Life In Parks

Chapter 7

  As Matthew looked out, he noticed the church spire in the town centre covered in blue tarpaulin and scaffolding-poles, making it resemble a circus tent. He saw the derelict warehouses on the abandoned industrial estate on the east side of town, waiting for bulldozers to move in and tear them down. Close by, in contrast, was the modern business park where his father worked, with its garish buildings of tinted windows and multicoloured facades. Then he focused on his school, encroaching into farmland on the north side of town, a place where he had experienced so many dreams and seen them wash away in one sullied morning.

  ‘This town really is a shit-hole,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘And I’m never going to get out.’

  He closed his eyes to escape dejection, only for his head to fill with unwelcome visions; first of the girl whose love had been snatched from him, and then of that other woman, his blood-relation, with whom he had spent a passionate night inside a wet dream. Opening his eyes to block the images, all he could do was sit and stare, seeking distraction from a landscape that now only served to embitter him.

  The sound of frolicking children interrupted his solemnity. He looked over his shoulder and noticed a group of infants playing close by. Beyond them, several mothers were talking with expressive hand movements, seemingly oblivious to their charges. He watched as one of the mothers barked a rebuke at a child before recommencing her conversation at exactly the spot where she had left it.

  He looked again at the children, envying their innocence and carefree lives. As their high-pitched squeals continued, however, he soon wished that they would be anywhere except within his earshot. Even the birdsong from nearby hedgerows started to grate on his senses.

  Aware, now, of every sound, he closed his eyes again, hoping that without seeing the world he might be able to dampen its noise. But to no avail; with his eyes shut the noise became more acute and pressure began building inside his head intolerably. He was on the verge of yielding and standing to leave, when a sudden kerfuffle behind him captured his attention.

  Turning, he watched as the horde of mothers dashed to interrupt their children’s game. At first he could not make out what had provoked the sudden activity. But as the mothers took hold of the children’s wrists and dragged them towards the picnic-tables, the reason became apparent.

  Standing close to where the children had been playing was a tall man dressed in a brown raincoat that extended to his knees. Just as Matthew’s eyes lingered, the hilltop breeze caught the inside of the raincoat, causing it to flap open and reveal a naked body beneath. The sight of the exposed man caused Matthew’s heart to gallop. Torn between wanting to laugh out loud and flee the scene in horror, in the end he did neither. Instead, he remained passive as a couple of irate mothers, now without their children, marched over to confront the man. While the women approached with sneers and wagging fingers, Matthew was taken aback by the man’s subdued reaction. The women called him every expletive they could muster and yet he remained still, not taking his eyes off the bushes.

  Able to study the man more closely, Matthew could see that he was well advanced in years. His thin grey hair was blowing in the breeze, revealing a pale, freckled head and large misshapen ears. His lips, meanwhile, were mouthing constant words that Matthew could not discern.

  The raincoat flapped open again and Matthew saw the old man’s slim white body, the blond hair of his pubic region and his large penis hanging down. On his feet were a pair of household slippers that looked dirty and worn. The abuse from the women continued, yet the man stared at the bushes as if oblivious. At one point it seemed as though the more vociferous mother was going to land a couple of blows. From his vantage-point, however, Matthew could see that the elderly man was posing no threat and was clearly not in control of his faculties. For this reason he began to suspect who he might be.

  After issuing yet more verbal threats, the antagonistic mothers seemed to accept the futility and made their way back to the group. By now some of the children were wailing and one of the mothers was heading towards a public telephone-box. Several other bystanders were monitoring events, although none saw fit to intervene.

  Taking a long, deep breath to gather his courage, Matthew got up and advanced towards the man, trying to ignore the fact he was being scrutinised all the way.

  He stood beside him and said in an inoffensive tone:

  ‘Hi, there. Are you all right?’

  ‘There used to be berries around here,’ the man mumbled, refusing to look away from the bushes. ‘I’m sure there should be berries at this time of year. But I can’t see any. Where have they all gone?’

  Matthew shrugged, also peering at the bushes. ‘I don’t know. I can’t see any berries, either. You’re Marcus, aren’t you, Marcus Gabriel?’

  The man looked at him, but his blank expression did not change. ‘Marcus Gabriel? That’s not my name. Who are you, sonny?’

  ‘I’m Matthew. My mum is a friend of your daughter.’

  ‘I haven’t got a daughter. No, no, I haven’t got a daughter. I’m an only child, you see.’

