SEVEN DAYS by Silence Welder Page A

place. You should have left my things at the gallery. As it is, I’ve had a wasted journey.”
    “I waited,” Mark said, “but I didn’t think you’d come back. I thought I was doing you a favour by coming here.”
    “You weren't,” she said. “And I don't believe anything you have to say.”
    “That's unfortunate,” he said.
    “What's unfortunate is that I ever met you.”
    He seemed shocked by this.
    Good, she thought. Be shocked. I am shocking. And so is your cheek.
    She wasn't sure why she wanted to hurt him so badly. She only knew that now that she had started, she couldn't stop.
    Though dark, his eyes were shining. His hair was wild now, tussled by the wind. He appeared to have been out waiting for her for some time. His clothes were as damp as hers.
    Had he not seemed so untrustworthy, she might have suggested they both go upstairs and get out of their wet things.
    She was dismayed to find that she wanted him. First she wanted to wipe the insolent smirk off his face – the smile that said: “I’m actually above this, but I’m going to have the conversation, because I’ve nothing better to do.”
    Then she would have liked them to finish what Peter had started.
    If only he’d been honest with her from the beginning.
     “Get away from my door,” she said.
    “Do you seriously think I was posing as a member of staff so I could get close to you?” Mark said. “I suppose you think I stole your wallet too?”
    You weren't only after my wallet, Judy thought. If we’d been together another five minutes, I’d have given you my body and you know it. That’s why you’re here. You know you missed out.
    “I don't think anything,” she said. “I just want to get to bed.” She wished that she hadn't said that, but Mark didn't punish her for the double-entendre.
    “Are you telling me it's a crime to wear a white T-shirt in a gallery?”
    “Not interested,” Judy said.
    “I told you who I was. It’s really not my fault that you don’t believe me.”
    She allowed herself to consider the likelihood that she’d made a mistake about him. Her judgement was all over the place today. She was tired, hungry and slightly drunk. Today wasn’t a day for jumping into bed with anyone, but then it wasn’t a night for burning bridges either.
    Mark was clearly furious though and she was scared suddenly. When scared, her usual defence was to attack.
    “What would you have done if I'd turned up with Peter?” she asked. “What do you think he would have done to you if he'd found you lurking out here for me?”
    “There is no Peter,” he said. “There was once, maybe, but there isn't now.”
    He was too close to the truth.
    “That's what you'd like to think!” she said.
    “I don't want you to be unhappy,” Mark said. “I really don’t. But I think that if you had had a date this evening, you'd have gone to his place. You wouldn't be turning up here to put a rock through your window or sleep on your doorstep.”
    “That's not true,” Judy said, but it was. The Peter in her head didn't exist. He had never existed.
    “That's okay,” Mark said, brushing past her. “You have your fantasy; I have mine.”
    * * * *
    Her flat was colder and emptier than ever, but she was determined not to cry about it. What she did do was throw her freshly-received wallet across the room. It hit the wall with an unpleasant cracking sound, the clasp sprang open and her mobile phone skidded across the uncarpeted floor. She immediately wished that she hadn't done that. It was stupid.
    She was being stubborn, however, so she didn't pick it up. Instead she slipped out of her damp clothes and kicked them against the wall before stepping into the shower.
    She had always considered it safe to cry in here. It was a childhood thing: crying in the shower didn't really count, because her face was already wet. She refused to do it now, though. She refused to admit that she was wrong to send Mark away without giving him a fair chance to