The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro

apartment we lived in when I was small. All the time he was talking, I kept getting these pictures. Our old living room. And Mother and Papa, the way they were then. It's probably nothing like that. I'm not really expecting it to be. I'll get there tomorrow and I'll find it's completely different. But it made me hopeful. You know, a sort of omen.' She gave a small laugh, then touched my shoulder. 'You're looking so glum.'
    'Am I? I'm sorry. It's all this travelling. I suppose I'm rather tired.'
    Boris had reached the top of the climbing frame, but the light had grown so dim he was barely more than a silhouette against the sky. He gave us a shout, then, gripping the top rung, somersaulted his body around it.
    'He's so proud of being able to do that,' Sophie said. Then she called out: 'Boris, it's too dark now. Come on down.'
    'It's easy. It's easier in the dark.'
    'Come on down now.'
    'It's all this travelling,' I said. 'Hotel room after hotel room. Never seeing anyone you know. It's been very tiring. And even now, here in this city, there's so much pressure on me. The people here. Obviously they're expecting a lot of me. I mean, it's obvious…'
    'Look,' Sophie broke in gently, placing a hand on my arm, 'why don't we forget about it all for now? There'll be plenty of time for us to talk it over later. We're all tired. Come back with us to the apartment. It's only a few minutes' walk from here, just past the medieval chapel. I'm sure we could all do with a nice supper and a chance to put our feet up.'
    She had spoken softly, her mouth close to my ear so that I could feel her breath. My earlier weariness came over me again and the idea of relaxing in the warmth of her apartment - perhaps lazing about with Boris on the carpet while Sophie prepared our meal -seemed suddenly highly enticing. So much so that for a brief moment I might even have closed my eyes and stood there smiling dreamily. In any case I was brought out of my reverie by Boris's return.
    'It's easy to do it in the dark,' he said.
    I saw then that Boris looked cold and somewhat shaken. All his earlier energy had evaporated and it occurred to me the performance he had just put on had required large resources on his part.
    'We're all going back to the apartment now,' I said. 'We'll have something nice to eat there.'
    'Come on,' Sophie said, setting off. 'Time's getting on.'
    A fine drizzle had started to fall and now that the sun had set, the air was much chillier. Boris took my hand again and we followed Sophie out of the swing park into a deserted back street.
    4
    It was clear we had now left behind the Old Town. The dingy brick walls that towered up on either side were windowless and appeared to be the backs of warehouses. As we made our way along the street, Sophie kept up a purposeful pace and before long I could sense Boris having difficulty keeping up. But when I asked him: 'Are we going too fast?' he looked at me with a furious expression.
    'I can go much faster!' he shouted and broke into a trot, tugging at my hand. But almost straight away he slowed down again with a hurt look on his face. After a while, despite my maintaining an easy pace, I could hear his breath coming with a struggle. He then started to whisper to himself. I did not pay much attention at first, assuming he was simply trying to keep up his spirits. But then I heard him whisper:
    'Number Nine… It's Number Nine…'
    I glanced at him with curiosity. He looked wet and cold, and it occurred to me I should keep him conversing.
    'This Number Nine,' I said. 'Is he a footballer?'
    'The top footballer in the world.'
    'Number Nine. Yes, of course.'
    Up ahead of us, Sophie's figure vanished around a corner and Boris's grip on my hand tightened. I had not until this moment appreciated how far in front we had allowed his mother to get, and though we increased our pace, it seemed to take an inordinate time for us to reach the corner ourselves. Once we finally turned it, I saw to my annoyance that