Ghostheart by R.J. Ellory

–’
    ‘Three,’ Annie interjected.
    ‘Well fuck it Annie … marry the guy.’
    She laughed. It felt good to be talking about real things with a real person, perhaps the realest person she’d ever known.
    ‘And then?’
    ‘And then yesterday morning I woke up and thought to hell with it. I didn’t go to the store, I walked uptown, the other side of the park, and there I was, sitting outside some place drinking coffee, and he shows up. Just like that.’
    Sullivan shook his head. ‘You believe in coincidence?’
    ‘Sure I do,’ she said.
    Sullivan shook his head. ‘Coincidence, my dear, is bullshit.’
    ‘Bullshit,’ Annie said matter-of-factly.
    ‘Your thoughts are almost exclusively responsible for the situations you get yourself into.’
    ‘My thoughts?’
    Sullivan nodded.
    Annie frowned. ‘You’ve lost me.’
    ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Ask yourself this … you get up in the morning and you feel like shit off a griddle, bad hair day, bad everything day, right?’
    Annie shrugged. ‘Right.’
    ‘So you don’t feel good about yourself, you don’t feel good about the way you look. Well, from that perspective you’re going to have a negatively biased view about yourself. That viewpoint will communicate in what you say, how you say it, your body language, agreed?’
    ‘Agreed.’
    ‘So how do people judge people … generally on first impressions in this day and age? Well, their first impression is going to be of someone who doesn’t think very much of themselves, someone who’s perhaps reserved, withdrawn. That will then influence the way they respond to you, what they say, how they say it. You project something and people are aware of it, if it’s negative or positive. And thus someone comes along with an idea, they’re all eager to tell someone … who are they gonna tell? They’re gonna tell someone they feel might be receptive to their idea. You’re with me so far?’
    Annie nodded.
    ‘So this guy comes to the store, he buys some books, you share a few words, and there must have been something about the way you responded to him to make him feel that he could come and talk to you when he saw you outside drinking your coffee. If you had been cold and aloof he perhaps would have pretended not to see you or something.’
    ‘Okay,’ Annie said, ‘and after lunch we do world hunger and the AIDS crisis.’
    ‘Be facetious,’ Sullivan interjected, mock indignation in his eyes. ‘What I say is true … whatever you said and howeveryou said it made him feel safe enough to come and speak with you again.’
    ‘So what now?’
    Sullivan frowned. ‘What d’you mean what now?’
    ‘What do I do now?’
    ‘Well, hell Annie, you call the guy up, have him come over, make him some dinner and then fuck him six ways to Sunday.’
    Annie laughed, embarrassed perhaps. She held her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.
    ‘You
do
know what that means, right?’ Sullivan asked.
    ‘Enough,’ she said, and stood up. She started to clear plates from the table.
    Sullivan reached out and took her hand. He tugged at her until she sat down again.
    ‘Listen,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m only half joking Annie. I see you come and go every day, I see the store, the way you’re so wrapped up in yourself and what
you
feel and I worry about you. You need to be out there, out there talking to people … and sure there are rough edges and sharp corners, that’s just the way it is, but hell, if you never actually live a life then you’ll wind up more bitter and twisted than if you get kicked a few times.’
    Annie O’Neill couldn’t think of anything to say. He was right, right enough to empty her head of any reply. She looked at him. She hated him, but in the same moment she cared for him as much as anyone she’d ever known. She reached out and pressed her hand against the side of his face.
    ‘And you can stop drinking so much,’ she said.
    Sullivan nodded. ‘I’m tougher than you think.’
    ‘I know you