Amber

Tuesday, 5.48pm
Room 5, Psychotherapy Outpatients Department
Lambeth Wing, St Thomas' Hospital

"She said she was going to throw my stuff away."
"What would you do if she had? She still might. What would you do tomorrow if she just threw it in the bin in front of you?"

Wednesday, 6.48pm
The Prince Albert,
Coldharbour Lane

I'm waiting to get served. Failing to catch the barman's eye for the third time, I hear the door open, and see her walk in. She's glowing: sunglasses perched on her head, a huge smile, a bag of books and a cheery wave. I'm taken aback - this isn't what I expected. Cautiously, hopefully, i smile back. The barman asks what he can get me. Flustered, I ask for a cup of tea, and turn round to meet wide open arms.

We both start talking at the same time, and then settle back into our old rhythm, filling each other in on our changes, our loves, our disappointments, our music, our mutuals. With matching metronome steps, we make our way to the smoking den of iniquity, not pausing for breath.

There's an empty table for two at the back; it's not too busy at the moment. The regulars are bantering at the other end of the garden, sharing jokes and fags and, going by the aroma, something stronger. I pass her her book. She holds it like a dear, long lost friend, her eyes closed and her dimples showing.

She bends down and picks up my portable library. Our eyes meet, and for a split second I see that she's got the same glint as me. The unspoken 'Hey, you know what?'. Without a word, we walk back through the cool dark bar, leaving a lonely tea and an undrunk half a lager, and on to Coldharbour Lane. We march silently to the bus stop, and stop dead.

Eyes still locked, I reach out and put my hand on hers. Simultaneously, we let go of the bag, poised midair.

My books fall in the bin with a resounding thud. We clutch each other. I howl; she roars. My shoulders are wet with her tears of mirth; my stomach aches from the belly laugh, and we can hardly stand.

The passers-by and the bus queue don't bat an eyelid. This is Brixton, after all.