Sam looked down at the woman on the bench, taking in her sleek brown ponytail, her fair, freckled skin, the sinewy, muscled arms. She was slim, and tall, he’d guess almost as tall as him. Her eyes, a deep, dark brown, under straight, frowning black brows, sparkled with intelligence and purpose as she stared up at him, clearly scrutinising him as closely as he was her. And it looked like she was finding him wanting. His lips curled in a half smile – that was pretty amusing. And she was not the first.

She stood up, still gripping his hand. Pretty tightly, actually. “Your Dad?” she queried, those fierce brows drawing closer together over her slightly-too-large-for-her-face nose. “Where is he? I’d like to talk to him.”

“Dead, I’m afraid. Over a year now.” He could see the excitement drain out of her and leave her slightly defeated, shoulders slumped. “Oh.” she said, dropping his hand.

“Here, let me buy you another coffee and you can tell me why you’re looking for him, and I’ll try and answer your questions.” 

Another appraising look. “Alright, you’re on.”

They walked back to the cafe she had chosen before, grabbing a table outside. Jack briefly joined them at the table before sauntering off, his nose to the floor, enjoying finding all the smells. 

Sam went in for coffees. When he came out with two new steaming cups, she started her story. 

“So, a dear friend of mine recently died. He…he drank himself to death. Anyway. His immediate family is dead, but I was hoping to find out a little more about his past, and meet up with some people that knew him before. I’ve got some of his possessions, some mementos, that I’d like to pass over to someone. It feels really wrong for someone to die and leave no loved ones behind him.”

“I think I can understand,” Sam interrupted, gently. “You loved him. He was like family to you, and you’re struggling to believe that he’s fallible, or selfish, enough to leave you like that. So, you’ve gone on a quest to find someone who can share your feelings of loss. Maybe even validate them. How long had you known him?”

“About five years.” she wiped at her eye, catching the first hint of moisture and obliterating it. “And I know he wasn’t selfish. Why would you even say that? And I don’t need anyone to validate my feelings.” she swiped her hand through the air, like she was cutting away his words. Jerkily she got to her feet and started pacing, her frown even deeper, not even noticing the hot coffee sloshing over the fingers of her other hand as it was agitated out of the cup. “What are you, some kind of shrink in a former life?”

“Ha! No. Just an unwilling recipient of one for about two years before the world went to shit and my psychiatrist was eaten by his receptionist. I decided then that I was cured, as nothing was ever going to be worse than seeing that! So, who was this guy, and why do you think my Dad could have helped you?”

She slowly sank down again, suddenly noticing the liquid on her hand, and sucking it off. “His name was Ben. Ben Regatty, and he and your Dad were apparently business partners back in the day.”

“Well, fuck me sideways – Bootleg Ben.”

“Bootleg?”

“So called because he was generic. As in, not real. As in, gnarly. Wow, Ben, hey. He was stone cold.”

Immediately Charlie was on her feet again, her fists and jaw clenched, and the muscles in her arms standing proud. And those muscles were impressive. He did not want to get on the bad side of those. Before she could speak, he held up his hands, palms forwards, and made calming noises. “Woah there, She-ra, don’t go all Princess of Power on me there.” He backed up a step. Suddenly noticing the commotion, Jack sprang forward, barking a warning at Charlie and standing between them, his haunches raised. Charlie looked down at Jack, then at her hands, and consciously unclenched her fists, rolling her shoulders. 

“Sorry,” she said shortly. “My temper can get the better of me sometimes. But you’d better explain that remark. The Ben I knew was calm, kind and generous, not some sort of gangster.”  

“Hey, calm down dude. I’m just telling it like it was. He’d just lost his wife and child. He was broken. And he took it out on the world. I’m glad he managed to find his way back to himself before he died.”

“And what was your Dad’s excuse?”

“He didn’t need one.” Sam pushed away and crouched down to stroke the dog, his back to her. Sam pushed back memories before turning to face her. “Basically, my dad was a bad man, and he took your Ben to the dark side. And he was really, really good at it.”

“And what about you? Are you a bad man too?”

Sam laughed again, but this time it was a bitter sound. “I’ve had my moments. Some of us used the outbreak to reinvent ourselves. Others used it as a way to get everything they wanted. And the rest used it as a way to run away. What did you use it for?”

“That’s none of your business. I don’t know you and you certainly haven’t earned the right to ask me that yet.”

“Well, that’s put me in my place: tell you what mate – when you feel comfortable telling me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

“I don’t think we’ll be hanging around together long enough for that, mate.”

“We’ll see about that.”