Meeting the English by Kate Clanchy Page A

sorry.’
    â€˜You’ve been getting up too early,’ said Shirin, ‘there’s nothing to worry about. I got Phillip up and now the nurse has been. He’s in the study, and he’s clean and fine and comfortable. And in the shade, Struan, I promise, hmm? Now, you need some breakfast.’
    She led him down to the kitchen. There was an omelette at his place on the table, rolled and on a china plate, and round flat breads and a napkin beside it. Under the plate were two ten-pound notes, fresh from the bank. ‘Sit down,’ said Shirin. She was wearing a wee gold belt with the jeans, and it was really made of metal: the links clicked. Struan didn’t normally notice belts and so on, but he liked this one. Shirin was tiny, not much taller than Juliet, but half her width. ‘I’m going to make you a coffee,’ she said.
    She used the wee metal contraption to do that, while Struan tucked into the omelette. It was cold, but that was all right, Struan thought, in fact it was nice, sort of pancake-y. And there was green stuff inside it which wasn’t parsley. It was a bit nutty, a bit peanut-buttery, but crunchy, not greasy. Peanut butter with pine needles would be the best way to describe it. It was good, but.
    â€˜Is this Iranian?’ he said, gesticulating with his fork, and trying not gobble.
    â€˜I suppose,’ said Shirin. ‘Eggs are international, aren’t they?’
    â€˜I never had this in Cuik,’ said Struan. ‘And that’s awful nice coffee too.’ Shirin had warmed the milk for him, and stirred in a sugar.
    Shirin came and sat opposite him at the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and her eyes were such a beautiful shape, and wetter than other people’s, clean brown and white, like a child’s, ‘I should have done this before. I have been putting my show together, you see. But I should have made you a meal. My grandmother would be ashamed of me.’
    â€˜Ah’ve got a gran like that,’ said Struan, grinning. ‘Soon as you get in the house, she’s got the kettle on and she’s feeding you a Mars Bar.’
    He leaned back on his seat, legs pushed nearly to the other end of the kitchen table. He felt OK, suddenly. The window was closed: he could hardly believe the adventure of the night had actually happened. He didn’t know whether to mention it to Shirin. He didn’t know how much Shirin knew Jake, really. He hoped it was not at all.
    â€˜Was it good,’ he said, ‘your opening?’
    â€˜Very good,’ said Shirin, ‘And now it is done, that is the best thing, and we are going to push the wheelchair over to the Mixed Bathing Pond. That’s where Phillip wanted to go, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Uh-huh,’ said Struan, sitting forward, startled. Shirin believed him about the wink; she did not think he was a fool. ‘The swimming pond. I think so.’
    â€˜The Mixed Pond,’ said Shirin, ‘is not the best pond, in fact. Phillip used to like the Men’s one, but I am not permitted there. I can take you to the Mixed one this morning, and show you where the Men’s one is – it is very near – and then you can take him another morning. And I’ll point you to the Lido, too, if you like lane swimming. Did you bring a swimming costume?’
    â€˜I did,’ said Struan, ‘it’s upstairs.’ He rose to get it, but Shirin picked up a bundle from a chair and held it out to him.
    â€˜I thought,’ she said, looking at his soap-stiffened T-shirt and grass-stained trousers, ‘that you did not pack for the heat? So I went through Phillip’s clothes, and here are some shorts he cannot use, and some vests too, and a shirt? They will be OK for you. Traditional British brand. Nice quality, and quite trendy, I think. Especially the shorts, they are exciting. Sixties. Like, you know, Doctor No.’
    And she smiled at him suddenly, a