the “pork king of the north.”
“The problem,” he finally said, “was that things were never right after that. I kept trying to make it better, to talk to her, but she didn’t want to talk to me about it. She just wanted to get on with her life. So she did. It took me months to get the hint. I was a mess. But now everything’s sorted.”
He smiled brightly and folded his hands on the table.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, once you go through something like that, you learn. Went on a bit of a bender after that. Stole a car—just took it around for a few hours, don’t know why. Wasn’t even that nice. Then woke up one morning, realized that I had to take my exams and that my life was still going on. I got myself together, got into school. Now I am the rabid success that you see before you today. Just want to make my plays.
That’s all I need. And see how it’s worked out? That’s how I met you, isn’t it?”
He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly shake. Again, it wasn’t overly romantic. This gesture had a “good dog!” feel to it. But there was something else, too.
Something that said, “I’m not just here because you give me big handfuls of cash for no reason. Things are different now.”
Maybe it was the fact that he kept his arm there for the rest 118
of the trip home and neither of them felt the need to say another word.
Half an hour later, they were standing on the platform at Kings Cross, waiting for the tube.
“Almost forgot,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. “I have something for you.”
He produced a small windup Godzilla, which looked exactly like the one from Mari’s house.
“Is that from Mari’s?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“You stole it?”
“I couldn’t help it,” he said, smiling. “You needed a souvenir.”
“Why did you think I’d want something that was stolen?”
Ginny felt herself stepping back, away from him.
Keith stepped back a bit and lost his grin.
“Wait a minute. . . .”
“Maybe it was part of some art piece!”
“A major work ruined.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said. “It was hers. It’s from her house.”
“I’ll write her a letter and give myself up,” he said, holding up his hands. “I took the Godzilla. Call off the search. It was me, but I blame society.”
“It’s not funny.”
“I nicked a little toy,” he said, pinching the Godzilla between his fingers. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“Fine.” Keith walked over to the edge of the platform and 119
tossed the little toy down onto the tracks, then wandered back.
“What did you do that for?” Ginny asked.
“You didn’t want it.”
“That doesn’t mean you should just get rid of it,” she said.
“Sorry. Was I supposed to take it back?”
“You weren’t supposed to take it in the first place!”
“Know what I’ll take?” he asked. “The bus. See you.”
He disappeared through the crowd before Ginny could even manage to turn around to watch him go.
120
#5&6
#5
Dearest Ginger,
When I was a kid, I had an illustrated book of Roman mythology. I was completely obsessed with this book. My favorite of all the gods and goddesses, believe it or not, was Vesta, goddess of hearth and home.
I know. So unlikely. I mean, I’ve never owned a vacuum cleaner. But it’s true. Out of all of the goddesses, she was the one I liked the most. Lots of hot young gods pursued her, but she made a vow of perpetual virginity. Her symbol, her home, was the fireplace. She was basically the goddess of central heating.
Vesta was worshiped in every town and in every home through fire. She was everywhere, and people depended on her every day. There was a large temple built in her honor in Rome, and priestesses at her temple were called the vestal virgins.
Being a vestal was a pretty sweet job. They had one major task: They had to make sure that the undying fire in Vesta’s ceremonial hearth never went
“The problem,” he finally said, “was that things were never right after that. I kept trying to make it better, to talk to her, but she didn’t want to talk to me about it. She just wanted to get on with her life. So she did. It took me months to get the hint. I was a mess. But now everything’s sorted.”
He smiled brightly and folded his hands on the table.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, once you go through something like that, you learn. Went on a bit of a bender after that. Stole a car—just took it around for a few hours, don’t know why. Wasn’t even that nice. Then woke up one morning, realized that I had to take my exams and that my life was still going on. I got myself together, got into school. Now I am the rabid success that you see before you today. Just want to make my plays.
That’s all I need. And see how it’s worked out? That’s how I met you, isn’t it?”
He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly shake. Again, it wasn’t overly romantic. This gesture had a “good dog!” feel to it. But there was something else, too.
Something that said, “I’m not just here because you give me big handfuls of cash for no reason. Things are different now.”
Maybe it was the fact that he kept his arm there for the rest 118
of the trip home and neither of them felt the need to say another word.
Half an hour later, they were standing on the platform at Kings Cross, waiting for the tube.
“Almost forgot,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. “I have something for you.”
He produced a small windup Godzilla, which looked exactly like the one from Mari’s house.
“Is that from Mari’s?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“You stole it?”
“I couldn’t help it,” he said, smiling. “You needed a souvenir.”
“Why did you think I’d want something that was stolen?”
Ginny felt herself stepping back, away from him.
Keith stepped back a bit and lost his grin.
“Wait a minute. . . .”
“Maybe it was part of some art piece!”
“A major work ruined.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said. “It was hers. It’s from her house.”
“I’ll write her a letter and give myself up,” he said, holding up his hands. “I took the Godzilla. Call off the search. It was me, but I blame society.”
“It’s not funny.”
“I nicked a little toy,” he said, pinching the Godzilla between his fingers. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“Fine.” Keith walked over to the edge of the platform and 119
tossed the little toy down onto the tracks, then wandered back.
“What did you do that for?” Ginny asked.
“You didn’t want it.”
“That doesn’t mean you should just get rid of it,” she said.
“Sorry. Was I supposed to take it back?”
“You weren’t supposed to take it in the first place!”
“Know what I’ll take?” he asked. “The bus. See you.”
He disappeared through the crowd before Ginny could even manage to turn around to watch him go.
120
#5&6
#5
Dearest Ginger,
When I was a kid, I had an illustrated book of Roman mythology. I was completely obsessed with this book. My favorite of all the gods and goddesses, believe it or not, was Vesta, goddess of hearth and home.
I know. So unlikely. I mean, I’ve never owned a vacuum cleaner. But it’s true. Out of all of the goddesses, she was the one I liked the most. Lots of hot young gods pursued her, but she made a vow of perpetual virginity. Her symbol, her home, was the fireplace. She was basically the goddess of central heating.
Vesta was worshiped in every town and in every home through fire. She was everywhere, and people depended on her every day. There was a large temple built in her honor in Rome, and priestesses at her temple were called the vestal virgins.
Being a vestal was a pretty sweet job. They had one major task: They had to make sure that the undying fire in Vesta’s ceremonial hearth never went
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