He barely acknowledged Toby as he thrust a ten-pound note at him and, without waiting for change or looking back, Jack sprinted from the café. He’d got about three strides down the pavement, when he ran back. Toby was still by the till. Jack marched straight up to him. ‘Sorry. It’s a bad time, there’s stuff I have to … Anyway, I might come back here some time.’ Toby held his gaze, but said nothing. Jack continued, more uncertain. ‘If that’s OK? Some time?’ Toby inclined his head a fraction. ‘Good. That’s, um, good.’ Jack felt strangely satisfied, but rather awkward, as he dashed towards the Underground, determined to carry out his newly-formulated plan of action. Jack had promised Kit that he’d never meet her at Pickwicks. That was her space, especially since she’d started writing there. His presence, they had long ago agreed, would cause too many distractions.
