She climbed out from the sheets and he sat up and watched her. Her arse in the early-morning light, moon and sun as one. Her arm across her stomach, hiding the marks that had appeared since he left.
Tell me something no one’s ever told me before, she said.
You’re perfect, he said.
She laughed and got back into her clothes and he watched.
He said, I could help with the kid—
Not your responsibility, Temps. （Her in front of the mirror now tidying her hair.）
But we can still look after one another. Look out for one an—
You’re too good. （Her putting on her lipstick.）
He smiled.
No, Temps. You’re too good. It’s not a compliment. And with one hand on the doorknob and ready to go, she turned and said, I’ll see you around.
Same time tomorrow?
We won’t be doing that again.
We’ll see, he said and he blew her a kiss.
He listened to her stomp down the stairs. The sound of the front door opening and shutting. Ginny calling after her. He got up and turned the electric heater on. He wrapped a sheet around himself and stood at the window and watched her cross the road. He wondered what he’d come back for if it wasn’t her.
Ginny running out now without her coat and Peg rubbing Ginny’s arms, her sweet concern. Cressy coming around the corner dragging a large pine tree behind him. A rusty pub sign swinging in December’s throaty wheeze, and a traumatised parrot too far from home. This was his world now. Somewhere between an atom and a star was this.
Come February 1947, the snow fell.
Great drifts of the stuff clogged up the city and the canal froze over. Ulysses spent his days clearing paths and keeping the fires going as best he could. Coal was hard to come by and windows grew ice. The streets were silent, and the nights banked by white.
The Eskimos have fifty words for snow, said Cressy, looking out of the kitchen window.
And I’ve got one for idiot, said Col. And I’m looking at it. I thought you were making stew? I’ve got nine rabbits in the cold box hopping about waiting for a pot for tomorrow’s lunch.
Ulysses smelt the milk and poured it into his cup of tea.
And what are you laughing about? said Col.
Nothing, said Ulysses.
You’re like one of them monkeys.
A macaque, said Cressy.
A what?
A macaque. He’s like a macaque.
Stop saying the fucking word macaque. Jesus. Thousands need a job and I end up with you two.
Get out the wrong side of the bed, didya Col?
No, actually, Temper. Au contraire.
New lady friend, whispered Cress.
Ulysses grimaced.
This is the first day of the rest of my life, said Col.
And what will tomorrow be, Col? Will it be the first day again, or the second day? said Ulysses.
Col thought. Burped. Fair point, he said.
Jesus, Col. You stink.
Liver sausage, he said, holding up his sandwich. Got it cheap.
Drive the dogs wild, do you?
You seen Ginny? asked Col.
Not upstairs? said Ulysses.
Wouldn’t of asked, would I? said Col, and his hand gripped his stomach, as a surge of acid banked.
Ulysses said, I’ll go, and he downed his tea, grabbed his coat and boots and headed out.
He went to Mrs Lundy’s first, and she said Ginny had been in and bought a loaf of bread as she always did. He detoured to Cressy’s tree, but she wasn’t there either. He headed on down to the canal even though she wasn’t supposed to go there by herself.
It was quiet down there. A couple of barges puffing out smoke, and ducks resting on the ice. He blew on his hands and stuffed them in his pockets.
Ginny! he called out.
He walked the towpath. Followed fresh footprints in a recent dump of snow. The slow movement of a barge carrying coal passed by and broke the ice. Pound for pound it was now more expensive than gold. According to Col, anyhow.
Ginny!
There she was up ahead, on a bench.
Ginny, said Ulysses. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her. Cold ain’t it? he said. You warm enough?
Bread’s warm, Uly, she said in her funny nasal voice, hugging the loaf to her chest.
What you doing down here?
Feeding ducks.
The end of the loaf had been torn away.
You’re kind, he said and kissed her head. You talk to anyone down here?
I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.
Good girl, he said and lit a cigarette. He blew out smoke and realised she was copying him.
I like it down here, she said.
Me too.
She pressed her finger against the scar on his lip.
Hurt?
Not much.
Lying.
He held her finger and grinned. You know everything, don’t you?