A drink at Christmas

It's cold. She pulls her coat together and goes up the stairs and out into the Christmas crowds moving north to the shops. At Selfridges she stops, lights a cigarette and watches a mechanical display. A family in sixties monochrome eats and drinks at a table laid with designer cutlery and candlesticks that remind her of Kubrick's monolith. She's not sure why but she feels drawn and comforted by the repetition.

He touches her on the shoulder. He's early. They leave the store and decide to take a drink on one of the rooftop bars that are becoming popular. She thinks his coat makes him look old. It's thick and long, functional. He's been ill. He tells her he feels pain sometimes in his bones. She says he's looking better. And she believes that. She feels guilty about the coat and puts her arm around his waist until they reach the doorway where a man dressed in blue livery takes them to the lift.