By the fourth day the girl stopped trying to call the taller young man. She went to work and left her phone in her locker, instead of putting it in her pocket. But when she finished work she rang the shorter young man and asked him if he’d meet her for a drink. He hesitated, but she assured him she wouldn’t any ask more questions about the taller young man, that she just wanted some company. He agreed to meet her in the bar the three of them always went to with the happy-hour offers.
       The girl arrived first and bought a bottle of wine.
       ‘How many glasses today?’ asked the barman. He recognised her now.
       ‘Two,’ she said and took the wine to a small table in the corner. She sat down and poured herself a glass.
       The shorter young man arrived ten minutes late, looking slightly dishevelled and sweaty.
       ‘I ran all the way here,’ he said. ‘Got caught up at work.’
       ‘Busy week?’ the girl said.
       ‘No, it’s that Russian. She was demanding to know where I was going. Bit of a mistake, that one.’
       The girl laughed. ‘Glass of wine?’ she said.
       ‘Yes please,’ he said, and the girl poured it right to the top of the glass.
       Later, the shorter young man bought another bottle, even though the happy hour had finished.
       Just before closing time the girl went to the toilet and took her purse out of her bag. She took £2 out and put it in the condom machine. She pressed the button which said ‘Extra Safe’.

The taller young man was feeling nauseated. The airport was full of holiday makers on their way home. It was 7a.m. and he was tired, unable to sleep during the flight. He left his empty luggage trolley and went to the toilet. He threw up, and all that came up was white liquid followed by brown bile. When he got back to the baggage reclaim his suitcase was one of two circling round.
       It started raining as he got in a taxi.
       ‘Where to?’ said the driver and the young man hesitated for a second then said his address.        When he got back to his flat, the door was locked. He unlocked it and said ‘I’m back,’ but there was no answer. ‘He must be already in work,’ thought the taller young man. He walked through to the kitchen where there were piles of plates stacked up by the dishwasher and several wine glasses, some with lipstick marks on, some without. He picked up the kettle and filled it with water.
       He drank the tea he made sitting on the sofa in the living-room. The previous day’s paper lay on the coffee table unread. He picked it up and opened it and looked at the headlines but didn’t read any of the articles. He got a cigarette out of his coat pocket and smoked it. Outside the rain had stopped and the sun had come out.
       When he finished his tea, the young man looked at his watch, 8.30a.m. He got his phone out of his pocket and switched it on. The phone started flashing with text messages telling him he had voicemails. He scrolled down on the girl’s name and pressed the green button. The phone rang out. He tried again a few minutes later, and again she didn’t pick up. The young man stood up and started walking round the flat. His shoes made a squeaky noise as he turned corners on the laminate floor. He walked out of the living-room into the hall, and as he walked past the shorter young man’s room, he noticed something red on the carpet by the pile of dirty clothes. He went in, but stopped before he was close enough to pick it up. A red ribbon, still tied in a bow, one of many colours the girl wore when she couldn’t be bothered to wash her hair.

7

  

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