  Matthew gently placed a hand on the man’s upper arm. ‘Why don’t you come and sit down over there on the bench?’ He started to ease him along, urging rather than pulling.

  ‘But I’ve come to pick berries.’

  ‘We can look for berries later. It’s better if you come with me for the time being.’

  He guided him to the bench, sat him down and tried to wrap the coat round his body. In the background he heard one of the mothers shout another string of expletives.

  ‘That’s better,’ Matthew said, ignoring the abuse. ‘You must be cold with no clothes on.’

  ‘I’ve got my lovely warm coat. It’ll keep me dry when the rain comes. It’s going to rain, you see, and it’s important not to get wet. A man could easily catch pneumonia, especially at my time of life.’

  The coat flashed open again and Matthew recoiled, spotting the man’s genitalia at close quarters.

  ‘It’ll certainly keep you dry, that’s for sure. But don’t you think you should keep it buttoned up?’ He reached to fasten a couple of buttons across the man’s chest. ‘So, how did you get here on your own?’

  The old man’s face lit up with a smile. ‘I can’t recall. I just came to look for berries.’

  ‘Well, somebody must be wondering where you’ve got to.’

  ‘Oh, no, there’s nobody at home. They all left years ago.’

  ‘What about your daughter?’

  ‘I haven’t got a daughter. No, I definitely haven’t got a daughter. I’m sure I would remember if I did.’

  ‘Isn’t Hilary your daughter? Won’t she be worried when she finds you’re not at home?’

  ‘Hilary.’ The old man’s eyes narrowed as if in vague recognition. ‘Hilary. Yes, that’s right. She’ll be making dinner now. She’s a fine cook, makes wonderful teacakes. Maybe … I’d better go.’ He made to stand, so Matthew eased him back to the bench.

  ‘I think it’s a good idea if we wait here for a moment.’

  Nearly ten minutes had passed when a police car pulled into the car-park beside the picnic area. Two constables got unhurriedly out of the vehicle and were met by some of the mothers, who started talking in raised voices. The policemen spent a moment placating them before proceeding towards Matthew and the elderly man. When they arrived, the taller constable addressed the elderly man.

  ‘That’s a nice outfit you’re wearing, sir. Would you mind telling me your name?’

  A worried look appeared on the man’s face. ‘I only came to pick the berries. But I think they’ve all gone.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure his name is Marcus Gabriel,’ Matthew said, unbidden.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir, but I think it would be better if you let the gentleman speak for himself.’ The policeman addressed the old man again. ‘Sir, would you mind telling me your name?’

  ‘These bushes used to be full of berries once upon a time. Juicy and ripe fo
r the picking. Every summer I’d come and fill a basket. Then take them home for mother to use in a pie.’

  Matthew stood, seeking one of the officers’ confidentiality. ‘I think his name is Marcus Gabriel,’ he repeated, lowering his voice. ‘And I’ve heard he’s got some kind of dementia. Alzheimer’s disease, or something like that.’

  ‘I see,’ the policeman responded. ‘And who might you be?’

  Matthew told him his name and where he lived, and then had to wait while the other officer radioed the details through to the station. After receiving a nod from his colleague, the taller one started again.

  ‘OK, Matthew, you say that this gentleman’s got Alzheimer’s disease. Could you tell me why you brought him up here dressed this way?’

  ‘I didn’t bring him here. He must have come on his own.’

  The policeman’s eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a fair walk from town. How do you think he got here on his own?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘I see. And what is your relationship with this man?’

  ‘Nothing. In fact, I don’t know him at all.’

  ‘But you say his name is a Mr … Gabriel.’ The man read from his notebook.

  ‘Yes, I think that’s his name. But I might be wrong. What I mean is, my mum has a friend whose dad is a bit … mental … and he sometimes goes walkabouts. I know that he’s left the house in just his underpants before.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t appear to be wearing underpants today. Do you happen to know where he lives?’

  ‘No.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘My mum would know, but she’s away on holiday at the moment.’

  Turning from Matthew, the officer again tried to establish the man’s identity directly. ‘This young man says your name is Marcus Gabriel. Is that right, sir?’

  ‘Gabriel?’ the man answered, his eyes glazing over. ‘I’ve come across that name before, I’m sure I have.’

  ‘Well, obviously he can’t remember his name,’ Matthew said curtly. ‘That’s the third time you’ve asked him. I’ve told you, he’s not all there.’

