So which is this, Alfred thought to himself; a tragedy or something we can't be bothered to understand? Because it was a hell of a coincidence, them ending up side by side at a pub after he'd sent her a letter like that. It might not have been fate or karma or anything like that, but it was something. A chance, maybe — a chance they were unlikely to have twice.

If Jo was even interested in talking to him, of course. She'd written that she missed him, but she hadn't seemed particularly willing to open up so far. He didn't blame her, but it also made him hesitant about the idea of continuing. With one letter he didn't quite remember between them, he was already at a slight disadvantage. Taking a leap of faith on those terms was a big ask, but... he wanted to try and talk to her. He didn't know what he wanted from her, but he'd decided to talk to her the moment he'd called her back to the bar stool.

"We used to agree on this sort of stuff," he said, lifting his glass. "Did you get more cynical, or did I get more optimistic?"

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