and
94
brittle. It clings to the whorls and ridges of her mother's finger. Alice is amazed that something so small could cause that amount of pain. 'Can I have it? Can I have it?'
'No.'
'Please!'
'What on earth do you want it for?'
Alice can't think of a reason, but she knows she wants it. She wants to hold it, to look at it for a long time. She hangs off her mother's arm. 'Please! Please can I have it?'
Uncharacteristically, Ann relents and, bending down, trans fers it from her finger to Alice's. She then goes from the room and Alice hears her walk quickly upstairs and close her bedroom door. But Alice isn't thinking about this at the time, she is holding the bee-sting in the crook of her middle finger, where she carries it for the rest of the day.
Afterwards, he walked with her to the lift. It seemed to take a long time for it to come and Alice couldn't think of anything to say to him.
'You don't have to wait with me. I'm sure I can find my way out.'
'No, no. I don't mind. '
An overweight man in a loosened tie breezed through the lobby and said, 'All right, John?' and, casting his eyes appraisingly over Alice, winked at him. She pretended she hadn't noticed. John was furious, she could tell. A vein pulsed in his temple.
'Have you got a lot to do this afternoon?' .she asked him, to break the silence.
'Yes, as usual.'
'When did you become a journalist?'
'Straight after university. I did an MA at City University and then had various smallish jobs. I've been here for a year now.'
95"
The lift arrived with a computerised ding.
'Well, thanks for lunch. When's the article due out?' 'Next Thursday, I think. I could phone you to let you know, if you want.'
She went into the lift. 'Oh, don't worry about that. You've probably got enough to do.'
'No, it's not a problem . . . Alice!' He thrust his foot between the closing doors, which crashed open again. 'Shit . that hurt. ' 'Are you OK?'
He massaged his foot, leaning on one of the lift doors to stop them closing. 'Just about. It's not funny, you know, I could have lost a foot and it would have been your fault.'
'Ihardly think so. Anyway, it would have been an industrial accident, wouldn't it? You'd have got millions in compensa tion.'
At that moment a grim-faced woman walked into the lift. 'I was wondering if . . . whether you would like to . . .'
he faltered, as the woman fidgeted pointedly with her watch. '. . . Er . . . Iwondered if Icould borrow that book.'
She was taken aback. 'Well, yes. Do you really want
to?'
'I'd love to.'
She reached into her bag and handed it to him. He took it
and stepped back. 'I'll give it back to you.'
Alice was about to say that there was no need but the doors closed.
Rachel had just returned from an early lecture and was knocking on Alice's door. 'Alice? Are you awake? Are you dressed?'
Alice was sitting in bed with a book propped up on her knees. The curtains were open and the mid-morning sunlight
formed triangles of light on the carpet. 'Yes, come in. How was the lecture?'
Rachel appeared in the doorway still in her coat and scarf, clutching a parcel. 'Boring, actually. Guess what came for you in the post.'
'What?'
'It's from New York.'
Alice put her hands over her eyes. 'I don't want it! Take it away!'
Rachel sat down on the bed and tossed the parcel into
Alice's lap. 'Open it, go on. It could be something nice, something expensive.'
Alice turned it over in her hands. There was no return address but the handwriting was unmistakably Mario's. It was an ordinary brown padded envelope and what was in it was light, bulky and squashable, giving easily to the pressure of her fingers. What was it? Clothes?
'You open it,' she said, pushing it into Rachel's hands. 'No. It's addressed to you. You open it.'
Alice peeled back the SeHotape on one end of the envelope and held it upside down, shaking whatever it was into her hand. What came out was so shocking that things registered in reverse order in her mind. I:Iair. A lot of hair. Black hair. Curly, tangled
94
brittle. It clings to the whorls and ridges of her mother's finger. Alice is amazed that something so small could cause that amount of pain. 'Can I have it? Can I have it?'
'No.'
'Please!'
'What on earth do you want it for?'
Alice can't think of a reason, but she knows she wants it. She wants to hold it, to look at it for a long time. She hangs off her mother's arm. 'Please! Please can I have it?'
Uncharacteristically, Ann relents and, bending down, trans fers it from her finger to Alice's. She then goes from the room and Alice hears her walk quickly upstairs and close her bedroom door. But Alice isn't thinking about this at the time, she is holding the bee-sting in the crook of her middle finger, where she carries it for the rest of the day.
Afterwards, he walked with her to the lift. It seemed to take a long time for it to come and Alice couldn't think of anything to say to him.
'You don't have to wait with me. I'm sure I can find my way out.'
'No, no. I don't mind. '
An overweight man in a loosened tie breezed through the lobby and said, 'All right, John?' and, casting his eyes appraisingly over Alice, winked at him. She pretended she hadn't noticed. John was furious, she could tell. A vein pulsed in his temple.
'Have you got a lot to do this afternoon?' .she asked him, to break the silence.
'Yes, as usual.'
'When did you become a journalist?'
'Straight after university. I did an MA at City University and then had various smallish jobs. I've been here for a year now.'
95"
The lift arrived with a computerised ding.
'Well, thanks for lunch. When's the article due out?' 'Next Thursday, I think. I could phone you to let you know, if you want.'
She went into the lift. 'Oh, don't worry about that. You've probably got enough to do.'
'No, it's not a problem . . . Alice!' He thrust his foot between the closing doors, which crashed open again. 'Shit . that hurt. ' 'Are you OK?'
He massaged his foot, leaning on one of the lift doors to stop them closing. 'Just about. It's not funny, you know, I could have lost a foot and it would have been your fault.'
'Ihardly think so. Anyway, it would have been an industrial accident, wouldn't it? You'd have got millions in compensa tion.'
At that moment a grim-faced woman walked into the lift. 'I was wondering if . . . whether you would like to . . .'
he faltered, as the woman fidgeted pointedly with her watch. '. . . Er . . . Iwondered if Icould borrow that book.'
She was taken aback. 'Well, yes. Do you really want
to?'
'I'd love to.'
She reached into her bag and handed it to him. He took it
and stepped back. 'I'll give it back to you.'
Alice was about to say that there was no need but the doors closed.
Rachel had just returned from an early lecture and was knocking on Alice's door. 'Alice? Are you awake? Are you dressed?'
Alice was sitting in bed with a book propped up on her knees. The curtains were open and the mid-morning sunlight
formed triangles of light on the carpet. 'Yes, come in. How was the lecture?'
Rachel appeared in the doorway still in her coat and scarf, clutching a parcel. 'Boring, actually. Guess what came for you in the post.'
'What?'
'It's from New York.'
Alice put her hands over her eyes. 'I don't want it! Take it away!'
Rachel sat down on the bed and tossed the parcel into
Alice's lap. 'Open it, go on. It could be something nice, something expensive.'
Alice turned it over in her hands. There was no return address but the handwriting was unmistakably Mario's. It was an ordinary brown padded envelope and what was in it was light, bulky and squashable, giving easily to the pressure of her fingers. What was it? Clothes?
'You open it,' she said, pushing it into Rachel's hands. 'No. It's addressed to you. You open it.'
Alice peeled back the SeHotape on one end of the envelope and held it upside down, shaking whatever it was into her hand. What came out was so shocking that things registered in reverse order in her mind. I:Iair. A lot of hair. Black hair. Curly, tangled
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