Neville spooned sugar into his cappuccino, watching as it sank slowly through the froth.
As he stirred, he glanced out of the cafe window.
The Harley Davidson was parked directly outside the building, wedged between two cars.
A couple of dispatch riders were leaning against their bikes, sipping from Styrofoam cups and talking, both of them dressed from head to foot in leathers.
Neville took a sip of his coffee, decided it wasn't sweet enough and added more sugar.
Like so many of the other cafes in Dean Street, this one was barely large enough to accommodate four tables, a counter and some stools. Visitors came and went with great rapidity, taking drinks and sandwiches with them or occasionally sitting if there was an empty seat.
Apart from himself, there were four American tourists inside the cafe, seated around one table.
At another, two young women talked and shared a cigarette, much to the consternation of the man at the table next to them. Every time one of them exhaled he wrinkled his nose and glared disdainfully at them.
At the other table a man a little younger than himself was consulting one of the daily papers while his wife fed their baby using a plastic spoon.
Neville gazed intently at the woman.
Perhaps a little too intently.
It was as if she felt his gaze upon her and finally looked in his direction.
He continued to stare, watching her over the rim of his cup as he drank.
She tried to ignore him, concentrating on feeding the baby.
There was a roar outside as one of the dispatch riders revved his engine and pulled away, a sound which seemed to distract both Neville and the woman.
The child would take no more food and began to cry softly until it was lifted on to its mother's shoulder for winding.
Neville watched again, his fascination with the woman and her child restored.
He couldn't remember much about Lisa's childhood.
Not surprising really, he'd hardly been there.
He only ever saw her on leave visits. Months apart.
She seemed so different to him every time he saw her.
All those years lost.
He'd been in Londonderry when she was born.
The first he'd known of her arrival was a phone call from Julie that night when he'd returned to barracks after a patrol. It had been another two weeks after that before he'd finally seen her.
And when he had?
Neville had wondered if he was supposed to cry, supposed to feel some massive upswell of emotion at the sight of his first born.
He remembered how carefully he'd held her, as if she were formed from fine porcelain instead of flesh and bone. The tenderness required had been alien to him.
He'd loved her. He still did, more than anything in the world, but in the beginning her fragility had frightened him. He couldn't cope.
Tenderness was not his way. It never had been.
He'd been on road-block duty near the border on her first birthday.
Riding a convoy of trucks through Strabane on her second.
Whenever he came home he brought her presents. He came loaded with toys and sweets like some ill-timed Santa Claus. But all the time he was with Lisa, he wanted to be back in Northern Ireland.
She was the most important part of his life, the army was his life.
Had been.
There was nothing for him any more. Not there.
No army. No life.
No point?
He drained what was left in his cup and got to his feet, glancing at the young woman and her baby for the final time before heading out on to the pavement where he slipped on his helmet and climbed aboard the Harley.
He flicked on the ignition and the bike roared into life.
Neville swung left into Old Compton Street, and he turned right into Moor Street. He slowed down slightly as he emerged into Cambridge Circus.
The phone box was to his left. Neville smiled.