SE WEN
“WHAT TIME ARE YOU MEETING YOUR FRIEND?” J asked.
“Seven o'clock. After rehearsal.” Kathy handed me her coffee cup.
“If you can’t remember her name, Theo, it’s Nicole.”
“Right.” I yawned.
Kathy gave me a stern look. “You know, it’s a little insulting that you don’t rrmember—she’s one of my best
friends. You went to her - going-away party for fuck’s sake.”
“Of course I remember Nicole. I just forgot her name, that’s all.”
Kathy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Pothead. I’m having a shower.”
She walked out of the kitchen.
I smiled to myself.
Seven o'clock.
At a quarter to seven I walked along the river toward Kathy’s re- hearsal space on the South Bank.
I sat on a bench across the way from the rehearsal room, facing away from the entrance so Kathy wouldn't
immediately see me if she left early. Every so often I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder. But the door
remained obstinately shut.
Then, at five minutes past seven, it opened. There was the sound of animated conversation and laughter as the actors
left the build- ing. They wandered out in groups of two or three. No sign of Kathy.
a77.
I waited five minutes. Ten minutes. The trickle of people stopped, and no one else came out. I must have missed
her. She must have left before I arrived. Unless she hadn’t been here at all?
Had she been lying about the rehearsal?
I got up and made my way toward the entrance. I needed to be sure. If she was still inside and she saw me, what
then? What ex- cuse could I have for being here? I’d come to surprise her? Yes—I'd say I was here to take her and
“Nicole” out for dinner. Kathy would squirm and lie her way out of it with some bullshit excuse—“Nicole is sick,
Nicole has canceled”—so Kathy and I would end up spend- ing an uncomfortable evening alone together. Another
evening of long silences.
I reached the entrance. I hesitated, grabbed the rusted green handle, and pushed open the door. I went inside.
The bare concrete interior smelled damp. Kathy’s rehearsal space was on the fourth floor—she had moaned about
having to climb the stairs every day—so I went up the main central staircase. I reached the first floor and was
starting for the second when I heard a voice on the stairs, coming from the floor above. It was Kathy. She was on the
phone: “I know, I’m sorry. Pll see you soon. I won't be long. . . . Okay, okay, bye.”
I froze—we were seconds away from colliding with each other. I dashed down the st eps, hiding around the corner.
Kathy walked past without seeing me. She went out the door. It slammed shut.
I hurried after her and left the building. Kathy was walking away, moving fast, toward the bridge. I followed,
weaving between com- muters and tourists, trying to ke ep a distance without losing sight of her.
She crossed the bridge and went down the st eps into the Embank- ment Tube station. I went after her, wondering
which line she would take.
But she didn’t get on the tube. Instead she walked straight through the station and out the other side. She continued
walking toward Charing Cross Road. I followed. I stood a few st eps behind her at the traffic lights. We crossed
Charing Cross Road and headed into
IEE NT
Soho. I followed her along the narrow streets. She took a right turn, a left, another right. Then she abruptly stopped.
She stood on the corner of Lexington Street. And waited.
So this was the meeting place. A good spot—central, busy, anon- ymous. I hesitated and slipped into a pub on the
corner. I positioned myself at the bar. It offered a clear view through the window of Kathy across the road. The
barman, bored, with an unruly beard, glanced at me. “Yeah?”
“A pint. Guinness.”
He yawned and went to the other side of the bar to pour the pint.
I k ept my eyes on Kathy. I was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to see me through the window even if she looked in
this direction. At one point Kathy did look over—straight at me. My heart stopped for a second—I was sure she had
noticed me—but no, her gaze drifted on.
The minutes passed, and still Kathy waited. So did I. I sipped my pint slowly, watching. He was taking his time,
whoever he was. She wouldn't like that. Kathy didn’t like to be k ept waiting—even though she was perpetually late.
I could see she was getting an- - noyed, frowning and checking her watch.
A man crossed the road toward her. In the few seconds he took to cross the street, I had already assessed him. He
was well built. He had shoulder-length fair hair, which surprised me, as Kathy always said she only went for men
with dark hair and eyes like mine— unless that was another lie.
But the man walked right by her. She didn’t even look at him.
Soon he was out of sight. So it wasn’t him. I wondered if Kathy and I were both thinking the same thing—had she
been stood up?
Then her eyes widened. She smiled. She waved across the street— at someone out of sight. At last, I thought. It’s
him. I craned my neck to see— To my surprise, a tarty-looking blonde, about thirty, wearing an impossibly short
skirt and improbably high heels, tottered over to Kathy. I recognized her at once. Nicole. They greeted each other
with hugs and kisses. They walked off, talking and laughing, arm in arm. So Kathy hadn't been lying about meeting
Nicole.
£70
I registered my emotions with shock—I ought to have been hugely relieved that Kathy had been telling the truth. I
ought to have been grateful. But I wasn't.
I was disappointed.