Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Time
passed
while
he
sighed
and
fidgeted,
but
it
was
she who
saw
an
edge
of
light
come
and
go
at
the
back
of
the
office
and
then
the
man
was
weaving
between
the
pumps
towards
them
head
down
against
the
rain.
He
came
lightly
with
small
hasty
steps,
so
that
it
was
a
shock
as
he
crossed
in
front
of
the
headlights
to
realise
the
rolling
bulk
of
his
fat.
'Shove
your
arse
over!'
Nick
started
to
bump
across, but
the
fat
man
caught
him
by
the
arm
'Who's
this?
Stay
where
you
are.’
She
watched
him
cross
back
in
front
of
the
van.
The
door
beside
her
shook
and
was
dragged
open.
'Nice,'
the
fat
man
said,
studying
her.
'Better
than
your
usual
anyway.’
As
he
clambered
in,
the
van
sank
under
his
weight
so
that
she
fell
against
him.
Sighing
as
he
settled
himself,
he
rolled
her
thigh
under
the
meaty
palm
of
his
hand
and
said,
'Come
to
see
the
fun,
have
you?'
And
to
the
boy,
'Get
on
with
it
then.
Kite
don't
want
to
be
kept
waiting.’
There
was
no
getting
away
from
so
much
flesh.
At
the
jerk
of
her
leg
he
moved
his
hand,
but
his
thigh
stayed
hard
against
the
length
of
hers.
'You
know
my
ambition?'
Nick
crouched
over
the
wheel
squinting
ahead.
'I
want
to
be
able
to
speak
as
good
as
you
Georgie.
I
mean
really
take
a
grip.
I'll
do
it
too,
I
will –
on
a
street
corner
or
in
a
hall,
wouldn't
make
no
difference.
Georgie
give
me
a
lot
of
tips,'
he
explained
to
her,
'like
holding
your
breath
between
one
streetlight
and the
next
–
builds
your
lungs,
makes
them
strong.
In
this
life
you
have
to
go
for
it,
what
you
want,
it's
all
down
to
will-power.
One
night,
one
night
soon,
it's
going
to
come
together
and
I'll
have
them
in
the
palm
of
my
hand
and
I'll
say
to
myself
tonight
I
was
nearly,
nearly
Georgie
Clarke.
But
I'll
never
be
as
good
as
Kite.’
And
he
turned
his
head
and
she
thought
he
was
frowning
in
anger,
but
he
said,
'I
know
that,
Georgie.
Not
ever
.’
‘
Boy's
nervous,’
the
fat
man
said
to
her.
‘Only
natural.’
‘
Who's
nervous?’
Nick
shrilled.
'Better
talking
than
shitting
himself.’
And
his
fat
heaved
against
her
in
shakes
of
silent
laughter.
Later
in
what
turned
out
to
be
a
brothel,
he
explained
it
to
her.
She
had
never
been
in
a
brothel
before;
it
had
not
occurred
to
her
she
would
ever
be
in
one
in
her
life.
If
anyone
had
asked
her
what
one
might
look
like,
she
would
have
guessed
red
flock
wallpaper.
In
fact
the
walls
in
this
room
had
been
given
an
emulsion
coat
in
green;
under
it,
though,
you
could
see
the
raised
whorls
of
the
original
pattern
-
so
perhaps
after
all
there
might
have
been
red
under
there
at
one
time.
He
sat
opposite
her,
spilling
over
the
edges
of
a
little
two-seater
couch.
'They
wasn't
anything
to
do
with
us
–
not
with
Pax,'
he
explained.
'Some
of
them
were
just
in
having
a
quiet
drink,
but
everyone
round
that
way
hates
niggers.
And
Kite
knew,
Kite
always
knows
when
it
matters,
that
Team
would
be
boozing
in
there
tonight.
And
they
were,
just
as
well
they
were,
or
the
darkies
would
have
had
us,
murdering
bastards,
them's
the
ones
with
swords.’
At
the
time,
however,
when
the
van
pulled
to
a
stop,
she still
imagined
she
was
being
taken
to
some
kind
of
political
meeting.
Behind
an
iron
fence
and
a
surround
of
tired
grass,
there
was
a
squat
one-storey
structure
with
its
windows
lit
and
outer
doors
lying
open.
She
had
attended
Free
Church
services
in
buildings
very
much
like
that.
Neither
of
the
men
gave
any
sign
of
moving.
The
fancy came
to
her
that
if
a
window
was
wound
down,
she
might
hear
the
sound
of
hymn-singing.
'If
I
wasn't
here,'
the
fat
man
said,
'two
lovebirds,
you'd be
enjoying
yourself,
wouldn't
you,
darling?'