Lit Skits

Robin was waiting on the corner at a quarter to six. Emily saw him outside the windows as the owner locked up the prescription stores for the night and she smiled.
“Thank you Emily, that’ll be all for today,” said Mr. Taylor. He smiled at her smile. He was a widower in his early sixties.
Emily stepped quickly up the wooden stairs to the staffroom and locked the door. She had brought a tote bag of clothes into work, and she changed slowly, knowing she had time, smoothing the fabric of her skirt down over her thighs and applying her make up in a small compact mirror. She took a deep breath, picked up her coat, and left.
Mr. Taylor locked the front of the shop and bid Emily goodnight. Robin stood awkwardly with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his jean pockets, smiling at her, until Mr. Taylor had turned the corner. His hair was moving jerkily in the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was early.”
Emily moved towards him and hesitated. He smiled and relaxed his shoulders and put his arms around her. She hugged him back, and kissed him lightly on the cheek as they parted.
“It’s okay. You’d be surprised at how much I prefer that to the alternative.”
She lay her arm in the crook of his and they began to walk. Her heels were loud on the paving stones. Robin looked across at her and she turned to him, too, without stopping. He smiled, pleased to be open with her.
“I wasn’t sure where you wanted to go,” he said. “What kind of food do you like?”
“Oh, anything. I’m not fussy.”
“Would you like to go to the White Elephant?”
“What, the Indian place on Frith Street?”
“I mean, if you don’t like Indian, there’s Italian just up from there, only I’ve never been in.”
“No, the Elephant is fine,” she said.
The Parade was heavy with traffic and they stopped, waiting to cross. Emily was holding his arm closely. Robin looked quickly into her eyes and kissed her on the mouth, and she held him there and with his eyes closed Robin felt deeply peaceful and excited at the same time. When they finished kissing, the crossing was clear.
“Come on,” she said, and tugged his arm gently.
They crossed the street and they were both smiling.
“I wondered if you would call,” she said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Give someone my number and not take theirs and just wait for them to call.”
“Oh, right.”
“Not that it happens a lot, mind you.”
“No? I told you I would call.”
“Again, you’d be surprised,” she tucked herself tighter into him and he put his arm around her. She shook her hair in the breeze when they turned the corner.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll just look at the menu.”
They crossed another street where the lower backs of the big buildings were and the streets ran narrow. A few of them had been converted into restaurants and shops. They passed Piccolino’s, the Italian restaurant, which was busy through the glass, and stopped outside The White Elephant. Robin ran his finger down the menu in the window. The restaurant had white net curtains hanging in the windows so that it was difficult to see the interior. Emily put her face close to the glass.
“Here’s the menu. What do you fancy?”
Emily shifted back and looked at the menu quickly, running a finger down the glass as Robin had done, trailing off at the end of the last column.
“You know what I fancy?” she said, brightly.
“What?”
“I’ve got two frozen pizzas and a bottle of wine in my fridge. What do you say?”
She kissed him again before he could answer and it ached him when she pulled away.
“Okay,” he said, whispering.

When she was naked she moved in a different way to the two girls Robin had slept with. She meant it when she moved and she gave of herself in each movement and you could see her intent in the motion. And she felt different. Her skin was gentler, and it gave more under his fingertips and he liked that she was soft. She was asleep on his arm and the orange of the lights on her street made a thin fine line of colour on the walls of the room which was dark.
He looked at her and tried to see the age in her face. Her forehead was crumpled against the skin of his arm, but apart from that there was not a line on her skin that he could see. When she was awake there were the smile lines around her eyes and the curve of her cheek was defined, but she was asleep and she was ageless.
A car went past outside and the lights spanned across the bedroom wall.
He kissed her forehead and gently lifted her head off his arm and pulled a pillow underneath, being careful not to snag her hair. She did not wake up. He slipped out from between the sheets and left the bedroom and walked naked into the kitchen. The oven was on. Robin turned it off. The two pizzas lay wet and defrosted on the worksurface, and the bottle of wine was open but not touched. He walked through to the bathroom and used the toilet.
When he came back into the kitchen the tarpaulin floor was cold on his feet and he stopped in the middle of the room. He looked at the fridge for a moment and then opened it. There was nothing he could eat quickly, so he closed the door and turned around. There was a photograph framed on the wall and Robin peered at it. It showed Emily laughing with a man he did not recognise.

Robin did not sleep well, so when the orange street light outside Emily’s bedroom curtains switched off and the low paleness of the morning replaced it, he got up and made himself a cup of coffee. She followed when the noise of the kettle woke her.
“It’s early,” she said, and she kissed him on the cheek when she came into the kitchen. She was wearing a pink dressing gown and her feet were bare.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I talk much in the night?”
“You mumbled a bit, but that’s all. Do you do that a lot?”
“Apparently,” she said.
Robin looked at the photograph. Emily did not notice.
“Kettle’s just boiled,” he said.
“Thanks.” Emily moved over to him and as he put his drink down she slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“Oh God,” she said. “I’m going to have to throw those pizzas away, they’ve been out all night.”
“It’s okay. Not the end of the world,” said Robin, squeezing her.
They kissed.
“Oh bugger, and the wine, as well,” she said, and smiled.
“That could be the end of the world. Was it a good bottle?”
“Not really. And you didn’t eat! What kind of a hostess am I?”
They were both smiling and they kissed for a long time.
“I need to go,” said Robin. “I have lectures today and I need to get home and change.”
“Do you want something to eat before you go? I’ve got some eggs.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have something at home before I go into campus.”
She stepped away from him and got a mug out of the cupboard. Robin looked at the photograph again and took a deep breath.
“Who's in the photograph?” he asked.
Emily looked over her shoulder at the frame on the wall as she unscrewed the lid of the jar of instant coffee.
“David,” she said. “My ex-husband.”
She paused.
“But you’re not stupid. You knew that,” she said.
“I wondered if you were just separated or-”
“No. We’re divorced. Came through two months ago.”
Emily looked at Robin and he did not like her expression. Her features were tense and her mouth was thin. She poured the water into her mug and stirred the coffee hard, and the spoon caught the sides.
“He left. He just left me, left his job, everything, and went.”
Robin’s breathing was shorter and quicker and he was nervous.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Emily did not say anything, but she raised her head and looked at Robin and her face was still hard.
“How long were you married?”
Emily’s cheeks rose as though she was about to smile and her eyes narrowed.
“Four years.”
“Oh.”
She smiled intensely at him, breathing deeply.
“It’s okay. It was happening anyway. He left because it wasn’t working. It was probably for the best.”
Robin reached out and she took his hand and squeezed it.
“How long ago?”
“A year, more or less. It was last October.”
All of the strength and tension was gone from her stance and she looked tired. Robin let go of her hand and put his arms around her.
“Hey,” he said, and kissed her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was going to tell you but I didn’t want you to get scared.”
He lifted her face up in his hands and looked her in the eye. She was blinking a lot.
“Do I look scared?” he said. “Do I look scared?”
“No,” said Emily in a small voice.
They stood and held each other.
“I need to go,” he said.
“I know, I know,” she said and she pulled away from him and wiped her cheeks because she was starting to cry.
“I really need to. Any other day and I’d stay.”
“It’s all right. I’m fine, really.”
Robin hesitated. He wanted to cry as well because he did not know what to do.
“Okay.”
He kissed her goodbye and she stood at the door watching him as he walked down the street. He crossed onto The Parade through the park. There was no traffic and the streets were clear. He was very hungry and when he saw people working through the window of a bakery he crossed the street. A sign on the door of the shop said that it was closed it wouldn’t be open until eight o’clock. A woman in a purple shirt and a white apron smiled at Robin apologetically through the glass.
When he let himself into his house nobody was awake and he very quietly had a shower and some toast before picking up his bag and leaving again. The bus to campus was half-full and Robin had a full seat to himself and he sat and stared out of the window for the whole journey.

Emily had to work that Saturday because Tina was off sick, but Robin met her afterwards. The afternoon was colder but there was very little wind.
“Hi,” she said, coming out of the chemist door in her work clothes. She smiled at Robin and he kissed her.
“Let’s definitely eat, this time,” he said, and she laughed.
“I’m in the mood for Italian,” she said.
“But not pizza?” said Robin.
“No. Not pizza,” she said, and they kissed again.
They walked up The Parade and through the park and Robin sat on Emily’s bed and watched her and she smiled at him while she took off her clothes and pulled on a dress. He did not touch her until she came over to him and bent to kiss him.
“Wow,” he said. “You look phenomenal.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Now. Before we forget. Food.”
“Food.”
They were shown to a table for two towards the back of Piccolino’s, and the waiter held back the chair for Emily. She thanked him as they sat down and the waiter placed two glasses of water on the table.
“Would you like anything to drink?” asked the waiter. His accent was thick.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” said Emily.
“Peroni, grazie,” said Robin.
The waiter handed them their menus, nodded, and left. Emily sipped her glass of water.
“Come here a lot, do you?” she smiled.
“I think I've been here twice,” said Robin.
“Your Italian accent seems pretty good,” she laughed.
“Thank you,” he said. “I do it at uni.”
“Italian? Oh, I suppose it’s all those painters, Leonardo da Vinci and that.”
“Well, it’s part of my course,” said Robin. “I’m doing a term in Venice in the new year.”
“Venice!”
Robin nodded. The waiter brought the bottle of beer and placed it in front of him.
“I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. I’ve only ever been to Spain,” said Emily. “When are you going?”
“Early January. The fifth or sixth, I think. I can’t remember.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s supposed to be beautiful. Have you been before?”
“No, but I’ve read a lot about it,” said Robin.
The waiter came up to the table again.
“Are you ready to order?” he asked.
“Sorry,” said Robin, “I’ve not even looked at the menu yet.”
“That’s okay,” said Emily.
The waiter left.
“Venice. Wow.”
“Yeah. The university has a centre there, and I’m doing a module on the Renaissance in Venice and Florence, lectures, libraries, galleries, everything.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“I hope so,” said Robin. “I’ve got to go regardless. What do you want to eat?
“The vegetable lasagne, I think. You?”
“The zitti. It looks good. Are you sure you don’t want any wine?”
“No, I’m fine,” said Emily.
Emily reached across the table and took Robin’s hand. There was a small tea lamp in a glass jar in the middle of the table and the flame flickered as Robin sighed.
“I was really nervous about today,” he said.
“I was too.”
“It’s just that I saw the mark on your finger and I wasn’t sure but I thought you’d say something and I really like you and it didn’t matter to me if it didn’t matter to you, so I thought I’d just keep quiet but then there was that picture so I had to ask.”
“I know. I only stopped wearing the ring when the papers came through. I don’t know why. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but it seemed too soon. I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want this to affect that.”
“It won’t.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. I don’t want it to. It’s okay.”
“Good.”
The waiter came over to the table again and they ordered. Emily handed her menu to the waiter and smiled at Robin when he had gone.
“And I really like you, too,” she said.

