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no matter for how short a time. If she was here with him, he thought, he might even have sex with her. He didn’t want to make love to her. He wanted to have sex and there was a huge difference. In better times he had made love to her, with passion and tenderness but, if she’d been with him now, he would have wanted to fuck her. To lose himself in the pure animal release of the moment.
    But she’s not here, is she? You’re alone. Completely and utterly alone. Talking’s not going to help so you might as well hang up.
    ‘Listen, Amy,’ he said slowly. ‘You’d better go. Like you say, we’ll talk tomorrow. I might be a bit more chatty then.’
    ‘What I said about our plans, Paul. I meant it. They don’t have to change, you know. We can still move in together like we said we would.’
    ‘Not now, Amy,’ he insisted.
    Now he
did
want her to hang up. Those plans were for the future and, as it stood, he could see no point in discussing a future that he felt he didn’t have.
    ‘You should talk to Martin Anderson,’ she offered.
    ‘He left a message on my voicemail,’ Paul told her. ‘Why the fuck would I want to speak to him?’
    ‘Because he might know if there’re some jobs going.’
    ‘He’s a photographer not a fucking temp agency and I don’t need his help.’
    ‘You’ve got to take help from wherever you can get it at a time like this, Paul.’
    ‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
    ‘What about freelance work?’ Amy insisted. ‘Get in touch with some of the people you’ve worked with over the years. There must be some favours you can call in.’
    ‘It doesn’t work like that, Amy.’
    ‘You can ask, can’t you?’ she snapped.
    ‘This isn’t just about losing my job. This is about pride. Do you know how I’m going to feel going cap in hand to people, begging them for some work just to get me by? I can’t do that, Amy. Besides, people only want to know you when you’re successful. No one gives a shit when you’re down on your luck.’
    ‘You’re so bloody stubborn. You never ask for help.’
    ‘I’ve never needed help before. I’ve always been able to help myself.’
    ‘Well, times change.’
    ‘Yeah, for the worst.’
    He thought about simply hanging up. Stop the call now. Tomorrow when he spoke to her he’d simply say that theywere cut off. She wouldn’t think anything more of it. Wouldn’t be angry.
    ‘I’d better go then,’ Amy said wearily, apparently catching the sledgehammer hints in his tone. ‘What are you going to do now?’
    ‘Have a shower, go to bed. Try and sleep but I’m not holding my breath. Perhaps I should drink what’s left of this bottle of vodka. Perhaps it’ll knock me out.’
    He expected her to protest but she didn’t.
    ‘If that’s what it takes,’ she said softly.
    He nodded, wishing now that she was with him. He glanced to one side and could picture her seated on the sofa next to him. Shoulder-length brown hair, wide green eyes and soft lips. He closed his eyes tightly for a second and the image was gone when he looked again.
    Alone again.
    ‘I love you,’ she told him.
    More static.
    ‘I love you, too,’ he echoed.
    And she was gone.
    He replaced the receiver then pressed both hands to his cheeks for a second. Her voice was still ringing in his ears like some kind of auditory afterthought.
    He finally turned and headed, once more, towards the bathroom.
    Once inside he turned on the shower, listening to the jets of water as he undressed and prepared to step beneath them.
    He looked at his reflection in the mirror and a haunted, expressionless man stared back at him, his image gradually obscured as steam from the shower began to cover theglass until at last he was hidden by the film of condensation. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. It seemed a pleasing option.
    Paul stepped beneath the shower and closed the glass door behind him.

13
     
    Laura Hacket sprinted for about thirty yards,