She was still beautiful – the smile, the teeth, big tan, and fi lling out a pair of jeans like Michelangelo might have carved it.
‘How’s it going, Diane?’ he said.
There was silence, apprehension showing in her lack of gestures.
‘That is your name, right?’ said Mac.
‘Yes, it is. They used to change my surname.’
Sounds fl ooded into the long pause, ocean roaring, kids yelling in the park.
‘I miss you,’ she said, exhaling.
Mac deadpanned.
‘You have every right…’ she said, trailing off.
Mac looked at her, impassive.
‘Umm, look. Alan, right?’
Mac nodded.
‘Yeah, it was a job,’ she said, shaking her head, not looking at him.
‘I had no idea I was going to meet someone like you.’
Silence hung between them.
Mac knew how much it had cost her to come here. In the spook world, to drop the shield and be a real person for even a few hours was tantamount to defeat. And once you’d dropped the shield, the effort to go back into character was too much. Which is why you didn’t do it.
He didn’t hate her. He could have been where she was standing, still running round in circles thinking that cheap diversions and ten-second charm were all that counted.
‘I found happiness, mate. Hope you fi nd yours,’ he said fi nally.
She nodded and turned. Left before she cried.
Mac walked back into the apartment and sat down on the sofa.
Turned and smiled and then lay down and put his head on Jen’s tummy, listening for kicks.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, sipping on the smoothie and taking another piece of Caramello.
‘Some girl,’ mumbled Mac. ‘Wrong bloke. Wrong number.’
