What became of us

expression off your face in case the wind changes. That’s better. And give him one from me.’

    Annie closed the door. Almost immediately there was a knock.
    ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, what now?’ she asked, opening it.
    ‘Room service,’ said Ian. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing you order some bubbly.’
    He was holding an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. His eyes ran appreciatively up and down her body, which made her realize that she had just given her dress to Ursula and was wearing nothing but a black bra, black panties and high-heeled red sandals.
    She closed the door again in his face.
    ‘Have you had a glass to the wall?’ she asked from inside the door.
    ‘No, but the window is open,’ he tried to explain himself.
    ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ Annie said, racing back through her brain to try to remember if she had mentioned him. Not since they left college, and he couldn’t have been eavesdropping then, could he?
    He did have a nice smile, and a bottle of champagne, and she was feeling a bit tired to put on a great performance of being cross.
    ‘It’s stifling in here,’ she shouted, rifling through her small weekend bag, pulling on a white T-shirt, jeans and a pair of ponyskin mules with thick rubber soles; then opening the door again transformed. ‘Let’s get some air.’
    His contrite face brightened.
    ‘And let’s take that with us,’ she said, pointing at the bottle and marching towards the stairs.

Chapter 31

    ‘Do buses go back to London all night?’ Roy finally dared to say something as they approached Joshua Street.
    ‘I think so,’ Manon replied. ‘Doesn’t it say twenty-four hours on the side of the coach? Later than the train, anyway.’
    She sounded slightly anxious, as if he was implying that she should be going back to London now after all. He had meant only to ask a question of fact. Something safe. But there was no safe ground. Which was why they had both walked in silence the entire length of Walton Street.
    He was nervous now. What were they doing? Why had he been so insistent that they talk? Nothing they could say to each other would change anything. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing. There was nothing in number 3 Joshua Street to help them with the rest of their lives. Nothing there at all except dust and a fitted carpet. Their footsteps echoed along the deserted pavement as they walked towards the empty house.
    ‘The train station’s so inconvenient,’ he said neutrally, trying to say something that could have no meaning except that which was contained in the words.
    ‘Yes. And the train’s more expensive.’
    He saw her shoot a furtive glance towards the house where Mrs Harris lived, but the windows were dark and there was no twitching of the front curtain.
    ‘Why do you still have the keys?’ Manon asked.
    ‘Completion is on Monday,’ he said, pausing as if unsure what day it was, ‘the day after tomorrow. But I decided to move us on Friday, yesterday, so that it would be done before the dinner, before tonight.’ He paused, thinking what a long time it had been since he had driven away the day before with Saskia and Lily in their car seats behind him.
    ‘I saw it as an ending, you see, after which we could have a new start,’ he tried to elaborate.
    ‘A rite of passage?’ Manon said.
    ‘Yes, a rite of passage,’ he sighed and looked up at the stars. ‘Of course life has this funny habit of refusing to fall into neat parcels.’
    ‘Doesn’t it just?’
    He smiled at her as they walked up the short path to the front door. Two minutes before he had yearned to be inside, so that they could talk without fear of her running away. But now that they had fallen into a certain rhythm of conversation, he hesitated before opening the door, not wanting the whole business of undoing locks, opening doors, deciding who would go in first, to staunch the flow of words between them.

    * * *

    It was colder inside than out and she pulled the edges of her cardigan together.
    ‘I switched the boiler off, but there’s automatic ignition on the pilot, I could light it,’ he offered.
    ‘No, it’s OK,’ she said.
    ‘It’s not really cold.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘But you’re shivering.’
    ‘I always do. I think it’s something to do with my metabolism,’ she told him.
    In the darkness she could not see his face, but she imagined that he was having the same memory as she was, of another warm sunny night, long, long ago, when she had