She’d been miles away. ‘Sorry, dearie,’ cooed the woman, who must have seen her startled expression because she patted her hand in apology. A sudden hot surge prickled at Madeleine’s eyes. It was the sort of random gesture of sympathy that could set her off these days, she didn’t know why. The waitress, older than the others, had just asked her something, and mechanically she replied, ‘No, nothing else, thank you.’ ‘Right you are,’ she said, and moved away. Madeleine’s gaze followed her halting progress around the other tables, where she would stoop enquiringly, nodding through the orders on her notepad, sharing an inaudible moment of cheer. She treated all of her customers in the same affable way, and none of them seemed to find it unusual. If only – if only this nice old lady were her friend, the things she would tell her, all those things choked up so tight inside they felt like some terrible indigestion. But then perhaps she would only frighten her off, for who would wish to be tainted by her sordid packet of despair?
