Chapter Twenty-ThreeThe waterfront draws him across Queen’s Park, back to the place where he has spent so many happy nights. As he approaches the bar, he is struck by how different it looks in the light. It seems diminished, as though it is the dark, or perhaps the presence of its patrons, that revives the bar each night.
He orders a pint and some lunch from the menu before finding a seat outside. The glass doors are open to the seafront, offering an uninterrupted view of the water. Settling into a chair by the smoking terrace, he relishes the peace and quiet.
If Michael were here, this is where they would be sitting. He would probably be smoking. Felix can picture his friend’s cheeks, drawn as he sucks on a cigarette. His hair is tied back from his face, his eyes thin against the wind.
