Invisible

‘Joop.’

‘A whole bottle?’

‘Fuck off, Edward. I like it.’

‘It’s nice,’ he says, putting his hands on her waist.

‘Thank you. Rude pig,’ says Charlotte, brushing something from his shoulder. ‘Dust, not ’druff,’ she explains. ‘Snazzy kit you’re wearing.’

‘Wouldn’t want the folks to think I can’t look after myself.’

‘You’re looking well.’

‘As are you, I’m sure,’ he smiles, squeezing her hips. ‘But a bit too skinny for Mum, I’d say. Bet she’s force-feeding you. How are they?’

‘Bumbling along. They’re well.’

‘And the house?’

‘They like it. It’s the right size for the two of them. But the garden’s too small for a shed, so Dad’s taken over one of the bedrooms.’

‘That’ll be fun for Mum.’

Prompted by a nudge, Charlotte links arms and leads him towards the car. ‘Mum’s hurt that you’re not staying with them. I’m warning you.’

‘And where exactly would I go? Burrow in the sawdust? I mean, you’ve got the sofabed –’

‘They don’t actually have a sofabed. Just a settee and a load of cushions.’

‘Well, there you are then. Ridiculous.’

‘I know. I’m just warning you she’s narked. They were going to borrow a camp bed for you.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Edward, I know.’

‘And I couldn’t get any work done there, could I?’

‘No, Edward. I understand.’

‘And they’d drive me bananas inside a day.’

‘They’re already driving you bananas. Head.’

‘What?’

‘Head,’ she repeats, and her hand falls onto his hair to guide his stoop under the car’s roof.

Charlotte’s car smells of her perfume and warmed plastic and crackers. His hand, sweeping the seat around his thighs, finds some sharp flat crumbs and a cellophane wrapper. ‘This is the same old heap, isn’t it? The Citroën?’ he asks as Charlotte inserts the ignition key.

‘Don’t be rude, Edward. It’s a reliable car, and it’s friendly.’

‘Done sixty in it yet?’

‘Would you like to walk? That can be arranged.’

‘No, but it’s about time this thing was put out of its misery. It must have half a million miles on the clock by now.’

‘Exactly. It’s reliable. And I can’t afford a new one.’

‘But –’

‘Shut up, Edward. Zip it.’ The car begins to turn.

‘Hold it,’ he shouts, putting up a hand. ‘One last thing before we set off.’

‘What?’ she snaps, braking.

‘Does this place seem familiar to you at all?’

‘What? This hotel?’

‘Yes. I thought we might have been here once, when we were kids.’

‘When?’

‘You would have been around seven. I seem to see a picnic and a big building with a garden in front of it. I thought it might be this one.’

‘Afraid not.’

‘You sure? Have a look.’

‘I’ve had a look.’

‘Have another. Just a quick one. A quick little peek.’

The car moves off at walking pace. ‘Nope,’ she states.

‘Not in the slightest bit familiar?’

‘Never seen it before.’

‘Positive?’

‘Bleeding hell, Edward. Positive.’

‘A false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain.’