Sex with Strangers by Lindsay Gordon

Author:Lindsay Gordon
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780753520901
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

Wet Walls Kristina Lloyd

THE BUS STATION was lit up with colour, rain falling in yellow and orange drops, headlights fraying into the drizzle.

I was trying to act natural, standing in the shelter like someone waiting for a bus. My real aim was to talk to the bunch of emo kids next to me, preferably without scaring them. A gang of moody youths with slanted haircuts, they might have intimidated some, but not me. I had them down as pleasant middle-class sixth formers, all dressed up and nowhere to go. Unable to think of a subtle opener, I came straight out with it: ‘You know anything about this Michael guy?’

They turned to me with a disconcerting group mentality. Then they glanced at each other, a herd of scarecrow goths, anxious eyes flicking beneath angled fringes. Around us, reflected lights slid across perspex shelters and shimmered in fragments on slick black tarmac.

A skinny kid in drainpipes replied, ‘You mean Michael Angelo?’

His tone was eager, and I immediately realised they knew less than I did. Just because they hung out on the streets, didn’t mean they knew the streets. Obviously, they didn’t think I was the police either. Or if they did, they didn’t mind because they’d nothing to hide.

‘It’s well weird,’ said another.

‘Publicity stunt,’ added a third, lighting a self-conscious cigarette. ‘Got to be. How else do you explain it?’

I shrugged, turning away to check an approaching bus. ‘Dunno. What’s he publicising then?’

‘Himself,’ continued the third. ‘Himself and fuck-all else. Same as everyone.’

There was a bubble of admiring laughter. See? Smart middle-class sixth formers.

A number 25 pulled in, tyres slushing through the wet, and I got on, then got off a stop later. They didn’t know anything. There was no point me staying.

On Queen Street, I hurried into the Stationmaster’s Arms, a place of seedy theatricality and pickled eggs. Men drank there; a thin crowd of commuters, dealers and pimps, as desperate and shabby as the pub’s lost grandeur. Clenched and alone, they stood by the bar or sat at tables, eyes flinching from the deep dim mirrors.

I sipped a glass of red, head in a book, waiting for the shower to pass. I had no plan except to wander the streets in search of Michael Angelo. Or perhaps, given the email I’d received, he’d be out there searching for me. ‘I’ll find you in the darkest place,’ he wrote.

I didn’t know where that was, although the Stationmaster’s Arms seemed as good a place as any.

I’m a journalist but, strictly speaking, this investigative stuff was way beyond my remit. I’m an agony aunt, writing the problem pages for a local property mag called On The Up! Problem pages, TV listings, lifestyle and other articles. That week, for example, I’d been writing a piece entitled ‘A Day in the Life of an Estate Agent’. I’d been struggling with it, to be honest, because estate agents don’t actually have lives.

But my problem page, oh boy, does that have life. And if it’s ever flagging (because even problem pages have problems) then Mike and Aaron in design will offer me material.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.