fact that not only had I absolutely no intention of visiting him, but I was sure he’d forgotten my existence the minute I’d disappeared from sight.
‘You be careful. I know what these dirty old men are like.’ She winked at me. ‘Come up afterwards. We’ll watch television tonight, and I’ll be completely wonderful.’
The sunshine of her voice warmed me, despite everything – though it was no doubt also because Star and Johnny were the only people in the building who had a television set, and I missed
The Avengers
and
Ready Steady Go!
with an almost physical pain.
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but you’d better be,’ and she giggled stupidly.
Afterwards, she pulled on her squeaky P. V. C. raincoat, tossed a few coins on to the table, and we left the café. Riccardo followed me out with the tin of soup, saying he most certainly did not want it as it would bring his reputation into disrepute, and I told her the story of dragging it with me from work, embellishing it and making her hoot with laughter. I realized that, despite all my good intentions, here I was, snared back inside Star’s sticky net of friendship.
The wind notched up apace as we climbed Gaunt’s Cliff, and I bent my head into it, battling my way upwards, holding the tin in front of me like a shield. Everyone said that you got used to the climb after a while, but I was still waiting for that to happen. ‘Time to get out the winter woollies,’ said Star, linking her arm through mine, and through the stale aroma of hashish and the new plastic ofthe mac I found her real smell: cinnamon and cloves and blood orange.
‘I haven’t got any,’ I said. ‘They’re all still at my mum’s house.’
‘We should go and pick them up.’ She paused. ‘If you don’t want to see her, we can go when she’s not in.’
‘Hmm.’ I didn’t know how Star had intuited that. ‘Maybe.’
She nudged me. ‘By the way, you didn’t tell me you had an admirer.’
I frowned. ‘I don’t. Unless …’ I thought about my so-called commitment to that drunk, Dockie. ‘You mean the old man? Did Johnny tell you what happened yesterday?’
She put a hand on my arm. ‘Oh, God. Johnny never tells me anything these days. No, I mean the man in the white sports car. A Jag maybe, I’m not sure.’
I laughed, although my guts were creaking with unease. ‘I don’t know anyone who owns a white sports car.’
‘Well, somebody knows you.’ She sniffed a laugh. ‘I was coming out of the house earlier on, and this chap was driving up the road and then back again, dead slow. I thought he was some sort of maniac at first, and then he stopped, leaned out and asked me if a Rosemary Churchill lived at Castaway House.’
I wriggled free from Star and wrapped my arms around my chest as we climbed. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Erm … quite dishy. Dark hair. But old. Sort of thirty-ish.’
I felt as if the breath had been whipped from my lungs. ‘Did you … did you say anything about me?’
Star shrugged. ‘Just that you were at work. He saidokay, and thank you, and tootled off. Should I … ? I mean, was that all right?’
I looked out at the tossing waves below me to our left. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said gloomily.
‘Right. I won’t mention him again, I promise.’ I sensed behind her words an aching need in Star to discover exactly what was going on, but I stared fiercely ahead at the approaching Bella Vista guest house as if that were the only interesting thing in the world, with its faded red canopy drooping lopsidedly over the doorway and the sign on the pathway that said VACANCIES and had never, ever been changed.
‘Disgusting,’ muttered Star, and I jumped, startled, as if she’d seen into my soul, but she was looking at a herring gull in the middle of the Bella Vista’s empty gateway, pecking at a fallen roof tile as if it were a morsel of fish. Either side of the gateway were two pillars in such a state of disrepair it was as if they were doing
‘You be careful. I know what these dirty old men are like.’ She winked at me. ‘Come up afterwards. We’ll watch television tonight, and I’ll be completely wonderful.’
The sunshine of her voice warmed me, despite everything – though it was no doubt also because Star and Johnny were the only people in the building who had a television set, and I missed
The Avengers
and
Ready Steady Go!
with an almost physical pain.
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but you’d better be,’ and she giggled stupidly.
Afterwards, she pulled on her squeaky P. V. C. raincoat, tossed a few coins on to the table, and we left the café. Riccardo followed me out with the tin of soup, saying he most certainly did not want it as it would bring his reputation into disrepute, and I told her the story of dragging it with me from work, embellishing it and making her hoot with laughter. I realized that, despite all my good intentions, here I was, snared back inside Star’s sticky net of friendship.
The wind notched up apace as we climbed Gaunt’s Cliff, and I bent my head into it, battling my way upwards, holding the tin in front of me like a shield. Everyone said that you got used to the climb after a while, but I was still waiting for that to happen. ‘Time to get out the winter woollies,’ said Star, linking her arm through mine, and through the stale aroma of hashish and the new plastic ofthe mac I found her real smell: cinnamon and cloves and blood orange.
‘I haven’t got any,’ I said. ‘They’re all still at my mum’s house.’
‘We should go and pick them up.’ She paused. ‘If you don’t want to see her, we can go when she’s not in.’
‘Hmm.’ I didn’t know how Star had intuited that. ‘Maybe.’
She nudged me. ‘By the way, you didn’t tell me you had an admirer.’
I frowned. ‘I don’t. Unless …’ I thought about my so-called commitment to that drunk, Dockie. ‘You mean the old man? Did Johnny tell you what happened yesterday?’
She put a hand on my arm. ‘Oh, God. Johnny never tells me anything these days. No, I mean the man in the white sports car. A Jag maybe, I’m not sure.’
I laughed, although my guts were creaking with unease. ‘I don’t know anyone who owns a white sports car.’
‘Well, somebody knows you.’ She sniffed a laugh. ‘I was coming out of the house earlier on, and this chap was driving up the road and then back again, dead slow. I thought he was some sort of maniac at first, and then he stopped, leaned out and asked me if a Rosemary Churchill lived at Castaway House.’
I wriggled free from Star and wrapped my arms around my chest as we climbed. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Erm … quite dishy. Dark hair. But old. Sort of thirty-ish.’
I felt as if the breath had been whipped from my lungs. ‘Did you … did you say anything about me?’
Star shrugged. ‘Just that you were at work. He saidokay, and thank you, and tootled off. Should I … ? I mean, was that all right?’
I looked out at the tossing waves below me to our left. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said gloomily.
‘Right. I won’t mention him again, I promise.’ I sensed behind her words an aching need in Star to discover exactly what was going on, but I stared fiercely ahead at the approaching Bella Vista guest house as if that were the only interesting thing in the world, with its faded red canopy drooping lopsidedly over the doorway and the sign on the pathway that said VACANCIES and had never, ever been changed.
‘Disgusting,’ muttered Star, and I jumped, startled, as if she’d seen into my soul, but she was looking at a herring gull in the middle of the Bella Vista’s empty gateway, pecking at a fallen roof tile as if it were a morsel of fish. Either side of the gateway were two pillars in such a state of disrepair it was as if they were doing
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