The next morning before Robin woke up Emily took the photograph off the nail in the wall of the kitchen and put it in a suitcase behind the settee.
The flat was very quiet and the day was going to be grey. Emily returned to bed and the movement woke Robin.
“Morning,” he said.
“Hi,” she said, and kissed him.
She relaxed between the sheets next to him and sighed.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head as she lay it on his arm and she tilted her head up and kissed him on the mouth. She shifted her weight across the bed and on top of him and they made love.

On Monday morning the buses to the university campus were empty. Robin was one of just six people on the 9 o’clock lecture bus because it was the first day of the academic year and the timetables were not yet out. He alighted at the main bus stop by the Student Union building and the black and ochre sculpture made of girders, and crossed the campus ring road to the Art Department. He spent the morning greeting his lecturers and discussing his options for the year in their small, pokey offices. He ate a lunch of dry and overbaked lasagne in the jarringly coloured cafeteria underneath the campus library, and when he finished he climbed upstairs and began to pick out texts among the grey-carpetted corridors of books. The library was almost deserted.
Robin checked out three books and caught the bus back to Leamington. When he arrived back at the house it was three o’clock. Mike was sitting on the sofa in his dressing gown, playing on his games console.
“Hey,” said Robin, coming in and putting his books down on the coffee table.
“Hey mate,” Mike paused the game. “Been on campus?”
“Yes. You’ll be relieved to know that it’s still there.”
“Sweet. I’m looking forward to Top Banana tonight. We’ll see what the Freshers are like.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to make Top B tonight, mate. I want to get cracking on these babies,” Robin patted his books.
“Do you have lectures tomorrow?”
“No, not until Wednesday.”
“Well come out with us then! It’s the first one, it’s always good. Jean and Chris rang, and their lot are all heading out too, so it’ll be all our old flat together.”
Robin hesitated, and Mike saw that he was weakening.
“Go on.”
“Yeah, all right,” said Robin, “but you’ve got to give me a hand shopping for a drawer unit tomorrow. We might need your car.”
“It’s a deal,” said Mike. “Sweet as.”
He unpaused the game and continued to play.
Robin emptied out his pockets and saw that he had forgotten to turn his mobile phone on after leaving the library. As it turned on it began to vibrate in his hands as it received a message. It was from Emily. Robin sat down and began to tap out his reply.
They arranged to meet the following day. Emily finished work at six.

Rachel, Jack, Robin and Mike left their house at about seven o’clock that Monday evening, and walked down the street to the bus stop underneath the railway bridge. There were a lot of other people milling around in small groups, dressed up for the night at the Student Union.
“Did you text them?” asked Rachel.
“Yes,” said Mike. “They’ve just caught the bus. It should be the next one.”
“Cool.”
The sky was still bright, and the sun was warm on the skin but the air was cool in the long shadows. It felt like the end of the day.
“I hate going in this early,” said Robin. “I always end up drinking too much by the end.”
“You should dance more,” said Rachel. “Then you won’t drink as much.”
Mike stepped out into the road to look down the street for the bus.
“It’s better mate, and you know it. I’d rather be in and waiting for things to start than sitting at home for a couple of hours and trying to wrestle our way on to a packed bus.”
“Are you going to drive in at all this year?” asked Jack.
“Maybe,” said Mike. “If I want to go out the night before a nine o’clock I might.”
“Do you have a nine o’clock on a Thursday?” asked Rachel. “I’m going to Decadance with football on Wednesdays.”
“Not sure. I haven’t picked up my timetable yet,” said Mike.
“You’re terrible,” said Jack.
“Yep,” said Mike, and stepped into the road again. “Here it comes.”
The bus was held at the traffic lights before the railway bridge and everyone waiting could see it and they all moved towards the markings in the road where the bus would stop and stood in a loose huddle.
“Did you get your card yet?” asked Rachel.
“Friday,” he replied, waving his bus pass.
“How much are they this year?”
“Sixty per term, hundred and forty for the year.”
“Bloody hell. That’s gone up. I suppose I’ve got to get one.”
The lights changed and the bus rolled forwards across the intersection and pulled up in front of the waiting group. Jack was first, and turned and gestured through the glass to the others that she was going upstairs. They followed her, pulling themselves up the steep and tightly-wound steps. She was sitting at the back, talking to Chris and Jean. Robin and Mike walked up the aisle together, grabbing the seat rails as the bus started.
“Hi guys,” said Mike, reaching over and shaking their hands. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” nodded Chris nonchalantly. Jean smiled.
“How’s your house this year?” asked Robin. The bus turned a corner and Rachel, the last to get on, staggered in her high heels as she made her way between the rows of seats towards the back of the top deck.
“We’ve got the same place we had last year,” said Jean. “It’s all right.”
Chris nodded in agreement.
“Looking forward to Top B?” asked Jack.
“Yeah,” said Chris, smiling. He tapped the back of Jack’s seat in a short staccato rhythm. “It should be good.”
“We’re going to get in a bit early. The doors open at 8,” said Mike. “Do you guys want to get a drink at the Airport first?”
“Sure,” said Chris. Jean nodded agreement.
The bus turned onto The Parade and began to climb the hill. Chris offered Mike a swig from a bottle of beer he was holding, and Mike took it gratefully.
“Should be a good night, huh?” said Mike.
“Yeah,” said Rachel.
The bus rounded off the top of The Parade and turned onto the long wide residential street which lead out of North Leamington.
“So what did you get up to in the summer, Jean?” asked Robin.
“I did some driving for my Dad’s company . They got a few large contracts,” said Jean.
The bus swung out of the top of the town and into the country. The sun was setting, and the light of it shone low and golden orange through the dirty glass windows of the top deck of the bus. Robin looked out across the fields as he was shaken back in his seat as the bus shuddered and changed gear as it came off a large grassed roundabout.
When they arrived on campus they had to wait until last to get off, and when they stepped out onto the pavement next to the trees the air was cool and still after the juddering of the bus. Mike stretched his arms out hard in front of him and cracked his knuckles.
“Right then,” he said. “Let’s get stuck in.” Rachel snaked her arm into Robin’s as they all walked towards the buildings. The group strung out a little.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m fine! Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a bit turned inwards.”
“I’m fine. I’m just worried about the year.”
“You too? I can hardly believe that it’s our last one.”
Robin shrugged. Rachel squeezed his arm.
The paths and pavements of campus were mostly empty, but there were groups of people in threes and fours sitting around on the grass, drinking and talking. An excited murmuring hung in the cool evening air and in it Robin could taste the freshness of another year starting. They crossed the open space in front of the Student Union and Rootes, and went inside and climbed the steps to the Airport Bar.
The Airport Bar was run by the university as part of its corporate entertainment complex, but it was used by students in term time and it was joined to the Student Union building by a bridge over the paths between them. Inside there was a wide long room with low blue plush seating arranged in rows, like an airport waiting lounge. There were hundreds of people sitting and standing, talking, drinking and eating. The bar was three deep in waiting drinkers and the barpeople were rushing sharply backwards and forwards in front of them.
“Right! My round first,” said Mike. “What’s everyone having?”
They settled in the last free seats in the bar, greeting people they knew as they walked past, talking about the summer and the year ahead loudly over the noise of the crowd. A blonde girl Robin recognised from his course but whose name he could never remember walked past the group, and he stood up and spoke to her as she walked, carrying drinks to her friends. The windows of the bar room looked out across one side of the Piazza, the amphitheatred square between the Union and the University's buildings corner of the campus road. Another white bus was emptying, and a stream of people were heading down the steps and drifting apart. Half of them were heading towards the Airport, and the others were heading towards the entrance to the Student Union. Robin glanced at his watch. It was half past eight.
“Hey, guys!” said Robin. “It’s half past. Do you want to head in?”
Rachel and Mike nodded, and Jack reached for her coat. Jean and Chris finished their drinks quickly and in silence.
“Let’s go.”
As they stood up their seats were taken by a group of people who had been standing nearby. The elevated walkway was locked, so they went down the carpetted steps of the university building and out onto the paved tiles of the Piazza. A short queue curled behind a metal crowd barrier past the small hairdresser’s shop and the cash machines in the open section by the entrance to the building. They showed their identification at the double doors and were waved inside by the stewards.
The dance floor had been revarnished to a rich dark brown for the start of the year but it was empty. On the ground level there was the dance floor which had a shallow stage where the two DJs stood behind a small mixing desk, and a short bar was tucked off to one side behind some tables.There were doors either side of the stage which led to a smaller dance floor and bar behind it, and the doors were open. Above was the main bar, and a balcony ran around the space above the dance floor and the stage. The music was loud and fast paced, but the noise of the bar upstairs drifted down over the edge of the balcony. People were drinking and talking.
Robin stepped down onto the wooden tiled dance floor and looked up at the stage lights hanging below the edge of the balcony and the people sitting around it, talking. He didn’t recognise any of the faces.
Mike jumped down the three steps to the dance floor and spread his arms out and span around.
“My spiritual home!” cried Mike, and Jack and Rachel laughed.
They crossed the dancefloor to the stair well and climbed up to the bar. It was busy. Most of the people were standing around near the bar, waiting for friends and their drinks.
Rachel was tapped on the shoulder by a tall man with small rimmed glasses as they walked, and she turned and shouted and hugged him.
“I’ll catch you guys up later, okay?” she said, as they went past. She began talking excitedly to the man. Robin recognised him from Rachel’s course.
The area stretching out in front of the main bar was all tables and seating; soft seats and chairs around large round tables, and a few stools next to short shelves on the walls. The lighting was clear but low, and the ceiling was made up of girders in structural patterns, painted white. The space thronged with people.
“It’s your round, mate,” Mike grinned at Robin.
“Right, okay,” he replied. “Same again? Jack, could you give me a hand with them?”
She nodded and followed him to the back of the mass of people at the bar. A minute or so later she slid her chin onto his shoulder.
“You know, I could get to the bar quicker, if you like,” she whispered in his ear.
“Okay,” said Robin, stepping aside.
A heavy-set man in a red and white rugby shirt was standing directly in front of them and Jack tapped him on the arm.
“Do you mind if I just slip in there?” she asked. The man stood back and waved her forwards. Robin handed her a twenty pound note and she stepped forwards again and ducked between two tall men and then he couldn’t see her head any more.
A group of girls in a mixture of loose baggy tops, short skirts and black trousers came up to the bar and stood next to Robin, looking into the mass of people with looks of dismay. One of them caught his eye and smiled, and he smiled back. She shrugged.
“You know, if you just want bottles, the bar downstairs is nearly empty,” he said.
“There’s a bar downstairs?” said the girl. “Oh, right. Thanks! I didn’t spot it when we came in. I’m Kirsty, by the way.”
The girl extended her hand and if she hadn’t had professed to ignorance of the bars in the Union Robin would have known her for a Fresher by the easy way she introduced herself. Students joining the university for the first time were starting entirely new lives, and after a few days the introductions became easy.
“Robin,” he said, shaking her hand. A couple of the girls nodded and smiled their thanks as they passed him. He stood and watched them go. Kirsty was a very pretty girl.
Jack’s voice called out high and sharp from the front of the bar, so Robin went to help carry the drinks.