  From behind him he heard one of the mothers shout: ‘You should lock him up, the dirty pervert.’

  ‘And have you any idea where you live?’ the policeman asked, continuing the interrogation.

  By now Matthew was getting frustrated. ‘If he can’t remember his name, how the hell’s he going to remember his address?’

  ‘Number seventeen Rose Court Drive,’ the old man mumbled. ‘I’ve lived there all my life.’

  The other officer used his radio again and confirmed that the man’s name matched the purported address. The investigating constable then turned glibly to Matthew.

  ‘I think you can leave it with us now. We’ll take care of the situation from here.’

  ‘Fine,’ he shrugged. ‘I was only trying to help.’

  ‘And your help has been appreciated. Now, if you don’t mind, we’d better get this gentleman home, before he’s lynched by a group of noisy mums.’

  As the two policemen escorted the old man to their squad car, Matthew saw the raincoat come apart, exposing his body once more. The policemen were just getting into the car when one of the mothers shouted at Matthew: ‘Hope they lock him up for good. The streets won’t be safe until perverts like him are banged up.’

  Inside him, Matthew’s blood was raging. He eyed the woman scornfully and shouted back: ‘Why don’t you go and stick your head in a gas oven, you dumb, ignorant bitch.’

  Without waiting for a response, he marched off down the hillside in the direction of the town.

  It took him over an hour to walk home, during which time he was able to burn away some of the anger. Nevertheless, by the time he arrived home, the memory of his recent woes had returned to the forefront of his mind.

  Once inside, he made himself a sandwich and ate it despite a lack of appetite. He went into the lounge and lay on the sofa, hoping to rest his eyes from a day he wanted ending. He had barely settled, however, when the doorbell sounded, and with a mumbled expletive he clambered to his feet.

  As he approached the front door, he could see a silhouetted figure through the frosted glass, but had no idea to whom it belonged. He swung open the door and found his former angel standing on the doorstep and momentarily all the bitterness was forgotten.

  ‘Carla! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hi, Matty.’ She smiled. ‘I was worried when you left without saying goodbye. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Me? I’m OK, I think.’ He shifted awkwardly, nervous energy reinvigorating him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not at the pub. I thought you’d be drinking all day.’

  ‘To be honest, the party was wearing a bit thin. Besides, I think I’ve had enough for one day. There’s only so much vodka a girl can put away without making a total fool of herself.’

  ‘Right.’ He hesitated, unsure how to continue. ‘Would you like to come in? My parents aren’t here.’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  As Matthew showed her to the lounge, he recognised the tottering gait of inebriation. Once she sat in the armchair, however, she quickly regained her poise.

  ‘How did you know where I live?’ he began.

  ‘Someone down the pub told me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Karen, I think. You know she fancies the arse off you, don’t you? You’d make a good couple.’

  Matthew shrugged, his face flushing. ‘Would you like a drink? A tea, a beer?’

  ‘A coffee would be good. Strong and with lots of sugar. With any luck, it may help sober me up before I head home.’

  While Carla waited in the lounge, Matthew proceeded to the kitchen and hurriedly made two mugs of coffee, trying to surmise the reason for her visit. He returned confused and excited in equal measure and handed her a mug. He then sat on the sofa.

  ‘Is Adam still at the pub?’ he asked, attempting to sound casual.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think so.’ She took a sip. ‘Despite popular belief, we’re not joined at the hip, you know. Anyway, what about you? I hope you’re not too disappointed with your exam results and stuff.’

  Matthew’s heart sank momentarily with the reminder. ‘I’m gutted, for sure. There was plenty riding on me doing well. But life goes on, I suppose.’

  ‘Exam results aren’t everything, though, are they?’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say when you’ve just blitzed them all.’

  ‘Believe me, Matt, there are more important things than poxy exams.’

  ‘I know. It just doesn’t feel that way right now. I mean, my whole life’s been screwed by a couple of shitty letters of the alphabet. If I’d got A’s or B’s, then everything would have been wonderful. Shit, even a few C’s would have done. But because I got E’s and F’s, now everything’s down the pan. God knows how I’m going to tell my parents.’

  She took a couple more sips from her coffee before suddenly her demeanour changed and she no longer had that frivolous, carefree look. ‘If you want my opinion, you should stop feeling sorry for yourself. Everyone has their problems, problems that are far worse than yours. Hell, even I’ve got problems that are worse than yours.’

