Читать книгу The Living - Anjali Joseph - Страница 19

An arm out of the window, sleeve rolled up, sun shining on the golden hair. Dark glasses, a face: Claire, he said. Give you a lift?

Oh, hiya, I said.

Hop in.

I hopped in. We were off.

He gave me a big smile. Hello, sunny delight, he said.

I laughed. What did you just call me?

He smiled and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. In a hurry? he asked.

No, I said. I felt wonderful, like everything had opened up.

Let’s go for a little drive, he said.

I saw familiar things: the shop, the pub, the hill, and houses I see every day – one at the corner with an apple tree and a hedge, and a white one with a conservatory and a sharp-leaved plant near the door. But they passed by fast, and then they were gone.

In the end he parked not too far from the house, and we went for a walk in Lion Wood. Lots of couples here and there on seats. We walked through the clearing, where the sun hung in slow soft bars, and up into one of the bits with more trees, then we were alone.

Well, Claire, he said. He looked at me and smiled, waiting.

I had questions I wanted to ask, things I wanted to say, like, I didn’t think I’d see you again, how did you know when I’d be walking past, where have you been for the last month – but instead he kissed me. It was too fast. I was still thinking. His tongue was in my mouth, his hands were on my arse, then touching my breasts, in my hair, pulling it. I opened my eyes. His face looked different, blind. He put my hand on his trousers and I felt his hard-on. He sighed. Voices, and three kids came up the path. They giggled as they passed.

Casey! one said, and shoved a skinny boy.

Oh, I love you, I love you, he whined and pushed her back.

Damian moved away from me. He took out his tobacco, papers, filters, sat down and began to roll.

I sat near him and did the same. He didn’t speak, he seemed further away than he was. The sunlight fell through the trees, and got lost before it could reach the ground.

Well, he said, best be getting back, I suppose. You probably need to get back, don’t you. He seemed to have lost energy.

Not really, I said. But I did. I hadn’t said anything to Jason.

Let’s get you home, he said. We didn’t talk on the way.

When he dropped me at the corner he said, So when am I going to see you again? He said he often went to the Star, nearer town, on a Friday night. Will I see you there? he asked.

What time?

Oh, later, he said. About eight. Eight or so. So long then.

He drove off and I went towards the house, doing things to my hair.

Jason was home, with Steve. They were making tea – potato waffles, baked beans, fish fingers. He put more on. I sat at the table with a cup of tea. The kitchen was light, a good smell in the air, the back door open, summer coming in. Something white and grey flitted across the edge of my eye. I turned. The cat from up the road – it likes our garden.

Steve smiled at me. How are you, Claire? he asked. He’s a nice lad. There’s something damp about his eyes, but he has a sweet smile.

I’m all right, I said. How’s it going? How’s your mum?

I was going to ask about his plans for next year, college or what, but then I thought better. A good day, why not just let it be a good day.