Cambridge Blue by Alison Bruce

at the real point of the conversation. ‘I want to know exactly what you know about David.’
    They were quite alone, but Lorna whispered anyway. The little nods and sounds of encouragement she received spurred her into more detail than she had planned. Earlier in the day, hearing David’s name like that might have startled her, but not now. Now she repeated it with familiarity, as though he’d always been part of their conversations. Her words only dried up when she realized she was no longer being listened to. ‘And that’s it,’ she concluded.
    ‘I see.’ It was said in a way that told Lorna that this part of the conversation was over. Her companion leant on the railings and Lorna did the same, aware that the mood between them had become subdued. They both gazed back the way they’d come, towards the far end of the common. There was nothing visible, bar the faint glow of the boathouses and restaurants on the other side of the Cam. Nothing discernible, at least. They were alone together and still close enough for their elbows to touch. Her companion broke the silence first.
    ‘Finish your coffee and I’ll show you something.’
    Lorna finished the dregs of her coffee, then took the pen that was being held out to her. ‘So what am I supposed to do with this?’
    The marshy land between them and the river lay motionless, as though it held its breath.
    ‘I want you to write “I’m like Emma” on each palm.’
    ‘I’m like Emma?’ Lorna’s eyebrows twitched upwards. It seemed like nonsense, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to play along.
    ‘Yes, go on. It’s clever, I promise.’
    Lorna wrote in Biro on her left palm, the blue ink looking black under the thick light from the sulphurous streetlamp. She used capitals and the letters stretched across, from the heel of her hand to half an inch short of her middle finger.
    ‘Like that?’ She held out her hand.
    ‘That’s it. Now the same on the other one.’
    Lorna gave a short, nervous laugh. ‘These things always catch me out, so even when you get to the punchline, you’ll have to explain it.’ In truth, she hated looking stupid, and didn’t want to take part at all. But the atmosphere between them was curiously fragile; it made more sense to go along with this and avoid anything nastier. She wrote slowly on the other palm in jerky lower case. ‘This isn’t so good, it looks like a four-year-old’s written it.’ She forced a grin.
    ‘No, that’s fine.’
    ‘Now what?’
    They were facing on to Midsummer Common with their backs to the non-existent 1 a.m. traffic. ‘I love it here when it’s quiet and, once the weather’s warmer, that’s only at night. And in the summer it’s never quiet – the fair’s here, then the circus and all those hippies camping out.’
    ‘So what about this writing?’
    ‘Hold on.’
    Lorna squirmed like a child. ‘Can we go now?’
    ‘No, please, let’s stay here for a minute or two.’
    Lorna peered at the ground on the other side of the railings. ‘We’re standing right next to a load of rubbish sacks. And I’m getting cold.’ She sounded sulky.
    ‘I said you’d get goosebumps, didn’t I?’
    ‘Clever you.’ Lorna sniffed. ‘And when are you going to explain this?’ She waved her hand, palm upwards. ‘Why are you smiling? Have I missed something funny?’
    ‘I guess so.’
    Lorna reran her last sentence in her head, realizing she’d slurred it, and for some reason ‘have-I-missed’ had coalesced into a single word. She straightened and turned her back to rest against the railings. She gazed in the direction of the Four Lamps roundabout and tried to work out what felt wrong. It couldn’t be just cold, fog and tiredness that were making her suddenly disorientated. She wanted to go home but her feet wouldn’t move.
    Instead of walking away, she stood fixed in the same spot, a look of mild bewilderment dawning on her face. ‘I feel ill,’ she muttered, but her companion never even replied.