  ‘You?’ Matthew looked at her. ‘What problems have you got?’

  ‘Just ... problems. The point is that life is hard on everyone.’

  ‘Well, at least you passed your exams.’

  ‘You’re right. But in my case it’s probably all been for nothing, anyway.’

  As she cradled the coffee-mug in both hands, it was as though she were seeking comfort in its warmth. While it was obvious that something was playing on her mind, Matthew could not shake the hope that it might involve him in some way.

  ‘Listen, Carla, I don’t know what’s wrong, but if you want to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.’

  ‘Thanks. It wouldn’t do any good. Unfortunately, problems don’t just disappear in a puff of smoke.’

  ‘No, but a problem shared is a problem
halved. That’s what my mum always says. And I swear it wouldn’t go further than these four walls.’

  Carla hesitated, and then turned resolutely towards him.

  ‘Do you know what angers me most, Matt? At least with you, you were probably partly to blame. Maybe you failed the exams because you didn’t revise well enough. Or maybe you’re just stupid.’ A sardonic smile glazed her lips, although it quickly turned into a sneer. ‘In my case, it was bad luck, pure and simple. Wrong place at the wrong time. There’s nothing I could have done to stop it, and yet still I have to face the consequences.’

  ‘The consequences of what?’

  Again, she hesitated before inhaling deeply. ‘Do you really want to know? Do you want to know how fantastic my life is? Would it make you feel better about screwing up your exams? I doubt it. But OK, I’ll let you in on my little secret. And maybe then you’ll see that your life isn’t too bad after all.’

  Matthew’s heart pounded faster.

  ‘One thing, though,’ Carla continued. ‘What I’m about to say is between you and me. Agreed? If this gets out, then things will really turn messy.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

  ‘Good. Well, then, Matt. The thing is … The thing is, I think I’m pregnant.’

  Matthew rested his coffee-mug on the floor for fear that if he tried to swallow a mouthful now, he would cough it up. As coldness washed over him, his heartbeat jarred within.

  ‘So, you see,’ Carla added, ‘you’re not the only one who’s fucked up big-time. I had plans, too, and it looks like they’ve all gone to the wall.’

  Folding his arms, Matthew gently rubbed the goose-pimpled flesh above his elbows. ‘Is Adam the father?’

  ‘Of course he is. I know I’ve gone out with plenty of boys in my time, but I’m not that much of a slapper.’

  ‘Didn’t you use protection?’

  ‘Yes, always. And that’s the bitch of it. I reckon it happened just after the exams when we spent a couple of days at the coast. Anyway, the condom we were using split and because we were in a strange town, I didn’t know where I could get the morning-after pill. And so, I sort of left it. I mean, you don’t expect this sort of thing to happen, not after one little accident.’

  ‘Are you going to keep it?’

  ‘Who knows? I was kind of hoping that a couple of shots of vodka might solve the problem.’ She nodded to her belly.

  ‘Have you told Adam?’

  ‘Not yet. Then again, it’s not his problem. I’m the one who’s going to be lumbered.’

  The realisation suddenly dawned that Matthew was out of his depth. ‘You know, I really think you should be talking to him and not me.’

  For a time, Carla remained silent, staring at the fireplace.

  As Matthew looked at her profile and could see the moisture that was threatening to seep from her eyes, he was unsure whether he wanted to take her in his arms and embrace her or smother the life from her. He could do nothing, however, because she suddenly stood.

  ‘Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you this. I guess it was the vodka talking.’ She placed the half-empty mug on the coffee-table. ‘But I meant what I said: No-one else can know. If you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, I will hate you forever.’ Her severe expression gave way to the briefest of smiles. ‘Anyway, thanks for the coffee. And I’m sorry about your exam results.’

  Matthew was getting to his feet as she walked down the hallway. By the time he had dragged his wearied limbs to the front door, she was already outside.

  Not once did she turn to acknowledge him, even though he stayed watching her until she disappeared from view.

  Closing the front door, he trudged back to the lounge and accidentally kicked over the coffee-mug that he had left on the floor, the contents of which were splashed across the carpet. With increasingly heavy legs, he went to the kitchen to retrieve a damp cloth and, for five minutes, rubbed at the soiled patch. The stain merely worsened, however.

