“There’s quite a few of us singles living here,” Patrick explained. “I rather enjoy my own company, but nobody wants to be lonely. There is a difference you see and the difference is having a choice.” Patrick’s home was a modern, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, detached, in a very upmarket area. It was nothing like John’s traditional red-sandstone terraced house, but comfortable and spacious nevertheless. For the first time in a long time John felt as if he was back in the world. For months he’d shut himself away, cut himself off so he wouldn’t have to face people. He didn’t want to share his grief with anyone and he definitely didn’t want to talk about his loss. At first he felt shy about joining in, particularly if there were women in the group, but after a couple of weeks he was back to his old self, joking and participating in banter with the rest of the guys. Now that he was feeling better about his life in general, from time to time he thought about the sad, fragile girl he’d met on the train and wondered what had become of her. He was sorry she hadn’t got in touch, but he knew only too well about keeping your distance from other people as a way of protecting yourself.
