Part 24 (1/2)

'Thank you. I bought it last week. It's not too short?'

'It's definitely not too short.'

She gives me a gla.s.s of brandy and sits on the settee.

'So,' she says, 'how's your new job?'

'It's first-rate,' I say. 'I've already got some praise from one of our best customers.'

'You must be doing a great job.'

'I don't know about that, but I like it when people comment on my work.'

'Yes,' she says. 'That's always nice.'

She looks at the door.

'Ian said he'd be back from St Anne's by eight.'

'What about you?' I say. 'Do you like your job?'

'Very much,' she says.

'Is there anything else you want to do?'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't know. A different job?'

'I've always liked taking photographs,' she says. 'I did a course a few years ago and I've thought about converting the box-room on the third floor into a dark room.'

'If you did,' I say, 'I could help you out. With the set-up and all that.'

'That'd be nice.'

She smiles at me, but has no more to say.

I do as she does and look at the door.

'What do you take photos of?' I say.

'Oh, the sea usually, and boats. Sometimes the sky. That kind of thing.'

'What about portraits?'

'I'm not sure,' she says. 'I don't think I've got the confidence for that.'

She gets up and pours us each another gla.s.s of brandy.

'I'll light the fire,' she says.

I hope Welkin doesn't come.

'Do you think it's silly to light a fire when it isn't cold out?' she says.

'No,' I say. 'I think it's a good idea.'

I watch her pile up old newspapers and sticks and briquettes. 'Do you want me to help?'

'No need.'

She has it done, sits again.

The front door opens and closes and there are slow footsteps going up to the first floor, the sound of somebody moving back and forth across the landing, from bedroom to bathroom, opening and closing doors. We both know it's Welkin, but we don't say it.

'Do you play the piano?' she asks.

'No,' I say, 'but I'm thinking of learning the guitar.'

'Ian plays the piano,' she says. 'Maybe he'll play something for us tonight.'

Welkin's not in the room but he might as well be. We're in the company of his absence.

'I think you should take portraits,' I say.

'I'm not sure.'

'I think you'd be good at it. You make people feel comfortable.'

The booze is warm in my throat and chest and the pains have gone.

'That's a very kind thing to say.'

'I mean it,' I say. 'Not only that, you've got grace. A lot more grace than most people.'

'Grace? What a lovely word. Hardly anybody ever uses it.'

'It's what you make me think. You make me think of it.'

She moves forward and sits on the edge of the settee so she can reach over and put her hand on my knee.

'That's just about the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me, Patrick.'

She keeps her hand on my knee.

'You just proved it,' I say. 'You're full of grace.'

She laughs and I laugh.

I don't want him to come. We're better off without him. If he must come, let it be now while we're laughing.