Part 2 (1/2)

'An actuary,' he says, 'actually.

' She smiles.

'But I'm on an informal sabbatical,' he says. 'I'm sick of the big smoke and I'm taking the sea air. A rest cure.'

'You been sick?' I say.

'Not exactly,' he says.

'Just a bit too rich and a bit too idle,' says Bridget.

Welkin nods. 'That's right.'

Bridget smiles, takes the parcel, leaves.

What's gone on between them looks like something that's gone on before.

Welkin stays with me while I wait for my food.

'Why doesn't Flindall light that cigarette?' I say.

'He gave up two weeks ago and he sticks one behind his ear so he's got something to play with.'

'Isn't that like torture?'

'Yes, but I suppose that's the very point. Don't you see?'

I don't see. I say nothing.

'Have you got work here?' he says.

'Yeah, I'm a mechanic. I'm starting at the place on the main road on Monday morning.'

'Is that the one that does vintage cars?'

'Yeah, and sports cars.'

He turns his cup round, looks at the tea leaves. 'Why did you give up university to fix cars?'

'I prefer it,' I say. 'You've got to do the thing you prefer.'

'Yes,' he says. 'I suppose that's the right decision.'

I hadn't asked him for his opinion on my decision.

'Anyway,' I say, 'it's a good line of work, and the money's not too bad. And I get to drive some very nice cars.'

Bridget's come back with my bacon sandwich.

'Here you are,' she says.

'Thanks.'

I start to eat and she stacks dirty dishes onto a tray at the next table. Welkin stands to help her and when the job's done she puts her hand on his arm and leaves it there, and they look at each other, longer than usual, and even though it's not me she's touching, the heat shoots through my legs. I hope she's not one of those women who can touch a man she hardly knows without meaning anything much.

'I'd better be going,' says Welkin. 'I've got to see a man about a dog.'

'See you later, then,' I say.

'You've finished your breakfast,' he says. 'Why don't you come up with me? You've got the room right next door.' I'm not in the mood for more chat.

'I'll stay down here,' I say.

'I need to make a few phone calls.' Bridget leaves and Welkin follows close behind. I'll be d.a.m.ned annoyed if it turns out they're having s.e.x.

I wait for a few minutes, then go up to my room, get a towel, try the bath again.

The water's still running cold.

I go downstairs to Bridget's office and tell her, 'There's no hot water.'

'The best time is earlier in the morning.'

She's searching for something in the top drawer of the desk and looks at me as though she blames me for the fact she can't find it.

'I tried earlier,' I say.

'Oh.'

'Can I have my key?' I ask.

'Of course.'

She goes to the filing cabinet and gets two keys.

She looks at me.

'Don't forget to put your front-door key on the hook inside the door when you get in. This way we all know who's home and who isn't.'

'Okay.'

'Yours is the blue hook, which is the same colour as the number on your bedroom door.'

'Right. I won't forget.'

'We'll do the paperwork now.'

It's very formal, like she's a different person from last night. When I tell her I'm twenty-three, she tells me I look younger. She asks me if my parents are Irish, with my name being Patrick.