Dead Romantic by Simon Brett

tried to walk out with a jar of bath-salts.
    Then she asked him how his studying was going. She did this only out of politeness. At school her only concern had been how soon she could leave and get a job, but she was well brought up and she knew you had to show an interest.
    â€˜All right, I think,’ Paul replied. ‘I’ve got this very good teacher.’
    The image of Madeleine, her red-gold hair loose and flowing, flashed across his mind, and he felt a pang of disloyalty for being with Sharon.
    â€˜We’ve been working on Keats,’ he continued.
    â€˜Oh yes?’ said Sharon.
    â€˜Good stuff. Have you read any?’
    She shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. What’s he write?’
    â€˜Well, he’s a Romantic, really.’
    â€˜Oh.’ She grew animated. ‘I might have read some of his things then. I read a lot of that. Is he in Mills and Boon?’
    â€˜No. No, he was a poet. Early nineteenth century. Died young.’
    â€˜Oh.’ The animation was replaced by indifference. Paul was deeply embarrassed by her ignorance. He felt exposed, as if he were responsible for her, as if he would be judged by her.
    â€˜Reading a good one at the moment,’ said Sharon. ‘It’s set on Crete. Sounds really nice. I’d like to go to Crete. They have wonderful sunsets there, apparently.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜You ever been there? Crete, or Greece?’
    Paul shook his head.
    â€˜Girl I work with went to Corfu. Ipsos. Lovely she said it was. Really good discos they have. Every night. I like discos,’ she added wistfully.
    Well, it was worth trying. She had expressed her liking for discos to Paul before. She thought going to one might enliven their dates. She enjoyed dancing in public, showing off the steps she practised so assiduously in front of her bedroom mirror. But, from what he said, Paul didn’t seem to like discos. So far he had not risen to any of her suggestions.
    That evening’s met the same lack of response. Accepting this philosophically, Sharon went on with the plot of the book she was reading. ‘You see, what happens is this feller’s in Crete on business and he meets this English girl, Virginia, who’s out there working as a courier and he falls for her and they have this amazing evening where they just walk along the sand and talk and, you know, it really works, it’s the real thing. And he fixes to meet her the next evening, but when he gets to this restaurant where they fixed to meet – “taverna” they call it in the book – that’s Greek for restaurant, I think – anyway, he sees her dancing very close with this Greek. And he’s furious and goes off, but he doesn’t realise that this Greek is one of the owners of the company that Virginia works for and, you know, although it looks sexy, in fact they’re just being friendly. And the trouble is, he – this feller, the Englishman, Randall he’s called – he’s going back to England the next day, and so Virginia rushes off from this taverna place to try and find him and explain, but he’s checked out of his hotel and when she gets to the airport, she finds he’s taken an earlier flight and he’s gone.’
    She pronounced this with finality. ‘So what happens?’ asked Paul.
    â€˜That’s as far as I’ve got,’ admitted Sharon. ‘But I know it’ll be all right. They’ll get together in the end.’
    â€˜How do you know that?’
    â€˜They always do.’
    â€˜Doesn’t it make it a bit boring, knowing what’s going to happen?’
    Sharon looked at him curiously. He really did say the oddest things at times. ‘No, that’s what’s nice about it.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Happy endings are nice. Does that feller you was talking about – Keats – do his poems have happy endings?’
    â€˜Don’t think so, much.