  Totally despondent, he threw the cloth to the floor and climbed onto the sofa. His head was buzzing and he closed his eyes, but a cascade of thoughts gave him no respite. So many things were flashing through his mind. Visions and ideas and half-formed notions; memories of conversations mingled with abjection; his grandmother, his parents, Carla North and Adam Barnes; and somehow all the images began to meld into one.

  Just as his head felt ready to cave in, he experienced a moment of clarity. He sat upright while the idea coagulated and a makeshift solution became obvious. Barely able to contain himself while the thought was so alive, he picked up the telephone and dialled a number he had memorised over the passing months.

  ‘Hi, Warren, it’s me, Matt.’

  ‘Hello, mate, how’s it going? I was just about to call you. Great minds, eh? Well, how did you go?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Listen, I’ve decided to come and visit you. Tomorrow, if that’s all right. I know it’s short notice, but your mum won’t mind if I come, will she?’

  ‘Sorry, mate, but you can’t come tomorrow. Me and Emily are going away. Her parents have a holiday-home in the mountains.’

  ‘You’re going away tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I’m packing right now.’

  ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘A week. Anyway, what’s the sudden rush? I’ve been trying to get you down here all year.’

  Matthew’s mind was whirling and he had trouble articulating his thoughts.

  ‘It’s this place. This shitty, crappy dump. I’ve got to get out, Warren. I’ve got to get out, now. There’s no alternative. My grandmother knew. God knows how, but she knew from the start. She even tried to warn me.’

  ‘What are you going on about, Matt?’

  ‘She knew, I swear she knew. All about Carla. All about me. And she was right. It’s this town, Warren. I’ve got to get.’ His voice became imploring. ‘Is there no chance I can come with you and Emily?’

  ‘Sorry, buddy, but three’s a crowd and all that.’

  ‘Well, screw you. You’re a real mate, you know that? A real, proper mate.’ Pulling the receiver from his ear, he crashed it against his head twice. Waiting a second for the pain to dull, he brought the telephone to his ear again. His tone softened with resignation. ‘Listen, Warren, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve had a bad day. A really bad day. Anyway, I’ll tell you what: you go away with your little girlfriend and I’ll come and see you some other time. How does that sound?’

  ‘Whatever. You know, Matt, you should chill. Things can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Believe me, they’re worse.’ He was just about to hang up when he heard Warren’s voice again.

  ‘By the way, in case you’re interested, I got three B’s, a C and a D. Emily got three A’s and two B’s.’

  ‘That’s great. I’m pleased for you, both of you. Really I am.’ He dropped the receiver onto the cradle and slouched on the floor.

  It was while he sat, defeated, that his eyes came to rest on the holiday brochures that were stacked on the shelf alongside the telephone directories. On top of the pile was a booklet reviewing national hotels – a free supplement that had come with a Sunday newspaper several weeks before. He pulled the supplement from the stack and opened it to a page that listed seaside hotels, coincidentally in the town where Warren currently lived. Along with a review of a couple of hotels, also listed were their contact details and official ratings.

  Closing the booklet, he sat for a time with it resting on his lap, his thoughts once more ignited by possibility. Charged with sudden inspiration, he flipped open the book randomly and landed on a page dedicated to hotels in the capital. While one review focused on a two-star establishment, referred to by the guide as ‘Budget Delight’, the opposing page reviewed a five-star hotel under the title ‘Pure Gold’. Striking while the iron was hot, he dialled the number for the two-star hotel, only to be informed by a receptionist that there were no vacancies until the end of August. Disappointed, but not
surprised, he momentarily pondered the worth of contacting the five-star hotel. Deciding to try his luck, he was told by their receptionist that, due to a cancellation, a room was free for the coming weekend. The price he was quoted, meanwhile, was nowhere near as exorbitant as he had feared, and so he made the reservation.

  Giddy with elation at this sudden turn of fortune, he phoned Warren to apologise for his previous shortness, which he blamed on the coffee he had just drunk.

  ‘So, I take it you didn’t do too well in the exams,’ Warren said, the apology seemingly accepted.

  ‘You could say that. I failed two of them, and I only just scraped a pass in Geography and History. The most pathetic thing is that I did all right in Religious Studies, which is really going to come in handy. But I’m not bothered. You see, it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t matter. I understand what my grandmother was saying. She knew I was wasting my time with Carla. She knew that I wouldn’t find anyone decent round here. That’s why I have to get out.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Matt, but you can’t come down here. Any other time would be fine ...’

