Double Blind by Carrie Bedford

where the driver started letting the volunteers off close to bus stops and tube stations. It was raining hard. Anita got off near Ealing Broadway, heading to her parents’ house for dinner.
    “Wish me luck,” she said. “Mum was tight-lipped about it all, but I think Dad’s invited a potential suitor over. It’ll be a nightmare. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    Almost everyone had left the bus by the time we approached the campaign office. Chris stirred and called out to the driver.
    “Can you drop me here? I live on that street.”
    He stood up, hefting his backpack on to his shoulders as the driver pulled the bus to a halt at the curbside.
    “Bye, Kate,” Chris said. “Let’s hope for the best on election day. Maybe I’ll see you in Eastbourne for the acceptance speech.”
    Climbing down from the bus, he strode away, collar turned up against the rain. He turned up a side road, disappearing into the darkness. The driver had changed gears and was about to pull back into traffic when I caught sight of Chris’s book on the seat he’d just vacated.
    “Wait!” I called to the driver. “Chris left something. I’ll run and give it to him.”
    “Okay. Shall I wait for you?”
    “No, it’s fine. I’ll just go straight to the tube station.”
    Picking up the book, I hurried off the bus and along the street Chris had taken. I could see him in the distance, a dark figure appearing and disappearing through pools of orange light from the street lamps. He turned off the road, disappearing from view. I broke into a run, hampered by my overnight bag and the heavy book, but, when I reached the place where I thought he had turned, I couldn’t tell which house he’d gone into. The semi-detached houses, fronted by short driveways, were all identical. I hesitated, feeling the rain dripping down the back of my neck. Just then a light came on downstairs in the house to my left. Guessing that would be him, I walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. A broken gutter above poured a steady stream of water on to the doorstep, and I backed up, braving the rain rather than the leak.
    When the door opened, Chris peered out, looking wary. Even when he saw it was me, his face didn’t seem to relax.
    “Your book,” I said holding it out to him. “You left it on the bus.”
    “Oh, thanks. Those books are really expensive.”
    He took the heavy volume, one hand still holding the front door half open. “See you next week maybe,” he said after a long pause. He was obviously in no mood to chat.
    “Which is the quickest way to the tube from here?” I asked.
    He nodded left up the street, the way I’d come.
    “Okay, thanks. But could I use your loo before I go? I drank too much tea today.”
    He hesitated long enough to make me regret asking. I realized I’d assumed he lived alone, but maybe he shared with other students or a girlfriend and it wasn’t a good time. He hadn’t told me much about his personal life.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll make it,” I said quickly, turning away.
    “No, come in,” he said. “The place is a mess, so you’ll have to excuse it.”
    I followed him inside. The front door opened directly into the living room, which was small and cluttered with furniture. A flowery three-piece suite took up most of the space, arranged around a tiled fireplace with an electric fire retrofitted into it. A table holding a small, old-fashioned television lurked in the corner. Dusty silk flowers in a cheap-looking vase were the only decoration. It didn’t look like a room furnished by a young male student.
    “There’s just one bathroom and it’s upstairs,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
    I was about to say I was sure I could find it, but he led the way up the narrow, pink-carpeted stairs to a small landing with three doors. He closed one of them and pointed to the furthest one. “That’s the bathroom.”
    The bathroom was shabby but clean, with lavender carpet flattened from years of use, and pink fixtures