Scissors, Paper, Stone by Elizabeth Day

Author:Elizabeth Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2011-12-07T05:00:00+00:00

Charlotte

Charlotte had agreed to meet Gabriel after work for a drink in their pub. She knew it was a conscious effort on his part to re-inject their relationship with its early sense of thrilling opportunity, to ease the silent strain between them so that they could get back to normal. Whatever normal was, she thought dryly as she ordered a glass of the house white.

‘Chardonnay or Sauvignon?’ asked the barmaid, a careworn forty-something with dyed blonde hair and a purple T-shirt that revealed a baggy expanse of white marbled midriff.

‘Erm,’ said Charlotte, weighing up which one would be comparatively less awful. ‘Sauvignon, please.’

The wine, when it came, cost £3.80 and smelled of glue. She took a sip and went to sit in a corner table, sliding into the dark wooden bench as carefully as she could so as not to spill any. She always seemed to be carrying too many bags and it was as she was trying to rearrange them under the table that she heard her phone beep with a text message. ‘Running a bit late. Be there soon. Sorry. I love you x G.’

She looked at her watch. It was already 7.30 p.m. and she had been late herself. Annoyingly, she had just finished the novel she had been reading on the Tube and now had nothing to look at apart from a crumpled, slightly soggy copy of the Evening Standard. She flicked through the pages in a desultory fashion, the smell of stale beer rising unmistakably from the newsprint. There was a story about a minor royal on page three talking about a charity trek up Kilimanjaro. There was some of the usual boring news about Tube strikes and planning disputes. Soon, she was reduced to completing the quick crossword on the back page. When she had done that, she started on the Sudoku panels but didn’t get very far as her mind was wandering. She checked her watch again. 7.50. Charlotte felt her frustration mount and she knew this wasn’t a good sign: if she didn’t talk herself out of this impending gloomy mood, the evening would be blighted from the start. She knew what she was like: soon her mind would be playing tricks on itself, deliberately thinking the worst, purposely making herself feel insecure and untrusting and sad and angry all at once. At five to eight, Gabriel walked in the door accompanied by a cold gust of evening air, his eyes frantically scanning the room with a harassed expression, his hair windblown and his raincoat dishevelled.

He saw her and smiled, his shoulders relaxing.

‘There you are,’ he said, walking over. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Charlotte, even though she knew her voice implied it was anything but.

‘What are you drinking?’

‘Paint stripper.’

He forced a smile. ‘Oh dear. Well, can I get you something different?’

‘No, don’t worry. This cost me £3.80, after all. I refuse to be defeated.’

He looked relieved then, and the atmosphere lifted slightly.

‘OK. I’m just going to the loo and then I’ll get a drink.

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