  ‘It’s all right, Warren, there’s nothing down there for me, either. No, all roads lead to the capital. That’s where it’s going to happen.’

  ‘Where what’s going to happen?’

  ‘Something. Everything. Who knows, maybe nothing? To be honest, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m getting out of here. The capital is the place to be.’

  ‘Have you told your parents about your results yet?’

  ‘Nope. They’re away till Saturday. And I’m not going to be around to see their reaction. I’ll leave them a note, or something.’

  ‘But they’d understand. They’re decent folks, your parents.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘How long are you planning to stay in the capital?’

  ‘Just the weekend to begin with. I’ve managed to book a hotel … a bloody five-star hotel. I might stay longer, though. Depends what happens and when the money runs out. Then again, even that makes sense. At the time, I didn’t know why my grandmother left me all her money. But it’s like she did it just so that I could use it now.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to blow the lot in one go?’

  ‘I hope not. But if I do, I do.’

  ‘If you’re staying all weekend, that means you’ll be away for your birthday, right?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘I reckon your mum and dad will be more pissed at missing your eighteenth than they are about your exam results.’

  ‘Probably. But that’s life. Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.’

  ‘And tell me again: what do you think you’re going to find in the capital?’

  ‘No idea. I just know that something’s got to happen, and it’s got to happen soon.’

  ‘Does this thing involve girlies, by any chance?’

  A smile came to Matthew’s lips as he shrugged. ‘If it does, it does.’

  ‘It seems a long way to go just to get laid. You could probably find some old slapper in Orchid Hill, if you’re that desperate.’

  ‘No need, my friend. The capital is a-calling.’

  ‘All I can say is I hope you find what you’re looking for. I really do.’

  ‘Believe me, I know what I’m doing. For once in my life, I have things under control.’

  By late evening Matthew was becoming anxious again, expecting a call from his parents at any moment. He was surprised that his mother had not phoned already. Seeing as though he wanted to avoid that particular conversation, he decided to go out for dinner.

  Unhurriedly he walked to the nearby shopping precinct, where he entered the Chinese take-away and ordered a set meal for one. When his food was ready, he took a plastic fork from the counter and sat on the wall outside. He did not feel hungry in the slightest, but felt in need of something to calm his stomach, which had not stopped aching all day. He could only manage half of the food, however, and ended throwing the rest in a nearby dustbin.

  As he began to walk slowly home, soon he was passing The Red Pheasant public house. He noticed the beer-garden busy with people enjoying the cool evening air, and guessed that there would not be many people inside.

  Gathering his courage, he stepped through the doorway and into the front bar. As expected, the place was relatively quiet, which meant that there were few people to witness him march across to the toilets.

  Upon entering the lavatory, he saw a man standing at one of the urinals. Attempting to look natural, Matthew stood a couple of urinals along, undid his fly and forced out a tiny dribble of piss. He remained at the urinal keeping up the pretence, however, hoping that the other man would shortly be done. Unfortunately, the other man was enjoying an inordinately long piss, and at one point mid-flow he even turned to Matthew and smiled, squinting through glazed, bloodshot eyes. At last the man finished and redid his fly, before exiting the toilet without washing his hands.

  The moment he was alone, Matthew fumbled in his pocket for some coins and advanced towards the condom vending-machine. Hastily he inserted money and waited for something to happen. When nothing did, he scanned the instructions on the machine casing and realised that some kind of selection was needed. With one eye watching the toilet door, he pressed a button and listened as the machine mechanically delivered its prize. Retrieving the small, slim box, he slipped it into his trouser pocket.

  Upon leaving the lavatory, he walked through the bar without looking anyone in the eye and stepped directly onto the street. He dawdled the rest of the way home.

  He arrived back to find a message waiting on the telephone answer-machine. Playing the message, he heard his mother’s voice above the din of a noisy room.

  ‘Hi, Matt. It’s mum. How are you? I hope everything went well with the exam results. I imagine you’re down the pub celebrating. I tried to ring a couple of times before, but I always got through to the answer-phone. Well, I hope you’re not too drunk by the time you hear this message. We’re having a good time. I’ll phone you again tomorrow. Dad sends his love and so do I. Right, son, I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Bye. Love you.’

  The message ended and Matthew deleted it from the machine.

  With a smile on his lips, he bounded gaily upstairs, hearing the box of condoms rattle in his pocket as he went.