The Girl You Left Behind

man?’
    ‘Dunno. I just checked that he
     wasn’t a bailiff.’
    ‘Oh, God. He definitely has it? Do you
     think he’ll want a reward?’ She casts around in her pockets. She has four
     pounds in coins and some coppers, which she holds out in front of her.
    ‘It doesn’t seem like a lot, does
     it?’
    ‘Short of sexual favours, it’s
     pretty much all you have.’
    ‘Four pounds it is.’
    They head into the lift, Liv clutching the
     money. Mo is smirking.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I was just thinking. It would be
     funny if we stole
his
bag. You know, mugged him. Girl muggers.’ She
     sniggers. ‘I once stole some chalk from a post office. I have form.’
    Liv is scandalized.
    ‘What?’ Mo’s face is
     sombre. ‘I was seven.’
    They stand in silence as the lift reaches
     the bottom. As the doors open, Mo says, ‘We could make a clean getaway. He
     doesn’t actually know your address.’
    ‘Mo –’ Liv begins, but as she
     steps out of the main doorway she sees the man on the corner, the colour of his hair,
     the way he runs his hand over the top of his head, and whips round, her cheeks
     burning.
    ‘What? Where are you going?’
    ‘I can’t go out
     there.’
    ‘Why? I can see your bag. He looks
     okay. I don’t think he’s a mugger. He’s wearing shoes. No mugger wears
     shoes.’
    ‘Will you get it for me? Really – I
     can’t talk to him.’
    ‘Why?’ Mo scrutinizes her.
     ‘Why have you gone so pink?’
    ‘Look, I stayed at his house. And
     it’s just embarrassing.’
    ‘Oh, my God. You did the nasty with
     that man.’
    ‘No, I did not.’
    ‘You did.’ Mo squints at her.
     ‘Or you wanted to. YOU WANTED TO. You are so busted.’
    ‘Mo – can you just get my bag for me,
     please? Just tellhim I’m not in. Please?’ Before Mo can
     say anything else, she is back in the lift and jabbing at the button to take her to the
     top floor, her thoughts spinning. When she reaches the Glass House she rests her
     forehead against the door and listens to her heart beating in her ears.
    I am thirty years old
, she says to
     herself.
    Behind her the lift door opens.
    ‘Oh, God, thanks, Mo, I –’
    Paul McCafferty is in front of her.
    ‘Where’s Mo?’ she says,
     stupidly.
    ‘Is that your flatmate?
     She’s … interesting.’
    She cannot speak. Her tongue has swollen to
     fill her mouth. Her hand reaches up to her hair – she’s conscious that she
     hasn’t washed it.
    ‘Anyway,’ he says.
     ‘Hey.’
    ‘Hello.’
    He holds out a hand. ‘Your bag. It is
     your bag, right?’
    ‘I can’t believe you found
     it.’
    ‘I’m good at finding stuff.
     It’s my job.’
    ‘Oh. Yes. The ex-cop thing. Well,
     thanks. Really.’
    ‘It was in a bin, if you’re
     interested. With two others. Outside University College Library. The caretaker found
     them and handed them all in. I’m afraid your cards and your phone are
     gone … The good news is that the cash was still there.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Yeah. Amazing. Two hundred pounds. I
     checked it.’
    Relief floods her, like a warm bath.
     ‘Really? They left the cash? I don’t understand.’
    ‘Nor me. I can only think it fell out
     of your purse as they opened it.’
    She takes her bag and rummages through it.
     Two hundred pounds is floating around in the bottom, along with her hairbrush, the
     paperback she’d been reading that morning and a stray lipstick.
    ‘Never heard of that happening before.
     Still, it’ll help, eh? One less thing to worry about.’
    He is smiling. Not a sympathetic
     oh-you-poor-drunken-woman-who-made-a-pass-at-me kind of smile, but the smile of someone
     who is just really pleased about something.
    She finds she is smiling back. ‘This
     is just … amazing.’
    ‘So do I get my four-pound
     reward?’ She blinks at him. ‘Mo told me. Joke. Really.’ He laughs.
     ‘But …’ He studies his feet for a moment. ‘Liv – would you like
     to go out some time?’ When she doesn’t respond immediately, he adds,
     ‘It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We could not get drunk. And not go to a
     gay bar. We could even just walk around holding our own door-keys and not letting our
     bags get stolen.’
    ‘Okay,’ she says slowly, and
     finds she is smiling again. ‘I’d like that.’
    Paul McCafferty whistles to himself the
     whole way down in the noisy, juddering lift. When he gets to the bottom he takes the
     cashpoint receipt from his pocket, crumples it into a little ball, and