She isn't frightened. When he finally arrived, he had to pullhimself up the front steps by the handrail, and he sagged against thedoor and fumbled in his trouser pockets for his keys. The bookshop, he'd said. Here she is, Gideon, the Fates or God or Karma had said to me on thatday when I agreed to let the basement flat to the curly-haired courierwho needed a refuge from her husband.
The pregnancy as well as the illnessthat accompanied it was just the final straw. I grab his hand and show him. She couldn't forgive herself, Gideon,but she never she never, I swear it, stopped thinking of you. She said, Fetch me fags, and nodded to a table by the sofa where apacket of Benson and Hedges spilled out onto the cover of Woman'sWeekly.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.