Later that night, Robin was standing looking at the dance floor from the balcony above trying to spot his friends, with a pint of lager in one hand. The DJs were shouting into each other’s ears to make themselves heard above the music. They were playing an old 70s disco record, and people were making their way to the dance floor but finding it full and dancing on the steps and in the bar area around it. Mike suddenly came through the doors to the side of the stage and Robin saw him push through the mass of people dancing to get to the stairs and come up to the bar. Robin walked over to the top of the steps and greeted him.
“How are you doing?” he asked. Mike was bathed in sweat and grinning.
“Fucking fantastic, mate. You should dance. Some of the Freshers near us, man. Have to be seen to be believed. Brilliant.”
Mike shook his head, still smiling.
“Pint?” asked Robin.
“Yeah,” said Mike. “I’m parched. Kronenbourg, please.”
They walked over to the bar. Robin asked for the drink. The bar was clear, and the barman poured the pint straight away.
“I will never understand,” said Mike, leaning heavily on the bar, “ how those girls can dance the way they do.”
“The Freshers?” asked Robin. Mike paused.
“Well, yes, but no. Our girls. They get out there at about nine thirty and don’t stop dancing until the music stops. I’m knackered.”
“You’re getting old,” said Robin.
“Fuck off.”
“Here you go.”
“Thank you sir. You are a gent and a scholar. Your very good health.”
They drank.
“Do you want to go and sit down?” asked Robin.
“I think a spot just here should do the trick,” said Mike, gesturing at the balcony.
They moved and sat down, looking over the heaving mass of dancers.
“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?” said Mike.
Robin did not say anything.
“Here mate, check out that group of girls by the big speaker,” Mike gestured with his glass. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Robin looked and recognised the girls from the bar earlier. They were dancing in a tight circle on the packed dance floor and were bunched up close together. He saw Kirsty detach from the group and disappear into the crowd.
“Very nice,” said Robin.
“Yeah,” said Mike. “My friend,” he clinked his glass against Robin’s, “I have a feeling this is going to be a fucking excellent year.”
Robin grinned at him with a humour he did not feel and raised his glass.
“To a fucking excellent year,” he said.
Mike finished his drink.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and dance.”
Robin did not want to, but he left his drink on the balcony seat and followed his friend to the stairs.

On Tuesday morning Robin woke after eleven and watched television with coffee and cereal until nearly one o’clock when he lost his patience. He thumped on Mike’s door without rising from his seat in the living room. There was no answer, so he banged the door again and a moan came from inside. A moment later Mike opened the door, tying his dressing gown.
“What?” said Mike.
“It’s nearly one o’clock,” said Robin without turning around from the television.
“And?” said Mike, still standing in the doorway. “Did my Mum give you instructions or something?”
“You said you’d drive me into town to pick up a chest of drawers.”
Mike sat down on the sofa.
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
They sat in silence until the commercial break.
“How are you feeling this morning?” asked Mike. “You seemed pretty drunk.”
“Just a headache. I took something for it.”
Mike nodded.
“No lectures today?” asked Robin.
“Not sure. I meant to go in and get my timetable today. Want to come in after we get the drawers?” askedd Mike.
“No, I’ve got something on this evening.”
Robin picked up his bowl and mug and went into the kitchen, and Mike followed him and flicked the kettle on.
“What you up to?”
“I’m meeting someone,” Robin said, flatly.
“Okay,” said Mike. He poured a spoonful of instant coffee into a cup.
Robin turned from the sink and looked at him. Mike looked up.
“What?” said Mike.
“Nothing.”
“Okay. Where do you want to look for drawers?”
“I thought maybe the charity shops on that street across The Parade, and then that furniture place at the last.”
“Okay. That furniture place isn’t too bad, you know. You could probably pick up a cheap set there.”
“I know, but I want to check the charity shops first. Are you hungover? I mean, are you okay to drive?”
“Sure, no problem, I’m fine.” The kettle clicked off and Mike poured the water.
”I’ll shower, and then we can get going.”
They drove into the centre of the town and parked the car in the cinema car park. They walked along the street which housed most of the town’s charity shops, stepping into each one to ask the volunteers about furniture. None of the shops had a chest of drawers, and in the last one Mike held them up flicking through a white wire rack of dusty records.
“I think we’re a bit late,” said Robin.
“Yeah,” said Mike, coming away. “Come on, Iet’s pick you out a nice small, light, cheap chest of drawers from the furniture place,” said Mike.
“You lazy bastard. You can bring the car around. We don’t have to carry it far.”
They walked down The Parade to the furniture store, which had large glass windows and sofas and bookcases in them. Mike pushed open the door and walked in. They wandered around for a while until they found the right area. A fresh-faced shop assistant, younger than they were and wearing a suit and a name badge walked over to them.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, we wanted to see your cheapest set of drawers, please.”
“Oh! Students, are you?” asked the assistant.
“No,” said Mike, “we're fucking customers.”
“Just point us in the direction of the cheapest chest of drawers, please,” said Robin.
The assistant, whose name badge declared him to be Marcus, patted a cheap white pine unit and did not look at Mike.
“This is the cheapest one. We’re almost out of this colour but we have more of the same model in a dark effect coming in tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” said Robin. “I’ll take it.”
He frowned at Mike. The assistant nodded at Robin and walked away.
“What the fuck was that about?” asked Robin.
“I hate it when people assume we’re students because we don’t want to spend much money,” said Mike.
“Mate, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we are students.”
“I know, and we don’t spend much money, I know, I know. It just pisses me off. That’s all. Go and fucking pay, will you.”
The assistant was standing by a till in a small dark writing table with a long cardboard box leaning against it.
“Here you are,” said the assistant, patting the box.
“Oh!” said Robin. “It’s a flat pack?”
“Yes.”
Robin picked up the box and hefted it. Mike was sitting in a floral print covered armchair on the other side of the shop floor, looking out of the window.
“That’s fine. We’ll be able to carry it to the car,” said Robin.
Robin paid for the chest and walked over to Mike with the box under his arm, gripping it with both hands. Mike got up without saying anything and started walking towards the door.
“Can you grab the other end of this?” asked Robin when they were outside.
“All right. Shift along.”
The two of them turned onto a side street and Robin smiled and apologised to an old woman for blocking the pavement when they turned the corner.
“I had a really good night last night,” said Robin, to break the silence as they walked.
“It didn’t seem like it.”
“I did.”
“You were really quiet all night.”
“Yeah, well.”
They stopped at a crossing and waited for the lights to change. Robin blinked in the sunlight. It was warm.
“Look, mate, you know Friday night?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m seeing her again tonight.”
Mike stopped and turned around, taking the full weight of the box from Robin and setting it on its end. They looked at each other.
“You’re what?”
“Seeing her tonight.”
“Seriously?” Mike’s eyes were wide.
“Yes, seriously.”
“Mate.”
“I know. I wasn’t sure about it but I am. I just wanted to see her.”
“Okay! Okay. Wow.” Mike picked up the box and swung the top down to Robin. They crossed the road into the car park and Mike unlocked his car. They slid the box into the back seat from the driver’s side.
“Why?” asked Mike.
“I really like her.”
“How old is she, mate?” Mike’s voice was high, more curious than harsh.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Well, no,” Mike got into the car and nodded to Robin through the window. “It’s open.”
Mike started the car and they pulled out of the space.
“I know it doesn’t matter but it kind of does,” said Mike. “You’re twenty years old and you’re at university, mate. There’s women everywhere.”
“Not really,” said Robin. “You know it isn’t like that.”
“It is!”
“No, I mean, it isn’t. I just like her. And I haven’t liked anyone who likes me for ages.”
Mike was quiet. He reached down and turned on the car stereo. They turned onto The Parade and drove past the Spa Rooms and the park and over the bridge.
“Fair enough mate,” he said, finally. “Fair enough.”

