The realization broke through his shock. He took his jacket off the back of the chair and walked out. He heard Bloom calling his name but he kept going. Once more, she had failed to warn him. After all the apologies of the last few weeks, she had chosen again not to trust him when it came to Seraphine. He was done. He knew he shouldn’t have come back. You can’t fix a relationship, any relationship, when the trust is gone. Bloom clearly had no regard for his feelings, or respect for his opinion, or she would have told him she’d been in contact with Seraphine. She insisted she wasn’t the closet psychopath Seraphine had accused her of being, but then why did she do this, why did she insist on keeping in touch with that woman? The woman who’d not only played with his feelings for her own entertainment, but had him genuinely fearing for his life.

He took the keys to the hire car out of his jacket pocket. Bloom could make her own way back with Harry. It was no longer his responsibility. He was out. The keys felt bulky and he looked down at them realizing he wasn’t holding the single car key on an Avis fob but a bunch of keys on a red bicycle keyring. He lifted the jacket from over his arm. It was Harry’s. He must have left his over the chair of his original table. ‘Shit,’ he said under his breath. He would have to go back in. He had no choice.

He checked the back pocket of his jeans and found his wallet. He could get a cab and text Bloom to retrieve his jacket and use the hire car. That was a better plan; anything to avoid spending time with that woman.

He changed course and headed for the taxi rank. Two cabs sat waiting for passengers, and he climbed in the back of one, examining the keys in his hand as he waited for the driver to finish his conversation with a colleague. On the keyring were a car key, three house keys and a small golden key. Jameson studied the last one. Its head was shaped like the clubs symbol from a deck of cards and its barrel was flat with small square chunks cut out in seemingly random places. Jameson opened the taxi door again and climbed out. He was sick of people hiding shit.

59

The journey back to London was very subdued. Karene tried to keep the atmosphere light, talking about how well Harry was coping, but Sophie and Jake were clearly shaken by the reality of their dad’s memory loss.

‘He doesn’t even remember who you are,’ said Sophie as they pulled in to Havant station and watched a young family board the train and spread toys, colouring books and a picnic across the table opposite.