ordinary now, Joan thought, not wild. It is pretending again. After the mockery and mayhem of the morning, she found the sudden stillness sinister. She frowned to herself. We thought
we were safe in the city. We didn’t think it would come this far. Storms happen between hills, not concrete. Well, we were wrong again. Puny men and women. She shivered suddenly. What was
wrong with her? This morning, crossing the Thames, the storm had made her want to roar like a medieval witch. Now she was frightened. She shook her head and turned away from the window, pulling her
cardigan across her chest protectively and holding herself. All at once, a thought had come into her head, very clearly and distinctly: something bad is going to happen soon.
Annette had scarcely seen William for a whole week. He had spent most of the time on site visits. The day of the storm, he didn’t make it in at all. When they had seen
each other, they had smiled uncertainly and talked as always. Annette was puzzled. The afterglow of their odd moment had lasted for several days, then she began to doubt what had happened. More to
the point, had anything happened at all? The memory seemed blurry: the briefest of touches, the feel of cotton, a catching of breath. She knew nothing about this man.
The day after the storm, he came around to her part of the office carrying a sheaf of paper, the specification for the refurbishment works at Harrow. She looked up at him. He came to a halt
beside her desk, and looked down at her.
Joan came pottering around the office divide holding a cloth.
‘You wouldn’t believe the state of the cupboard.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re going to have to speak to the cleaners, Annette. If we took all the cups out one
Friday then they could get at it. Nobody has for years . . .’
Annette had always been fond of Joan, but now she felt an overwhelming desire to lever her out of their second floor window.
Joan paused in front of her desk. She put down the cloth, then reached over and opened a drawer, ‘I don’t know . . .’
William was shifting from one foot to another. Annette wondered how long he would stand there without feeling impelled to say something for Joan’s benefit.
Joan had finished rummaging. She stood up, clutching her handbag. ‘Won’t be a mo . . .’
William watched Joan leave and then handed Annette the specification. ‘It’s like this Phil in Commercial left the Dayworks out I can’t believe it can you do you fancy a drink
after work?’ He gave a sharp intake of breath.
Annette wanted to giggle. ‘Yes. Okay.’
William scratched his scalp. ‘I’ve got the car, you see. I’m going straight to Fairlop in the morning so they’ve lent me the car. I could run you home afterwards. If you
like.’
‘Yes. okay.’
‘A quick drink mind, you might be busy, I don’t know. Whatever you fancy really.’
‘Yes.’
‘We could stay local or we could drive over your way – Lewisham, perhaps Greenwich?’
Annette nodded, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from standing, grasping him by the lapels of his jacket and shouting in his face,
I said YES!
‘Well, fine then,’ William said.
He turned and was gone.
The rest of that afternoon took on a weird glow. William went out on a site visit. Annette put the specification to one side and tried to work as normal, but suddenly every
detail of the office became invested with significance. At one point, she looked round to see that a smear of dirt on the filing cabinet next to her had inexplicably formed itself into an oblong
shape that was almost a heart. The leaves of Joan’s beloved ivy caught the light from the window and bounced it in her direction. When she heard a woman laughing in the street outside, she
nearly joined in.
She picked up a tape of dictation that Richard had left. The letter she began to type seemed bizarre. Richard was explaining to a contractor that the tender documents would be forwarded to him
as soon as
we were safe in the city. We didn’t think it would come this far. Storms happen between hills, not concrete. Well, we were wrong again. Puny men and women. She shivered suddenly. What was
wrong with her? This morning, crossing the Thames, the storm had made her want to roar like a medieval witch. Now she was frightened. She shook her head and turned away from the window, pulling her
cardigan across her chest protectively and holding herself. All at once, a thought had come into her head, very clearly and distinctly: something bad is going to happen soon.
Annette had scarcely seen William for a whole week. He had spent most of the time on site visits. The day of the storm, he didn’t make it in at all. When they had seen
each other, they had smiled uncertainly and talked as always. Annette was puzzled. The afterglow of their odd moment had lasted for several days, then she began to doubt what had happened. More to
the point, had anything happened at all? The memory seemed blurry: the briefest of touches, the feel of cotton, a catching of breath. She knew nothing about this man.
The day after the storm, he came around to her part of the office carrying a sheaf of paper, the specification for the refurbishment works at Harrow. She looked up at him. He came to a halt
beside her desk, and looked down at her.
Joan came pottering around the office divide holding a cloth.
‘You wouldn’t believe the state of the cupboard.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re going to have to speak to the cleaners, Annette. If we took all the cups out one
Friday then they could get at it. Nobody has for years . . .’
Annette had always been fond of Joan, but now she felt an overwhelming desire to lever her out of their second floor window.
Joan paused in front of her desk. She put down the cloth, then reached over and opened a drawer, ‘I don’t know . . .’
William was shifting from one foot to another. Annette wondered how long he would stand there without feeling impelled to say something for Joan’s benefit.
Joan had finished rummaging. She stood up, clutching her handbag. ‘Won’t be a mo . . .’
William watched Joan leave and then handed Annette the specification. ‘It’s like this Phil in Commercial left the Dayworks out I can’t believe it can you do you fancy a drink
after work?’ He gave a sharp intake of breath.
Annette wanted to giggle. ‘Yes. Okay.’
William scratched his scalp. ‘I’ve got the car, you see. I’m going straight to Fairlop in the morning so they’ve lent me the car. I could run you home afterwards. If you
like.’
‘Yes. okay.’
‘A quick drink mind, you might be busy, I don’t know. Whatever you fancy really.’
‘Yes.’
‘We could stay local or we could drive over your way – Lewisham, perhaps Greenwich?’
Annette nodded, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from standing, grasping him by the lapels of his jacket and shouting in his face,
I said YES!
‘Well, fine then,’ William said.
He turned and was gone.
The rest of that afternoon took on a weird glow. William went out on a site visit. Annette put the specification to one side and tried to work as normal, but suddenly every
detail of the office became invested with significance. At one point, she looked round to see that a smear of dirt on the filing cabinet next to her had inexplicably formed itself into an oblong
shape that was almost a heart. The leaves of Joan’s beloved ivy caught the light from the window and bounced it in her direction. When she heard a woman laughing in the street outside, she
nearly joined in.
She picked up a tape of dictation that Richard had left. The letter she began to type seemed bizarre. Richard was explaining to a contractor that the tender documents would be forwarded to him
as soon as
Similar Books