Emily woke late. Sundays were always lazy, whether she worked Saturdays or not. She made herself a cup of coffee and slumped on the sofa, watching television. The programmes were a mix of cartoons, programmes from churches, and horse racing. She watched the horse racing without paying attention, sipping her coffee, and her thoughts slipped without trying to Robin. The form and going from Aintree became greyer and less real compared to the fantasy of him. It was easy, even effortless, to drift into those thoughts with the cool lightness of hope, the hope that they wouldn’t be the only memories, that this was the beginning of something.
She lay down on the settee and closed her eyes.
She wanted to sleep more, to enjoy the absence of a need to be anywhere, but she had to shower and dress before Blake came to pick her up. She sat up and breathed in slowly and deeply. Daylight came through the net curtains in her living room weak and grey, showing the uneven paving stones and straggling plants of the tiny back garden. An old tree, too large for the space, was growing hard and powdered brown out from the red brick and ivy of the wall.
Emily stood up and opened the patio door and looked up at the sky. The clouds were high and white but heavy, and the outside air was damp and cool. She sighed and turned inside to shower.
She walked across the kitchen floor before she was fully dry, with a towel wrapped around her, into her bedroom. She dressed quickly and with no real thought, pulling on a pair of jeans, a light shirt, and an old yellow cashmere jumper. She had long dropped the habit of dressing up for meetings with Blake. She put on her absolute minimum of mascara and a little lipstick, and went into the kitchen to make herself another coffee before twelve o’clock.
There was nothing of David’s in the flat. After he left she donated a lot of his clothes to the charity shops and threw the rest away, stripping their small terraced house of the things that he loved. She brought only the bare minimum of her own belongings to the flat, but there was one photograph she had kept because it was from one of her happiest times, with David or not. Just after they returned from their honeymoon the pair of them had gone down to stay with his parents in Torquay, and the photograph showed David and Emily laughing, his arms around her waist as she leant back on him. His parents, who Emily took a great liking to, smiled on. They were all sat at a table on the outside terrace of a cafe, and the photo had been taken by one of the waitresses. The picture hung in a cheap black wooden frame on the wall in the kitchen. Emily glanced at it each morning before she left for work, consciously or unconsciously, and some mornings it was a prickly reminder of the pain of his betrayal, but on others she felt a spark of joy that she had ever been that happy, no matter what David had gone on to do. Now she stood, hands on the countertop behind her, staring through both the glass and the people sitting at the table.
A car horn sounded in the street. She unhurriedly got her bag together, her mobile phone, her purse and keys, and left the flat.

Blake’s car was roomy and Emily stretched her legs out as they left the north of the town. It was an old BMW, its shape prowling and forward-leaning. He brought it to a stop at a large grassed roundabout and turned to her as the traffic wheeled past.
“Are you okay, Emily? You seem awfully quiet. If you’re not well we can do this another time.”
His face was concerned, emotional. His brow furrowed underneath his hair, which was curled and jet black. For the first time it occurred to Emily that it had to be dyed, and his concern was not touching her as it used to. His clothes, which before looked to be those of a charmingly distracted bachelor, suddenly seemed scruffy.
“I’m fine, Blake, really. I just didn’t sleep too well.”
“Poor thing.” He reached over and punched her softly on the knee. “A glass or two of the red stuff’ll pep you up, I’m sure of it.”
He put the car in gear and pulled away around the roundabout and accelerated down the hill to where a small stream passed under the road. Emily didn’t answer him, but smiled and watched the trees go by. They drove in silence for a while, with the chatter and adverts of local radio station drifting gently between them.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” said Blake. “There’s something about the food at this place. It just doesn’t get any better for pub grub.”
“It’s a good restaurant,” said Emily.
“Yes, but it’s not a bad pub, either, is it? It’s rare to get both. Certainly around here.”
“It’s a bit out of the way.”
“I supppose. I never think of it that way. You should get yourself a car, you know. You must have a bit put aside from the divorce,” said Blake.
“Why do I need a car? I live ten minutes’ walk from where I work,” said Emily.
“Well, just for the good it’ll do you. You could go shopping in Coventry, or visit friends. Just the power to get yourself about. It’d do you good.”
“Most of my friends are in Leamington, and if I want to go shopping in Coventry, I can take the bus.” Emily was indignant.
“Okay Em, it was just a suggestion.” He flicked a glance across at her. “ Sure you’re okay?”
“Yes!”
She had not meant to snap at him.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
He continued to drive in silence, looking only at the road ahead, until they pulled into a chalky gravel car park, and found a space between a Range Rover and a small, dusty black sports car. Blake turned off the engine.
“I don’t want to annoy you, Ems, but if you don’t fancy doing lunch I can take you home. I only asked because I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“It’s okay, I will.”
“All right. Let’s go in. We’re late.”
It was quiet. The Cricketers was away from the main road and as Emily and Blake walked through the beer garden, the only sound was the rolling crunch of the gravel as another car pulled away.
The darkness inside the pub took a moment to adjust to, and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer and food was warm and strong and musty. There was a rolling murmur of conversation and laughter in the bar, and the carpet underneath Emily’s feet was soft and the furnishings and brasses on the walls were homely.
A waitress approached them and Blake put his hand on the small of her back as he gave his name and it made her feel uncomfortable.

There was a little coldness in the air. Mike and Robin were kicking a football around in the park by the river and it was the middle of the afternoon on Sunday. There were not many people around. A couple were sitting and kissing on the fence bars around the bandstand, and Mike and Robin slowly moved their game away. Mike hit the ball hard and Robin was too late diving for it and it sped past him.
“You can get that,” said Robin, getting up.
“Stuff that! You missed the save. That was a great goal,” said Mike.
“Fuck,” said Robin under his breath, and trotted after the ball.
An old man walking an elderly red setter kicked it stiffly back to him.
“Thanks!” called Robin, picking up the ball. He turned to Mike.
“Want to call that it?” he said.
“Yeah, okay.”
Mike stooped to pick the jackets off the ground and walked, out of breath, to Robin, who stood with the ball on his hip.
“You reckon you’ll be able to go to any matches when you’re in Italy?” asked Mike.
“I don’t know. Might get a bit damp around where I’m staying.”
“Ha bloody ha. What’s the local team?”
“I don’t know. I’ll look it up.”
Mike nodded, swallowing. They began to walk home. The pale green branches of the weeping willows on the riverbank moved gently in the breeze.
“How are you feeling about the year?” asked Robin.
“Nervous, mate. Pretty nervous.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mike was looking ahead as they walked.
“I’m sure you’ll be all right,” said Robin.
“Yeah, well. I feel like I only got through last year by the skin of my teeth.”
“You did pretty well. You got a 2:2, right?”
“Only just,” said Mike, shaking his head. “And I worked really hard for that. I just don’t get a lot of the stuff, you know? It’s like none of it’s real, and I find it really hard to even like, be interested.”
“Well, you’ve got me. I don’t even understand what the titles of your courses mean.”
“Right,” said Mike.
“Why did you pick your course, anyway? Ever since the first year I’ve felt that you secretly don’t like it.”
“Secretly! Well, I don’t know,” said Mike. “It was the only thing I got a decent grade in at A-Level. I thought to myself, well, if I can only do Physics, I might as well do Physics.”
“I’m nervous,” said Robin. “I don’t know how things are going to pan out this year at all, and everything we’ve done rests on it. Like, everything. I just want to get started.”
Mike looked at Robin and laughed.
“That’s where you and I differ. I just want to stay on holiday. I’m sure you’ll be fine. I don’t know anyone who works as hard as you. Not even the biochemists.”
The two of them crossed the bridge, and Mike stopped outside the It’s A Scream pub.
“Fancy one? I know I’m not going to be able to tempt you once lectures start.”
“What, and undo all the good we just did by running around like idiots for an hour? Why not? It’s not like term starts until tomorrow.”

Emily didn’t want to drink too much after the wine the night before, but something about the way she was feeling made her nervous and when she was nervous she compulsively reached for her glass. Blake pretended not to notice, but after two drinks at the bar, they sat down to eat and he ordered a bottle of the house red, even though he himself was not drinking. They chose their food, and Blake meshed his fingers on the table.
“I’ve been promoted,” he said.
“Oh, Blake, that’s wonderful,” said Emily, and reached out and squeezed his hands. “Well done.”
She could hear the flatness in her own voice.
“Thanks. It means a lot more money, and I’m going to be travelling around the county a lot as well, to the other plants, overseeing the implementation of the new operation methods. I won’t be in town for quite so many evenings a week, so we’ll have to ration going out.”
“That’s brilliant Blake, really.”
He looked at her with his head cocked slightly to one side, as though he was trying to figure something out.
“Are you seeing anyone new?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I’m just asking. You seem different. And quiet. Like you want to be alone with your thoughts and I’m intruding.”
“I’m sorry,” said Emily quietly, at the same time thinking that she was not. “I might be. I met someone on Friday night.”
“Really? Do tell.”
Blake edged forwards, eager to listen, and his mouth was curved in a smile, but Emily did not want to talk to him about it.
“No, it’s okay.”
“Oh, come on, Emily! You can’t just give me a lead-on like that and expect me to drop everything! What happened? What’s he like?”
Emily paused, looking into his eyes which were much closer and more intent now that he was leaning towards her across the table.
“No, Blake. I said. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on! Let’s hear-”
“No, Blake. I can’t sit here another time and let you rattle through your sympathetic friend routine. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to talk about it with you. I’d just rather leave it.”
Blake leaned back into his chair and took his hands off the table.
“Well-” he started.
“I’m sorry,” Emily reached across the table, “I just don’t want to jinx it.”
She did not want to talk to Blake about Robin because it felt wrong. Not because of Robin, but because of Blake.
He took Emily’s outstretched hand, and she took a sip of wine with the other.
“That’s okay babe. That’s okay,” said Blake.
Emily stopped drinking wine with the meal after that.

