack. That's what I'm saying. I don't know what to think, I just wanted you to know, that's all. And I didn't want to tell you on the telephone.'
Delaney nodded, still taking it in. 'I'm the father?'
Kate looked at him, trying to read his eyes, cursing herself for drinking too much again and clouding her judgement. 'Yes, Jack. You're the father.'
'I see.'
Kate took another swallow of her drink. 'Is that it?'
'I don't know, Kate.' He shrugged. 'What was that business this morning, in the hospital car park?'
Kate shook her head, the colour drained out of her face and Delaney couldn't work out if it was through fear or through anger. 'This has got nothing to do with him.'
'If he's hurt you in some way, I want to help.'
Kate had to fight back the tears but she was damned if she was going to let him see her cry. 'You're a knight in shining armour, are you, Jack?'
'Hardly, but I could see something was wrong. I can be a friend, can't I?'
Kate pushed her glass away and stood up a little unsteadily. 'You know what, this was a bad idea. We have to talk, but not now.'
She picked her coat up off the back of her chair and would have walked away but Jack held her arm, gently, as he stood up himself. He looked into her eyes and could see the need in them as naked as a flame. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her and tell her that he was there for her in every way that she wanted. But the visions of the dead man in Greek Street and the comatose body of Kevin Norrell held him back. The violence visited upon his wife four years ago was still a force loose in his world, a force that he could neither identify nor control. So in that moment, between breathing and speaking, as he looked into Kate Walker's eyes, he knew that the past still had a grip on him as tight as the clasp of a drowning man. He could not offer Kate the emotional lifeline she so clearly needed. 'Let me know what you decide.'
Kate looked at him, the hurt sparking in her eyes. He wished he could kiss it away, but he knew, also, that the kind of pain she was feeling took a lifetime of disappointment to build, and its healing was way beyond the small amelioration provided by such short-lived gestures.
