The Girlfriend

She’d made him lunch, but had to put it in the fridge, and then she’d sort of drifted around the house, waiting for him to return, looking forward to seeing him, and getting more and more restless the later he became. By five o’clock, it suddenly occurred to her that he might not come back that night either, and she laughed at herself and at the sensation she had of being stood up.

Cherry often found that her brain was at its optimum under pressure. She got a physical buzz from solving problems against a ticking clock.

She had an excellent memory, something she was particularly pleased with herself about, and had used to full advantage throughout her life.

Since returning from her trip, she’d found it an effort to get back into work mode.

By the time I finish work, I’m exhausted. Friday night, I just want to stay in.

But her generation was entering a future that had very little to offer.

She’d been destined for better things. Incredibly bright at school, she was too much for the overstretched teachers who’d just given her more work and let her get on with it.

I wish I had a talent like that, she whispered admiringly, before turning her face back to the stage.

She thought about her plans, a ride home on a sweaty Tube that delivered other workers to various parts of south London that diminished in salubrity as the seats emptied.

What if it went on even longer, for a year, or two? Perhaps they'd just bump into each other on the street one day. Nod an acknowledgement to each other. Perhaps so much time would pass, they'd get used to being without each other- but this thought was so unbearably sad, it almost made her stagger, collapse weakly onto the sofa.