After getting back home from the pub, Robin called the number Emily had given him. There was no answer, so he left a message.

Monday morning was hard for Emily. She was not tired, nor was she hungover, but she did not want to wake up. She showered and dressed for work without thinking about what she was doing.
She was the first to arrive outside the chemist, and she stood waiting in the lee of the doorway, watching the cars go up and down The Parade. An empty bus went by, and when she turned, Sarah and Tina were walking towards her, and both of them were grinning.
“Hi!” they chorused.
“Hi, Sarah, Tina. How are you?” said Emily. Her stomach was tight and she was smiling without it reaching her eyes. The girls did not react.
“Oh my God? How am I? How are you?” laughed Tina. “The last we saw you were disappearing off into a dark corner with a student.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”’
“I’ll bet! Are you keeping him?” said Sarah.
Sarah and Tina had been working at the chemist’s on The Parade for years before Emily started there. They were both in their late twenties and knew each other from school. Sarah was plump and red headed, and lived with her boyfriend and two children in a flat in a different area of North Leamington to Emily. She had three earrings in each ear, and when she spoke quickly or excitedly you could see the stud in her tongue. Tina was smaller but louder and more coarse, with mousy brown hair and only two earrings. She was single, and shared a house with people Emily had never met somewhere near The Parade. Both Sarah and Tina were in their late twenties, and since David left, they had become her best friends.
“I quite fancy a toyboy myself,” said Tina.
“Surely you need a boyfriend first?” said Emily.
“Ooh, catty,” grinned Sarah. “Today isn’t going to be at all bad, as Mondays go.”
“How was Saturday?” asked Emily, desperate to change the subject.
“Busy, but okay,” said Tina.
Emily nodded.
The owner, a short Asian man with thick rimmed National Health glasses called Mr. Taylor, turned around the corner and gave the three of them a curt greeting before opening the doors. The morning passed quickly, as Monday mornings always did, with restocking and reordering after the weekend’s business. Whenever they were all behind the counter at the same time, Tina and Sarah kept pressing her about Friday night.
“Did you even find out his name?”
“Of course,” said Emily, sorting boxes in a storage cupboard, and rankled for the first time.
“In the morning?” asked Tina, pushing her tongue into her cheek and winking.
Emily stood up.
“Yes, if you must know, we went back to my flat.”
“Oooh, brilliant! How was it?”
The look of genuine interest on Tina’s face softened Emily’s feeling of being attacked for her actions.
“It was...he was, well, lovely, actually.”
“Ah, great! It does you good, huh?” said Tina.
An old woman with a purple knitted hat and a long brown coat was trying to attract Tina’s attention, so she was whispering.
“One night things might not be pretty afterwards, but it’s great sometimes, right? You must be right pepped up.”
“I don’t know,” said Emily.
“Can I help you?” asked Tina to the old woman.
Emily picked up a box and walked hurriedly away into the shop.
During her lunch hour Emily read the Daily Mirror alone in the tiny staffroom above the shop. They each took lunch alone so as not to abandon the shop floor, but Emily didn’t mind. It was good to have a period of quiet in the middle of the day. It was the first day it was too cold to eat in the park. As she ate she thought of the message Robin had left on her machine. She had listened to his voice haltingly work through what sounded like insincere banalities - he had a great time, he hoped that she was okay, that he was just calling, like he said he would - and then his voice changed, a shift in tone and earnestness, when he said he hoped he could see her again soon and he left his telephone number before hanging up.
After she finished her sandwich Emily stared out of the window down the Parade at the lunchtime bustle, and pulled out her mobile phone and sent Robin a message.

It was late September, and as he crossed the grey stone bridge over the River Leam the sun was still strong on Robin’s face before it was cut by the shadow of the buildings. He walked slowly, allowing himself the luxury of savouring the walk back to his new house. Leamington had changed over the summer he had spent away. One old, small closed-up cafe with smeared whitewash on the window glass which had been mere background before had been renovated and opened as an Indian Takeaway. On the short road south of the bridge there was a series of small restaurants and takeaways, kebab shops and pizza places, with a brown wood-fronted pub and a vehicle parts store as the only exceptions. This was the main road through the town to southern Leamington, where a lot of students lived in their second and third years at the university. The bulk of the town’s pubs and bars were north of the river, and most of the students lived to the south; the run of curry houses and kebab shops was a tempting bottleneck for hungry drunken students walking home. Most of them were closed until the evening, and Robin idled by.
She had been so...wanting.
The university year had not yet begun, and people were still coming into the town. As Robin walked he noticed that two of the cars waiting at the traffic lights under the rusting railway bridge were packed full so that the drivers could not see out of the rear windows. One was clearly a student’s car. It was an old model, not rusty or dirty, but a lack of shine to the paint and subtle streaks on the metal trimmings gave it a weathered look. Robin did not recognise the solitary driver, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. At the front of the queue there was a parent’s car. It was an estate, new-looking and cared for, and the back window was completely blocked with a rolled up duvet. A girl was sitting in the passenger seat watching passersby with a blank expression, while her Mother talked, looking across at her. The girl looked familiar.
Robin turned right at the traffic lights. As he came out from the shadow of the railway bridge over the crossroads, the sun struck and warmed him.
She wanted to see him again.
The new house which he and his friends were renting was a terraced building on Tachbrook Road.It faced the street with a tiny square of earth and straggling greenery and a cheap black iron gate. The front of the house had been painted a weak sky blue by the landlord in preparation for the new university year, but it was already peeling around the frame of the front door. The house was across the street from a pub called The Sun In Splendour which sat upon a high bank covered in long grass. The pub sign hanging at the front of the building was so pale and faded as to be almost blank. Robin and his housemates hadn’t gone into the place yet.
He would definitely call her.
Robin unlocked the front door and walked into the entrance hall, which was carpetted with several overlaid off-cuts of different patterns. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the rack with difficulty because all of the hooks were already taken.
“Hello?” called Robin. “Anyone home?”
“Oh, hello stranger!” came a voice from upstairs, followed by a face over the banister. It was Rachel Garrison, Robin’s housemate.
“Hi! Have you finished moving all your stuff in? Can I help at all?”
“No, all done,” said Rachel, still hanging like a child over the banister with her hair falling around her face. She grinned at him. “Jack’s been telling me that you’ve started your casanova-like ways already, you dirty stop-out. What’s her name?”
“Emily,” said Robin.
“Emily. I didn’t know you had a thing for older women. How old was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Chauvinist!”
There was a pause.
“Look, are you going to come down here and give me a hug, or what?” said Robin.
Rachel laughed and thumped down the stairs in her stocking feet and threw her arms around Robin.
“Welcome back,” he said.
“Thanks, it’s good to be back. How was your summer?”
They stepped into the kitchen and Robin put the kettle on.
“Okay, okay. Didn’t do as much work as I wanted to-” he started.
“Work? It’s the summer break! You’re not meant to be working. It’s a time for barbecues and sunbathing and generally doing sweet bugger all, matey boy.”
“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to get a headstart on a few of my modules, you know, get ahead.”
Rachel shook her head at him. She folded her arms across her chest and leant against the freezer.
“Crazy boy. What did you get up to?”
“Oh, I worked at my old supermarket. I’ve got a bit of spare cash lined up, saved for the Venice thing, you know.”
“Oh yeah! I forgot you had that this year. I promise not to lease your room out,” said Rachel.
“Thanks,” said Robin. “I’d appreciate it.”
The kettle clicked off.
“Want one?” asked Robin.
“No, I’m fine. I’ve got a coke upstairs.”
“How was your summer, then?”
“Fabulously dull. I did absolutely nothing all summer. I sunbathed-”
“I can tell.”
“-thank you, I read trashy novels, I drank Pimm’s...it was great.”
“Didn’t you get bored?”
“You did just hear what I did, right?” she grinned. “Come upstairs. Jack is winding her wicked way through my new CDs, and I want to stop her before she finds this new Chillout compilation.”

