you?"
Sandy peered along the corridor. She didn't think she'd glimpsed a shadow dodging out of sight around the bend of the bare gray stairs, but he made her feel as if she had. "Of course not," she said.
"Got to be careful." He stepped back clumsily, almost tripping over his ragged doormat. "Never know who might come snooping around after my films."
"If you were a gentleman you'd see me to my car," she said, and gazed at him until it drew him into the open. He rushed at the stairs so recklessly she was afraid for him. He was stooping, butting the air as if to warn anyone who might get in his way. As she followed him, the smell of sweat and motor oil met her on the stairs.
He flung the street door open and blundered out, fists clenched. The street was deserted for hundreds of yards. Something that smelled of stale food scuttled behind him in the dark-a hamburger carton, which Sandy kicked aside as she made for her car. "I'll let you know if I trace the film," she said, and he took refuge in the building at once. As she turned the car she thought that he or one of his companions had darted out of the building to beckon to her. It must have been the shadow of a lamppost, a shadow that dropped to the ground as her headlights veered away. It had been too thin even for Trantom's undernourished friend.
***
When Sandy came off the urban motorway she found she was driving for the sake of driving, to give herself a chance to think. It didn't work. She stopped the car outside Regent's Park, by the zoo. Above the park the edges of clouds were raw, but the light wasn't sufficient to show her what kind of animal was prowling beyond the railings. She stared at the cover of Gorehound, and then she drove to a phone box. She needed to talk.
Roger answered halfway through the first ring. "You're at your desk," she guessed.
"Sure am. Is this Sandy Allan? How are you today?"
"I'm… various things, such as sorry if I interrupted you."
"I'll be through with this paragraph in quarter of an hour. Why don't you come over? That is, if you've nothing-was
"Nothing I can think of."
"God, I'm predictable, right? I'll try and make myself more random while I'm waiting. If I'm not here I'll be around the corner buying wine."
"Yes, let's celebrate," Sandy said as she got into her car. She felt lightheaded with too many emotions all at once. She sat with the window down, breathing the night air that smelled of flowers and wild animals, for a few minutes before she drove off.
Crowds swarmed around the glow of the stations at Euston and St. Pancras and King's Cross. The five-way intersection at the Angel was a tangled knot of streetlamps and unlit side streets. Sandy sped through the knot into Upper Street, and parked outside the arch that led to Roger's. When she slammed the car door the sound scuttled over the cobblestones. She hurried through the arch to the door opposite the path darkened by shrubs. Before she could ring his doorbell, she was blinded.
Roger had glanced out between his curtains. The desk lamp was pointing straight at her face. His footsteps beyond the blur that had wiped out most of her vision sounded more distant than the stealthy restlessness behind her, which must be twigs scraping the edges of the path. As soon as she heard him open the door she walked blindly in. "Sure, come in," he said in her ear, and then, "Sandy, what's wrong?"
She didn't know where to begin. Now that she was inside she was happy to wait for her sight to return, but staying mute seemed unreasonable. She heard the door shut, and he came closer. "It's okay, don't talk if you need to be quiet," he said, and put his arms around her.
It was her temporary sightlessness as much as her silence that made her feel she had found him at last, in a place beyond words. She hugged him and hung on as they walked
Sandy peered along the corridor. She didn't think she'd glimpsed a shadow dodging out of sight around the bend of the bare gray stairs, but he made her feel as if she had. "Of course not," she said.
"Got to be careful." He stepped back clumsily, almost tripping over his ragged doormat. "Never know who might come snooping around after my films."
"If you were a gentleman you'd see me to my car," she said, and gazed at him until it drew him into the open. He rushed at the stairs so recklessly she was afraid for him. He was stooping, butting the air as if to warn anyone who might get in his way. As she followed him, the smell of sweat and motor oil met her on the stairs.
He flung the street door open and blundered out, fists clenched. The street was deserted for hundreds of yards. Something that smelled of stale food scuttled behind him in the dark-a hamburger carton, which Sandy kicked aside as she made for her car. "I'll let you know if I trace the film," she said, and he took refuge in the building at once. As she turned the car she thought that he or one of his companions had darted out of the building to beckon to her. It must have been the shadow of a lamppost, a shadow that dropped to the ground as her headlights veered away. It had been too thin even for Trantom's undernourished friend.
***
When Sandy came off the urban motorway she found she was driving for the sake of driving, to give herself a chance to think. It didn't work. She stopped the car outside Regent's Park, by the zoo. Above the park the edges of clouds were raw, but the light wasn't sufficient to show her what kind of animal was prowling beyond the railings. She stared at the cover of Gorehound, and then she drove to a phone box. She needed to talk.
Roger answered halfway through the first ring. "You're at your desk," she guessed.
"Sure am. Is this Sandy Allan? How are you today?"
"I'm… various things, such as sorry if I interrupted you."
"I'll be through with this paragraph in quarter of an hour. Why don't you come over? That is, if you've nothing-was
"Nothing I can think of."
"God, I'm predictable, right? I'll try and make myself more random while I'm waiting. If I'm not here I'll be around the corner buying wine."
"Yes, let's celebrate," Sandy said as she got into her car. She felt lightheaded with too many emotions all at once. She sat with the window down, breathing the night air that smelled of flowers and wild animals, for a few minutes before she drove off.
Crowds swarmed around the glow of the stations at Euston and St. Pancras and King's Cross. The five-way intersection at the Angel was a tangled knot of streetlamps and unlit side streets. Sandy sped through the knot into Upper Street, and parked outside the arch that led to Roger's. When she slammed the car door the sound scuttled over the cobblestones. She hurried through the arch to the door opposite the path darkened by shrubs. Before she could ring his doorbell, she was blinded.
Roger had glanced out between his curtains. The desk lamp was pointing straight at her face. His footsteps beyond the blur that had wiped out most of her vision sounded more distant than the stealthy restlessness behind her, which must be twigs scraping the edges of the path. As soon as she heard him open the door she walked blindly in. "Sure, come in," he said in her ear, and then, "Sandy, what's wrong?"
She didn't know where to begin. Now that she was inside she was happy to wait for her sight to return, but staying mute seemed unreasonable. She heard the door shut, and he came closer. "It's okay, don't talk if you need to be quiet," he said, and put his arms around her.
It was her temporary sightlessness as much as her silence that made her feel she had found him at last, in a place beyond words. She hugged him and hung on as they walked
Similar Books
