She observed him keenly, making an analysis, much as any good nurse would every day on the ward. A doctor may have the clinical knowledge, but they don’t often combine this with empathy – seeing beyond the symptoms to treat the patient holistically as well as the illness. “How long have you been single?” Her amused expression now had an overlay of concern.
He saw the concern in her eyes, Corstorphine also read people for a living. Christ, this is going well – now she’s feeling sorry for me! “My wife died five years ago. Cancer. I’m only just getting back into the dating game.” He grimaced. “Think I’m out of practice.”
The starters arrived, punctuating Corstorphine’s statement with plate-sized full stops. They ate quietly, interspersing mouthfuls with satisfied comments as to the quality of the food.
“You just have to be you, James.” The advice came once the plates had been cleared away, filling the hiatus between courses. “My husband ran out on me, two years ago now. Had an affair with someone he met whilst out walking the dog.” She stared intently at the white linen tablecloth as if it held the answer to a question she’d asked many times before. She raised her head to lock eyes with him, no room for guile this close. “She was just a lassie in her early twenties, almost half his age.” She shook her head in denial. “Funny how you can’t see something that’s right under your nose. Do you get that in the police business? Clues so obvious that you wonder how on earth nobody could have spotted them at the outset?”
Corstorphine drank his beer, the cardboard taste that accompanied non-alcoholic beverages not so obvious after the first few sips. His palate must be getting used to it. “The benefits of hindsight. Aye, we get it all the time – especially from the press – or anyone who doesn’t have to join the dots as an investigation is underway. Sometimes it’s the smallest clue that brings it all together, or the modus operandi – habitual routines as easy to recognise as a fingerprint.”
The arrival of the main course interrupted his flow and they leant back in their seats as the waitress placed the plates on the table. Corstorphine exchanged a glance with her, seeking a sign that they shared some interest apart from the food. The unvoiced response was non-committal, leaving him to wonder if he was ever going to find a way through the unmapped middle-aged courtship ritual he kept attempting. It was all so easy when the whole world was younger and less encumbered with emotional and physical baggage. They met in groups, they drank, danced and partied in groups. Eventually they paired off, couple after couple as nature intended until only the oddballs, self-contained or unlucky, remained. He was beginning to feel like an oddball himself, a misplaced sock in the drawer of life. He felt his wife’s expression without the need to see it, lips pursed up to one side, head tilted inquisitively, requesting he just look at himself now. He took a knife to his steak, red meat exposed as the blade cut deep.