Emily Ilsford walked slowly up The Parade, away from Satchwell’s, the pub where she and Robin had eaten. After crossing one street she turned and looked back to see if he was watching her, but he was gone. She spotted him further down the hill, walking towards the river. A bus growled past, changing gear. It was one of the university shuttles that the bus company laid on during the university term. They ran every twenty minutes and so they were never full during the day, but in the mornings the last bus to get to the university in time for nine o’clock was always full. During term months she would watch the buses from outside the chemist where she worked as she waited for the owner, and she would feel sorry for the students packed like sardines into too small a tin.
And now she had slept with one of them.
She quickened her pace with the gentle slope, past the white bay window frontages of the shops, her short heels clicking on the paving slabs. By the time she reached the top of The Parade, she was smiling to herself.
Not just one of them, but Robin.
She crossed the road which cut off the top of The Parade and decided to walk through the small park there. During the summer she took her lunch into the park, and the ash she usually sat under was starting to let a little yellow seep into its leaves. The grass in the shade was wet so she kept walking, along the curve of the tarmac path which cut behind the petrol station to the alley which would bring her out onto her street.
He had been so tender, so...honest.
She crossed to the sunlit side of her street and slowed in her walking. A man was carrying a long thin cardboard box from a car into the house next to hers. It was the only student house on the street, one tall town house converted to have nine bedrooms instead of the three flat conversion of her own building. The parties the year before had been loud.
She let herself into her flat and walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Blowing the steam from the kettle onto the window which looked out onto her tiny garden, she drew an abstract squiggle on the glass with the tip of her finger.
He would call. He was so honest. He was not innocent, but he was honest.
She pulled open the refrigerator and put her weight on the open door to gaze inside. Two bottles of white wine were lying sideways on the shelf next to a microwave curry. She poured the tea into the sink, pulled one of the bottles out of the fridge and slid open a drawer for her corkscrew.


“You’re home, then,” said Mike, coming into the living room. Robin was sitting with sheets of paper in his lap and the television was on but mute.
“Yes, well, you know. I thought I might as well. I pay rent, after all.”
“Man, I know she was fit, but she was a lot older than us. How pissed were you?”
“Not that drunk, mate. I mean, I stopped drinking after that first round at Sugar.”
Mike sat down on a tattered armchair and began changing channels on the television.
“We ought to get cable this year. A few sports channels.”
“Great,” said Robin, leafing through his paper, “in the year we need the least distraction.”
“What? Come on, imagine it. It would be great...and good for us. If there’s always something good on, we can chill out with the TV any time we like.”
“Or all the time.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Mike.
“Check it out then. I like the idea of having comedy on whenever.”
“Wicked.”
Mike flicked through the channels and turned the television off. He turned to Robin.
“What are you doing?”
“Just going over my options for the year. I might change, I’m not sure.”
“You’re something else, you know that? Lectures haven’t even started yet. Are you even unpacked?”
“What?”
“Are you unpacked? Have you unpacked yet?” asked Mike.
“Not totally. I was thinking I might pick up some drawers or something from a charity shop in town in the week; my room hasn’t got a lot of storage space.”
“Well, you chose the smallest room.”
“I know,” said Robin. “I need to save money this term, and it’s not like I’m going to be in it for the whole year.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, we know. Venice.”
Robin let the papers fall into his lap.
“Mate,” said Robin. “You know that girl from last night?”
“Girl! Sorry, yes?”
“She was pretty cool. I mean, she seemed really nice.”
“Hah, right. Wisdom of experience, huh?”
Mike raised his eyebrows and smiled expectantly. Robin’s stomach tightened.
“Not really. Just...nice.”
“Right...what? Mate, tell me you’re not serious.”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Right. We’ve got a university packed with pert young women and a fresh batch just in. The last thing you need is a middle aged girlfriend.”
“She wasn’t middle aged!” said Robin, laughing.
“Right, well, you know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if you’re that way inclined we can always try and get you together with a mature student.”
“Watch it!”
“Just winding you up, mate. There’s a lot of mileage in that.”
“Git.”
“Want to check out the pub across the way later?”
“Yeah, okay. Just a quiet one.”
“I’ll ask the girls.”
Mike left the room and Robin heard him climbing the stairs.
The house had four bedrooms, of which Robin’s was the smallest, and he took a cut in rent because of it. Mike and Rachel had identically sized rooms. Mike’s was on the ground floor at the back of the house and could only be accessed through the living room, and mirrored Rachel’s upstairs. Jack had the largest bedroom and the only double bed, and Robin’s room took up the small remaining space on the first floor, above the downstairs kitchen. The four of them had lived together on the university campus in the first year, when the accommodation department had allocated them all a room in the same flat in a hall of residence called Tocil Hall. In the second year they had taken a house in a different part of Leamington, but the house, which was next to the canal, had chronic damp, and the landlord took it off the rental market for a year to work on it.
Robin was a lean-looking man, twenty years old, but not yet shaving every day, something he hated to do. His hair was a light chocolate brown, in relaxed curls on the top of his head, tapering to a neater trim at the sides. He was easy going about everything except his work, which he loved.

At half past eight, the telephone rang. Emily had finished the first bottle of wine, and she was reading a book with Carole King playing loud on her stereo. She floundered for the remote control before answering.
“Hello?”
“Emily! Hi! How are you? Did you have fun last night?”
“Hello Blake. I’m okay. Yes, I had a good time.”
“The usual piss-up then, was it?” said Blake, with laughter in his voice.
“Yes, well, close.”
‘You know I think you drink too much,” said Blake.
“And I know you drink more than me,” she answered.
Andrew Blake was Emily’s friend. A handsome man, she enjoyed his company, and from what she knew he had few male friends. Maybe it was the flattery of attention, or the sheer compulsion of him, but he often called to ask her out to dinner or for a drink and she always accepted.
They dined together at least once a fortnight, met for drinks after work about once a week...never regular, never the same place two times running, and ever the smile and the ready wit. She enjoyed herself with Blake, she felt close to him, but he was a tantalisingly elusive man.
He called for the first time one week after Emily started divorce proceedings. Blake had worked in the same office as Emily’s husband at the foundry in Sydhenham, and they had met at a dinner party where Blake was the only single guest. Four or five times after that she had seen him at barbecues and parties, laughing, joking, enjoying himself. As far as Emily knew Blake had been a friend of her husband, but she never asked.
After break-ups, after separation, an invitation from a single friend could only mean one thing. She had pushed it to the back of her mind as she quietly accepted his invitation to dinner, but when the night was over and she was standing on the inside of her own closed front door, alone and feeling a little lightheaded from the drink, she realised that she had only gone out with Blake to sleep with him. Out of revenge, out of fear, out of a spark of attraction, but too much of why she wanted him was about David leaving for the feeling to be any good.
Despite herself Emily continued to go out with him.
“Yes, well. It was about drink that I was calling. Would you like to have Sunday lunch with me? My treat. I thought we could drive on out to The Cricketers.”
“Blake, it’s always your treat. You’re really going to have to let me get the food sooner or later,” Emily said.
“I won’t hear of it, young lady. Do you hear me? Buy me a G and T when we get back into town,” said Blake, mockingly stern.
“Okay, okay. The Cricketers it is,” answered Emily, sighing.
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up then? What, twelve-ish?”
“Fine. See you then.”
“Emily...are you okay? You sound a little...quiet.”
“I’m okay. Just a bit tired from last night.”
“Okay darling. Get a good night’s worth in tonight then, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Em.”
Emily tossed the telephone off the bed, and she heard it land and scuttle underneath. She left it there and began reading again.

“So tell us about last night, Mister,” said Jack, gathering the darts in her hand.
“What is there to tell? You saw,” said Robin.
“Yes, well I saw, and Mike saw, but Rachel missed out.”
“He’s already told me about it,” said Rachel, sipping her beer.
The Sun in Splendour was not a student pub. The four of them recieved a look of mild malevolence and surprise from the old men in the bar when they entered. Now they were playing darts and talking amongst themselves, Robin, Jack, Rachel and Mike were being politely ignored.
“Ah,” said Jack, waving the flight of a dart in Rachel’s direction, “did he tell you everything?”
“I hope not,” said Mike. “There are a lot of things I’d rather not know.”
Jack threw three darts in quick succession, and they were spread widely over the board. She turned back to the table.
“Come on Mike, I’m not doing the maths myself, you know,” she said.
Mike stood up and pulled the darts out of the board, counting under his breath. He subtracted Jack’s score from the total on one side of the chalk board and walked back to the ockey.
“What then?” asked Robin.
“You know. She was older, Rach. Much older. Cradle snatcher!” Jack bared her teeth.
“We’re not kids, Jack,” protested Robin.
“You know what I mean,” Jack sipped her beer, “toy boy hunter then.”
“I hate to say it,” said Mike, “but she was fit for her age.”
“You too?” said Jack.
Jack had short black and blonde hair. It was dyed in streaks and she kept it straight and cut above her shoulders. Her features were pointed, and her jaw angular, but with a curl to her mouth which set her face off beautifully. Robin liked her a lot, but she was a political science student, and had a tendency to speak on topics of conversation long after everyone else had comfortably left them.
“You know what I mean Jack. She was good looking for her age. That doesn’t mean that I’d jump into bed with her,” Mike sat down and slid the darts over to Rachel.
“But you wouldn’t kick her out?” asked Jack, her head tilted and her hair hanging straight down out away from her face under its own weight.
Mike paused, and Jack punched him in the arm, laughing.
“Men.”
Rachel, who was sitting next to Robin, subtly patted his knee under the pale wooden table. He looked at her and nodded as she got up to throw her darts.

They had two rounds of drinks in the Sun in Splendour, until the locals began to increase in numbers and there was only room to stand. The four of them stopped for a moment as they came out of the pub and stood in the cool night air. A series of cars and a bus on the university route drove up Tachbrook Road in the orange light of the streetlamps.
“So this is our house for the year,” said Rachel.
They stood looking at the house across the street, which was completely white in the street lights. Mike walked towards the steps down the grass bank to the road, when he suddenly stopped.
“Did you hear that?” he said, whispering.
“What?”
“That noise...wait...there. What is that?”
“I can’t hear anything. What are we listening for?” asked Jack.
“It sounds like it’s coming from behind the fence.”
“Around the back of the pub? What?”
Mike ran over to the fence which ran out from the side of the pub to a row of bushes bordering the first house in a terrace, and ducked down to a hole just above the level of the dustbins.
“It’s a goat!” cried Mike.
“What? Let me see!” Rachel pushed Mike out of the way. “It is! It’s a big white goat! That’s so cute.”
“That’s pretty random,” said Robin.
“People can keep animals if they like,” said Mike, shrugging.
“Here goat! Goat! Come here! It’s tied up.” Rachel said, through the fence hole.
“Rach, come on,” said Jack.
“Why have they got a goat, do you reckon?” asked Rachel, coming away.

