Free Something Hidden by Kerry Wilkinson

few seconds to reply. ‘I don’t talk to feds.’

9
    ‘You look tired.’
    Andrew blinked back into the room, suddenly remembering where he was. He’d been thinking of Owen and Wendy, Luke and Fiona Methodist, and Joe with the shoes. A bizarre tangle of barely
connected people woven together in a way that he was waiting to unravel. There was definitely something there.
    Around him was the scrape of cutlery, clink of glasses and general undercurrent of chatter. It was ridiculously loud considering how small the restaurant was.
    ‘Sorry,’ Andrew said, blinking again and suppressing a yawn.
    ‘We could’ve cancelled if you’ve had a long day.’
    Andrew stared at his ex-wife, the dark birthmark next to her lips, blonde bob, hints of wrinkles around her eyes that, if anything, made her more appealing than when they’d met as
teenagers.
    She looked as if she’d lived.
    It was a date that wasn’t a date. Dinner with a friend, perhaps? Anything but a date.
    He managed a thin smile. ‘I’ve spent the whole day chasing after people.’
    Keira sipped her soup, returning his stare until he was forced to look away. It felt like she could read his mind.
    ‘This is the first time we’ve been out for dinner in Manchester in nearly nine years,’ she said softly.
    ‘It was a bit different then.’
    She nodded at the rest of the room: men in suits, women in dresses, a tapas menu, wine list and waiters with shiny shoes. The type of place where grown-ups went. ‘You mean this isn’t
the uni refectory?’
    Andrew laughed but those were the good times: cheap food in the students’ union, local pubs and, shortly before they broke up, marginally posher pubs. Lots of things had changed since
then.
    ‘How’s the soup?’ he asked.
    Pathetic: a get-out question. He’d be talking about the weather next. Anything to avoid that massive elephant in the corner that he’d left her, broken both of their hearts, and now,
miraculously, they were sitting opposite each other as if it had never happened. They’d had a couple of lunches since she walked into his office three months ago and now this was the big one,
or, as he’d told Jenny, this was someone to see.
    Keira saw straight through him, flicking a strand of hair away and offering him her spoon. ‘It’s good – want some?’
    Andrew peered down at his barely started bread that he couldn’t remember the name of. ‘You’re all right.’
    That was the end of that conversation.
    Luckily, the waiter arrived to refill their wine glasses. Polite smiles, vague offerings of thanks, and they were back to their uncomfortable silence. The pair of lunches had been slightly
awkward affairs, punctuated by nothing conversations about what they’d each been watching on television, the type of music they were now into, and anything else that meant they didn’t
have to talk about real things.
    Keira finished her soup and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, before leaning back in her chair. Andrew could feel her staring at him but remained focused on his food, sensing that something
important was coming.
    ‘So . . .’ she said, pursing her lips into an O, giving herself an opportunity to stop mid-sentence. One of them had to bring it up and Andrew had always been the coward when it came
to awkward conversations. ‘It’s been more than eight years – you must’ve seen someone in that time . . .’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    Andrew took a bite of his starter, giving himself a moment to think. Considering he’d known this would come up at some point, he probably should’ve thought of an answer. Behind him,
a woman broke into cackling laughter, giving him an extra few seconds. Thank goodness for tipsy women with big gobs.
    ‘There were one or two,’ he said. ‘Nothing serious. I was seeing this woman, Sara, until a few months ago.’
    ‘Why’d you break up?’
    He blew out loudly. ‘She was into celebrity magazines, Saturday-night TV, that sort of