The door opened, and the curious smile slid away like melting ice. The eyes went flat and the lips into a tight, straight line.

"Hi, Angela."

"What are you doing here, Charlie?"

"I thought maybe we could talk – face to face."

"I think that phone call said all that was necessary."

"Angie, I want to explain. Can I come in?"

"No, Charlie. I don't want to talk, and I sure don't want to listen. You had your chance before it came down to lawyers and accountants. I trusted your word, Charlie. The late nights, the business trips. I was blind to what you really were doing because I believed you, loved you, and you just kicked all that to the curb. So, no. You can't come in." Her voice broke at the end and tears sparkled in her eyes.

"If you'd just let me—"

"It's too late, Charlie. Anything I had for you has been torn away and I just want to forget. Go and talk to your women that seemed to be your choice." The tears broke loose and trickled down her cheeks.

"That's what I want to explain. If you'll just—"

"I'm done, Charlie. I was here for you, trusting your words were then truth, and all the time you lied, lied, lied." She wiped a finger across her face and sniffed. "I hope it was all worth it, Charlie, because whatever your problems are now, they aren't mine. I loved you once, probably the only person that really did, but no more."

The door started to close, and he put out his hand. "Angie . . ."

"Don't come here again." The door closed with a final thunk.

Was that it? He stood staring at the closed door, a torrent of emotion threatening to drown him where he stood. His hollow arguments crumbling like cookie crumbs against hers. His finger reached for the doorbell, hesitated then fell limply to his side. He backed slowly down the steps, the house, once his home, seemed to tighten like a fist, a silent warning.

Woodenly, he made his way down the drive to his car. Lost. Adrift. Alone.

"Hey, Charlie, long time no see. You back home again?"

He looked dully at his neighbour, just shaking his head as he climbed into his car, started it and yanked it into gear, leaving the man standing at the curb, scratching his head.

He drove on autopilot, the focus was his bleak future. Was this how the people around him had felt when he was acting the big shot? That he'd meant everything he said? We were all just having fun . . . weren't we? She knew I loved her – didn't she?

The sun dipped behind the horizon and Charlie drove on, headlights bathing the road ahead. If only I had had something to show me the way. He gripped the wheel fiercely and forced the car ahead at a dangerous speed. The sudden sound of a siren and the flashing lights snapped him back to the present, and he pulled over to a stop beneath a streetlight.

"License and registration." The words were heard as soon as the window went down. "Do you know why I stopped you . . . Mister Croft?"

"I was probably driving too fast."

"Mind stepping out of the car."

"Is something wrong?"

"Have you been drinking, sir?"

"No. Well, earlier, maybe an hour or two ago I had a couple of shots."

"I'd like you to walk back to my vehicle, heel to toe in a straight line, turn and repeat, coming back."

Charlie sighed and shrugged, doing as he was told. Was a time he would have jollied the cop along, maybe even slipped him something. He completed the test satisfactorily, accepted the speeding ticket, and sat in his car until the police car drove off.

"Perfect. Just friggin' perfect." He started the car and headed to the bar he remembered.