The morning after their first night together, Robin Jackson sat alone on Emily Ilsford's settee, not knowing what to do. When he moved his clothes were stiff with sweat from the night before, and the television in the corner was showing a black and white film but he was not watching it. The room was large and the ceiling high; the old town house in north Leamington was split into separate apartments and Emily’s home was on the ground floor. A small kitchen with a pale patterned linoleum floor had been built onto the back of the flat, with another small room with a shower and toilet at the end. He could hear the water running.
He was tired and worn and felt good from the night, but his stomach was tight with uncertainty. He was not used to situations like this. He still felt the deep thrill from the early hours when she had invited him home, but now there was an edge of nerve to it and he tensed to hear the water from the bathroom slow and stop. He heard her feet cross the floor of the kitchen, and she stood in the door of the bedroom wrapped in a white towel.
“Are you sure you don’t want a shower?” she asked, and her face was bright.
“No, no I’m fine,” said Robin, sitting straight, facing the television.
She stepped around in front of him, let her towel fall, and walked across the room naked to her wardrobe.
“Are you all right?” she spoke with her back to him, knowing he was watching her as she pulled a pale pink nylon dressing gown around her and turned to him.
“Yeah, fine,” he answered, all of the awkwardness gone from his voice. She came and sat next to him on the settee, her legs curled underneath her, her arm on the cushion, her hand touching his hair.
“You got dressed,” she said.
Robin nodded.
“Are you leaving?”
He turned to her without knowing what he was going to say, and she kissed him and he raised his hands to her face and held it gently with his fingers in her hair.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“Good,” she said, standing up. “Go and have a shower, you smell of smoke.”

He was standing with his face in the stream of hot water when he felt her hand on the small of his back and she stepped in behind him.
“Move over,” she said, running her hand around his waist as he turned.
He grinned through the water and she smiled and kissed him. He felt her body press against his chest and as he put his arms around her he couldn’t keep from saying it.
“So getting me to take a shower was just another way of getting my clothes off again?”
She cocked her head and blew air through the water as it ran down her face. She nestled into him, holding him, and sighed.
“Was it a bad idea?”
She felt him moving and she stepped back and smiled.
“Your body doesn’t think it was a bad idea.”
“True,” said Robin.

They were on her bed, later, and she was stroking his hair. His eyes were heavy.
“What does it feel like, afterwards?” she asked.
“Just like I’m really sleepy,” he said.
“Is it always like that? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing you. I’ll shut up. It’s just that I’ve never asked, never felt able to ask, before.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” he said. “Pretty much every time.”
“That must be handy,” she said. “Whenever you want to go to sleep, you just- now I am embarrassing you.”
“No you’re not.”
They lay quietly for a time, both of them breathing softly.
“So how old are you?” he asked. Her cheek was on his shoulder. Sun angled through a gap in the curtains and made a line of bright light on the wall.
“That’s a very personal question,” she answered without opening her eyes. She breathed in deeply through her nose.
“I know,” said Robin, “I’m curious.”
“You are a curious boy.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I like that you’re curious.”
“So are you going to tell me?”
She rolled away from him and stretched, arching her back, pushing her chest out with her arms above her head. She let out a long breath.
“No,” she smiled, rolled back and kissed him. “But I can tell you that I am as hungry as all hell. What shall we do for food?”

He was too far away to see the light in her eyes. They were sitting on either side of a table against the wall in the restaurant section of a pub on The Parade, and a spot lamp hanging from a rail near the ceiling threw the shadow of her hair across her face.
Her hair had all the colours of sand, falling to richer, darker curls above the nape of her neck. She had pale blue, almost grey eyes, and they moved quickly, never resting. Her skin was lightly tanned from the summer and her bare arms moved as her hands flowed with her words. There was a thin strip of pale skin at the base of the third finger of her left hand, but it did not make Robin feel anything.
“I’m glad you’re back, anyway,” she said.
“You make it sound as though you’re the only one.”
“I might be. Everyone I know seems to treat September like the end of the world. It’s all ‘enjoy it while it lasts’, and ‘Peaceful, isn’t it? Not for long...’, and I think, Jesus, you’re students, not the plague.”
She sipped her wine.
“It’s too quiet in this town when you’re gone. One morning the parks are full of people sunbathing, playing football or whatever, and then pouf! Nothing. It’s like the circus left town.”
A car drove past in the lane behind the pub and threw a flash of low reflected sun into her face.
“What do you do?”
“For a living?”
“Yes.”
“I work in the chemist‘s at the top of The Parade, on the corner. Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s boring and it’s a pain in the arse, but it’s something to do, you know.”
Robin said nothing.
“So tell me again. What’s your course again?” she traced a pattern on the back of his hand with her finger.
“Art History,” he said.
“Shit! What made you choose that?”
Emily feigned horror, and they smiled at each other.
“Not knowing as much about it as I wanted to?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Right, okay, okay. But what do you want to do with it? What can you do? Become well...an Art Historian?”
“Doubtful.”
“But do you want to?”
“I don’t know.”
She lowered her eyes and sat back in her chair.
“I’m sorry,” said Robin. “It’s a sore point. I’m in my third year, studying a subject I love, but...”
“You have no idea what you want to do?”
“Yes.”
She took his hand again and squeezed it.
“I’m sure you could do anything,” she said.
“That’s the problem,” he nodded. “I’m terrible at making decisions.”
She laughed and the corners of her mouth rose up and made her cheeks rounded as her eyes creased the skin around them into soft lines.
“I just think it’s funny, I’m sorry. That you’re spending all this time to get a degree, I mean, a fucking degree, that’s no small thing - all the things you could do with that - and you can’t choose?”
“Yes,” Robin tried not to smile until the ache in his cheeks was too much and he failed.
“I’d say that was a pretty good problem to have,” she said.
“Or the worst one,” he replied.

When they came out of the pub he held the door for her, and she smiled and looked down with her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she passed him. They stood awkwardly on the pavement.
“I had a really nice time,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Look, you’ve still got my number from earlier last night, haven’t you?”
He grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, and she half-smiled back.
“Well, call me, all right? I’d like to see you again.”
“Me too,” he said.
“And don’t think I don’t mean that. Don’t think that I don’t want to see you, that I’m happy with one night, or we’re never going to see each other again.”
Robin looked shocked and began to protest.
“I know-”
She raised her hands, and then placed them both softly on his chest. He stopped.
“I’m sorry. I just...well. I mean what I say when I say I want to see you again, all right? I do.”
“Me too.”
“Good,” she kissed him. “Have a nice rest of your Saturday. See you soon. Call me.”
She turned around and walked up The Parade, and Robin stood for a moment, watching her walk. Two men came out of the pub behind him. They turned up the street behind Emily and one of them looked back at Robin and nudged the other, so Robin turned and walked away.

"You're that lady," said Clarissa, looking up at the woman flicking through the greeting cards.
"I am not," said the woman.
"Yes you are. I saw you on telly."
"Telly?" said the woman, and Clarissa nodded. "Telly," repeated the woman.
"In a film," said Clarissa.
"It weren't me, young lady," said the woman.
"Yeah it was. You've got the same face, only I can't see all of it cos of your sunglasses but you've got the same bits round 'em so I reckon you're that lady," said Clarissa, nodding.
"Cos of your sunglasses, same bits round 'em, I reckon'" said the woman. "I'm not that lady. I'm just looking for a birthday card."
"You talk funny," said Clarissa. "Who's birthday is it? My Daddy's is tomorrow," she added.
The woman looked quickly up at the display.
"My...husband's. Don't say people talk funny, it isn't polite. I don't talk funny."
"You do a bit. That that man you were kissing on telly?"
"That that? My husband? Probably not. I'm not on...telly."
"Oh. My name's Clarissa," said Clarissa, holding up her hand.
"I'm...Sarah," said the woman, shaking it.
"How old is your husband going to be? My Daddy is going to be thirty-seven. Mummy's looking for some nice wrapping paper, but she doesn't want yellow or some with amnals."
"Amnals?"
"Yeah cos I like some with horses on in the othe shop but Mummy said Daddy wouldn't like it cos Daddies don't like anything yellow or with horses."
"Oh, animals," said the woman. "Wondered what you were talkin'bout for a second there. Amnals, huh?"
Clarissa nodded.
"You sounded normal then. Not, like, normal normal, but normal for telly. Not funny."
"Funny, huh."
"Are you getting a present? I'm giving Daddy a picture I did in school."
"A picture I did in school," said the woman.
"Are we playing a game?" asked Clarissa.
"What?"
"Are we playing that game where you say everything I say?" asked Clarissa.
"No, no," said the woman. "Just...listening, Clarissa, that's all."
A blonde woman at the other side of the shop began calling for Clarissa.
"You'd better get back to your Mommy," said the woman.
Clarissa nodded.
"Bye Sarah," said Clarissa. "I hope you find a card."
"Thank you," said the woman.
Clarissa's mother stepped into the aisle.
"There you are," she said. " I thought you'd gone and got lost."
"Oh no!" said the woman. "She hadn't gone and got lost at all."
Clarissa's mother picked Clarissa up and looked at the woman for a moment.
"I hope she ain't been bothering you," said Clarissa's mother.
The woman smiled widely and brilliantly.
"No," she said, "she ain't. She's lovely."
Clarissa's mother hesitated briefly before walking away.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Clarissa and her mother left the shop, and the woman moved to a keyring display near the front doors and eavesdropped on the cashiers for a while before walking into the busy street.

