November 1

He stops me as I cross the road. He looks untidy and unsteady. I think words like prejudiced bullets – drunk. Mentally ill. Dangerous.

In a strong Scottish accent he says, ‘I know you!’

My thoughts focus on one shot – he’s drunk. ‘What?’ is all I can say, as weak as the drizzling rain.

‘I know you. Liam’s Dad, right?’ I think he says that. It is hard to tell, in the gloom, my foggy evening fatigue, his over-forceful words spat out broken teeth.

‘No, sorry. I’m not.’ ‘Eh, what?’ He looks confused.

I have felt the same all day, wondering why the early evening gloom started in the morning. ‘I’m not Liam’s Dad. Honestly.’

‘Oh! Spitting image all right.’ He chuckles and wonders on.

I am left feeling torn from an explanation. How could he have mistaken me for this boy’s dad? Is he my doppelganger? How could he have given up on me so soon? Where did he go? I can’t see him anymore.

He has just faded into the evening, leaving me with the gloom.