little holy. He would, he knew, be coming back. He would be coming home.
“Of course, it depends on the viva, but there’s no worries there. Unless they completely fail to understand what the thesis is about.” A moment’s pause. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”
“So you’re taking it? The job?”
“I thought I would. Why not? No reason not to.”
The voice was deep, unfamiliar. Alan on the phone. Perhaps for the first time. She leant back against the stair rail, swallowed.
Jen would be off, soon enough. As soon as she’d got bored with Tom. And that wouldn’t take long, Claire thought. Jen was too bright, too brilliant, too beautiful for Tom. There was very little to keep her there, and so much luring her away. That job she’d been offered, the friend who’d asked her to go travelling. Either way, whatever she decided to do, Jen was out of there. Leaving, and never looking back.
And what did she have? A headachy uneasy job in a shop that hardly paid the rent, and a 2.1 in reading books.
What about me, she thought.
“What about me?” she said, and immediately felt hot and wrong.
There was a moment’s static silence. Alan cleared his throat. He said:
“You can come too. If you want to.”
FIVE
It was a small bag, nearly empty, but nonetheless it had to go through the X-ray machine. Claire watched the security guy watching the screen, imagined the picture. A cat-scan of her brain. Soft, tangled stuff. Nothing clear or identifiable.
She had packed it last night, in Grainne’s house. Stuffed in what clean clothes she had left. A couple of pairs of socks, pants, her balding cords. The bag had remained flaccid, expectant, lying open-mouthed on the bed. It had looked hungry. It had made her feel guilty. She should have more stuff. Surely she should have more.
Claire shivered, pulled her jacket tighter round her. The lights were harsh, cold. They buzzed. She gritted her teeth, ducked down inside her collar.
On the way down to the docks, she had noticed a sign. Blinding bright in the early-morning dark, illuminated bythe taxi headlights. Never seen before. The word HEYSHAM and, underneath, a silhouetted lorry. She had realised, with mounting delight, that the way home was signposted. Not that Heysham was home, but it was close. Just a bus ride away.
But she should have known that already. She had leaned forward in her seat, grown tense with irritation. Stupid. All this time she had thought home was so far away. That it was across the sea to Scotland, then a long meandering coach journey through tiny Scottish towns, along the carious sea-coast. Home had seemed so immeasurably distant and remote. When in fact home was there, just across the water. A glowing sign had been there all along, pointing the way. Stupid.
They had pulled up outside the terminus and she had paid the taxi driver, walked into the bright-lit reception area, joined the end of a queue. When the woman behind the counter asked her, smiling, “Single or return?” Claire had suddenly realised that she didn’t know.
“You’re travelling this morning?” the woman had asked, helpfully.
“Yes—”
“And you’re coming back …?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you could get a return, and leave it open-ended …”
Claire had nodded.
“That’s thirty-five pounds. Or you could just get a single.”
“How much is that?”
“Seventeen fifty.”
Claire had stood gnawing her lip. The woman had stared up at her, waiting. Claire had pulled her purse out of her back pocket, opened it.
“I’ll take the single.”
And she had paid, taken her boarding card, and walked through to Security.
“You can come on through.” The luminous-jacketed woman was smiling at her, beckoning. Claire stepped through the empty electronic doorway, did not set off any alarms. She walked down the short, sloping corridor.
The chairs were blue. Except where they were red. Red seats were set out in a square at the far end of the room. If you
“Of course, it depends on the viva, but there’s no worries there. Unless they completely fail to understand what the thesis is about.” A moment’s pause. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”
“So you’re taking it? The job?”
“I thought I would. Why not? No reason not to.”
The voice was deep, unfamiliar. Alan on the phone. Perhaps for the first time. She leant back against the stair rail, swallowed.
Jen would be off, soon enough. As soon as she’d got bored with Tom. And that wouldn’t take long, Claire thought. Jen was too bright, too brilliant, too beautiful for Tom. There was very little to keep her there, and so much luring her away. That job she’d been offered, the friend who’d asked her to go travelling. Either way, whatever she decided to do, Jen was out of there. Leaving, and never looking back.
And what did she have? A headachy uneasy job in a shop that hardly paid the rent, and a 2.1 in reading books.
What about me, she thought.
“What about me?” she said, and immediately felt hot and wrong.
There was a moment’s static silence. Alan cleared his throat. He said:
“You can come too. If you want to.”
FIVE
It was a small bag, nearly empty, but nonetheless it had to go through the X-ray machine. Claire watched the security guy watching the screen, imagined the picture. A cat-scan of her brain. Soft, tangled stuff. Nothing clear or identifiable.
She had packed it last night, in Grainne’s house. Stuffed in what clean clothes she had left. A couple of pairs of socks, pants, her balding cords. The bag had remained flaccid, expectant, lying open-mouthed on the bed. It had looked hungry. It had made her feel guilty. She should have more stuff. Surely she should have more.
Claire shivered, pulled her jacket tighter round her. The lights were harsh, cold. They buzzed. She gritted her teeth, ducked down inside her collar.
On the way down to the docks, she had noticed a sign. Blinding bright in the early-morning dark, illuminated bythe taxi headlights. Never seen before. The word HEYSHAM and, underneath, a silhouetted lorry. She had realised, with mounting delight, that the way home was signposted. Not that Heysham was home, but it was close. Just a bus ride away.
But she should have known that already. She had leaned forward in her seat, grown tense with irritation. Stupid. All this time she had thought home was so far away. That it was across the sea to Scotland, then a long meandering coach journey through tiny Scottish towns, along the carious sea-coast. Home had seemed so immeasurably distant and remote. When in fact home was there, just across the water. A glowing sign had been there all along, pointing the way. Stupid.
They had pulled up outside the terminus and she had paid the taxi driver, walked into the bright-lit reception area, joined the end of a queue. When the woman behind the counter asked her, smiling, “Single or return?” Claire had suddenly realised that she didn’t know.
“You’re travelling this morning?” the woman had asked, helpfully.
“Yes—”
“And you’re coming back …?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you could get a return, and leave it open-ended …”
Claire had nodded.
“That’s thirty-five pounds. Or you could just get a single.”
“How much is that?”
“Seventeen fifty.”
Claire had stood gnawing her lip. The woman had stared up at her, waiting. Claire had pulled her purse out of her back pocket, opened it.
“I’ll take the single.”
And she had paid, taken her boarding card, and walked through to Security.
“You can come on through.” The luminous-jacketed woman was smiling at her, beckoning. Claire stepped through the empty electronic doorway, did not set off any alarms. She walked down the short, sloping corridor.
The chairs were blue. Except where they were red. Red seats were set out in a square at the far end of the room. If you
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