She tilted her head incredulously and her hair swung out, and a mouthful of sausage, pushed aside in her disbelief, was pressing out her cheek.
"Whaat?"
"I'm leaving," Terry nodded, shuffling, so deep he was nearly bowing. Sarah's eyes widened and she chewed heavily and hard, shaking her head.
"No, no, come on, Tel, be straight with me. You can't leave. It's all airtight, why would you want to?"
"I've got to, got to. I can't go on. Malik called last night. A car carrying some stuff on me was searched and confiscated at a military checkpoint in Kandahar. Sooner or later, they're going to come knocking. If I stay it'll all come down."
"What sort of stuff?"
"It was going overland...for an investor. A profile, some details."
"Identity?" Sarah was loud, and they both looked around. No one in the cafe was paying them any attention.
"Malik thinks so," Terry went on, "but not the current project. One of his people put it together. He hadn't read it."
"Shit. Whatever happened to chain of trust?"
Terry shrugged and lifted a skewered shard of crispy bacon to his mouth.
"You're just going to go, then. Leave everything," said Sarah.
Terry bowed his head again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before answering.
"Yes." Nodding, bowing. "I don't like risks."
"What are you going to do?"
"I...I've got another passport."
"You screwed an extra one out of the budget?" She was angry.
"No, I paid for it."
"In what name?"
Terry smiled at Sarah and she looked quickly out of the window of the cafe, pursing her lips.
"Sorry Sarah," he said.
"That's okay," she sighed. "That's okay."
They stopped eating as a waitress refilled their coffee cups and both of them looked up at her vacant face, away from each other. The waitress smiled emptily and walked away.
"Fucking Malik," said Sarah.
"He wouldn't have done it lightly," said Terry. "He's a practical guy. Don't think less of him because of this."
"Will we still get the investor? Who is it?"
"Someone European. Old money."
"Takes all sorts."
"These days, yes."
Sarah, her plate empty, slid her knife and fork together and sat back in her chair. She stared at Terry, who was breaking the yolk of his egg and slowly teasing it onto a slice of toast.
"Details in a car."
Terry looked up at her as he bit into the bread and nodded again.
"Hasn't this guy heard of the fucking Internet?"
Terry shrugged and covered his mouth to speak as he ate.
"Doesn't trust it."
"Old money."
"Yeah."
"Why does he want paper on you? Why does he want that much information when he's got Malik?"
"He's worried, Malik says. Worried the war on terror could easily turn into a war on the drugs grown in the countries nearby. Wants to be able to rely on his people."
"That's Malik's end, not ours."
"Malik wanted to present his credentials. He's apologised. It's not so bad. I trust you."
"Well, I'll give you credit for timing. You've done all the work, Terry. You're leaving just as the waiting starts. You'll get your cut of the first shipment and a little from anything else we bring in the same way."
"Thank you, Sarah. That's kind. How much from each of the other shipments?"
"We'll probably step up the quantity if all goes well this time..." she trailed off and looked at him meaningfully.
"It's okay, I won't want to crash in on that. Just a...royalty, if you like. A little something for a guy who helped set things up. Maybe five or six percent of take?"
"Five percent of the original take. We'll bring in much more if it comes off."
"Sure, that's fine."
"How will I get it to you?"
Terry sat up and looked at Sarah and she stiffened; it was as though he was already out of the team, out of her management, out of her control. He was thinking for himself. He looked different.
"I'll give you a few numbers for me," said Terry. "Try all of them in a week's time...if there's no answer try them all again the week after that. We're getting cash, right?"
"Yeah. I don't like it but transferring money electronically is getting expensive...and dangerous," said Sarah.
"I know a guy in Sweden who might be able to help you with that." Terry sipped his coffee. "Financial markets systems specialist. He won't be cheap, but he'll probably be cheaper than going through the Swiss."
"Give me his number when we get back to the house. Do you want your share through him?"
"No, I'll swing by and pick up the first lot...after that, we'll see. I might want to start investing, if you're running well."
"You could make a lot of money," said Sarah.
"I'd like that," said Terry.
The waitress padded past and Sarah caught her eye.
"Can we have the bill, please?" said Sarah.
"It's okay," said Terry. "I'll get this."

So she crouched to pick up her bag and left him there. Her heels on the marble floor were nothing in the crowd but all he could see was the swing of her hair as she walked away, then the blank faces passing between them, one, two, a family, then the crowd had her and she was gone. He stood for ten minutes with the same thought in his mind and the same expression on his face. A police officer touched him gently on the elbow and he looked around, innocently thoughtless, as though waking.
“You’ll have to move along, sir.”
“Right, sorry.”
A few slow steps in no direction at all and he stopped looking after her. The departures board wasn’t showing the details of her train any more. A couple of pigeons fluttered to ground between him and the red brick wall and scattered instantly as a heavy man with a rolling suitcase paced through the gap. James looked up at the roof and down to the ground and took up a place in the movement of people, between a small woman in a scarlet sari and a scruffy teen in a velvet jacket. He made his way around with the slow-stirred flow of the station and stepped out of the wide doors into the cool grey air of the evening.

Her head rises and falls with the turning pages under the yellow lamp and rain pinks, rhythmless, on the window. All the sounds are soft; the rain on the glass, the shifting of the clock hands above her, the passing footfalls on the carpet. She moves gently, with reverence, as she slides her finger between the resting paper; she writes and sketches; she inks in lines with a ruler on her fingertips. A curl of hair swings into her eye and she flicks it sharply behind her ear. The wind lifts the branches of a tree outside and spatters drops harshly on the glass and she pauses, distracted.

The only attention he received was such a cold, impersonal form of human contact that when they left the cell he was grateful to be alone. Once a week three guards came in with a chair and ordered him to sit. It was never a clean shave; the electric razor they used ran on tired batteries and Mekul could feel the dull blades tug at the skin of his scalp. Each day a panel in the door was unbolted from the outside and some bread was thrown down, or old leftovers in a flimsy plastic bowl.

The gas was running slow even when Jacob opened the valves all the way, so he was careful to wait each time to make sure the flame had caught. Normally it was a race to finish by sunset, but the sky was clear and on the bridge the posts were close enough together that Jacob could see work by the light of the last lamp. At the same height above the cobbles, the driver of a cab nodded to Jacob as he passed, steam rising from his horse’s flanks. The flame was low, but steady. Jacob closed the glass door of the lamp and climbed slowly down the ladder.

She had been beautiful once, but she had always been stern. From her earliest days as a teacher she had cultivated a sense of moral certainty n every one of her actions, and as she rose through the ranks of the school it hardened and split into a set of near-military convictions. She was old and her sharply curving jaw had lapsed into straight lines and angles, and her skin was dry. It was hard for her, bit she maintained a regimental manner in her movement – she moved as though the children’s eyes were always on her, even in her flat, in her solitude, in her retirement.

When he walked into the shop I could tell he was foreign. As he moved he looked around at the bookshelves and the bottles in the racks and the signs above the aisles, but he was doing it so fast that it was obvious he wasn’t really reading what he was seeing. It was a quiet afternoon, mid-week is always the same, so I thought I’d go and ask him if he needed help.
He looked at me the instant I moved from behind the desk and stared with widening eyes as I crossed the shop floor towards him.
“Can I help you, sir?”
He flared his nostrils and opened his mouth and I could see his teeth, tiny little teeth, stained brown and curving around his tongue as he made a theatrical gesture to dismiss me, shaking his head in slow arcs and waving his hands back and forth.
“No, no, no.”
I backed away and returned to the cash desk, the freak. Those teeth! He vanished into the back of the shop and I watched him slowly pacing through the Travel Section on the little security camera for a while until I served someone. Let me tell you, people are shameless - that girl bought a photographic Kama Sutra, and a couple of bottles of Beaujolais. Like people don’t care if you know what they’re up to. By the time I’d finished with the Kama Sutra girl something was up with the weird guy at the back of the shop. When I looked at the camera he was kneeling in the aisle of the travel section with his head in his hands, so I locked the front door before going back, because it’s just me and Mike on weekday afternoons and he was upstairs in the office and I didn’t want anyone taking advantage. As I walked back he started moaning, a loud wailing sort of crying and I heard the thump of books being thrown. I buzzed up to Mike and slowly peered around the middle bookcase.
“It’s not here!” he shouted and heaved a row of Rough Guides onto the floor. I heard Mike come down the stairs out the back.
“Clarissa!” Mike shouted as he came out onto the shop floor.
“It’s okay, I’m fine, over here,” I called.
Mike was already in his bouncer mode when he reached us and the guy on the floor started sobbing.
“Sir, I have to ask you to leave.”
“Not here!” said the crazy guy.
“Sir.” Mike put his hand on the guy’s arm.
“No!” shouted the guy and lay down on the floor, crying, with something in his hand.
Mike picked him up by his shoulders and heaved him into a sitting position, and the guy didn’t resist. He just went limp, and Mike had ot pick him up properly, and dragged him towards the door.
“Not there!” said the guy, only whining this time, and I ran ahead and unlocked it. Mike stood the guy up by the door.
“Come back again and we'll have to call the police,” said Mike, but they guy didn’t react, just stood there. “Go on, go,” and Mike pushed him, just a bit, mind, and the guy tottered off down the pavement, crying all the time, real tears and everything.
“Are you okay?” asked Mike.
“I’m fine, really,” I said. “He was only here for like five minutes.”
Mike manned the front desk while I put the travel section back together, and when he went back upstairs to the office I noticed something on the floor near the Bestseller Racks. It was a photo, of white mountains and muddy plains and stuff, the sort of view you always try to catch with a camera but never comes out. I mean, I figure it belonged to the weird guy, but it's not like he's coming back, and it was nice, so I pinned it to the message board in the break room.