Read The Bay of Angels for Free Online Page A

together with an elderly couple who were friends of his parents, up in London for a week of theatres and sale-rooms. I thought this auspicious: I hoped they would take away with them a good report of my suitability. Adam had asked me to supply a few items, avocado pears, olives, nuts. He was an excellent cook, would take care of the main part of the meal. I had done my shopping the previous day, and stowed the bags in what remained of my kitchen. I added some of my mother’s dishes, for it pleased me to blend my effects with his. All was ready for the evening, which merely left the rest of the day to fill.
    In this curious February half-light it would be difficult to see where the day ended and the evening began. I felt tired. Perhaps I was not as prepared as I thought for any sort of change. Indeed I felt so tired that I abandoned any thought of further exercise, sat down in my mother’s old chair, which, on the following day, would take its place in the removal van, and fell into a doze, predictably waking with a start when a light went on in the house opposite. I thus found that I had slept in this manner for a good part of the afternoon.
    I now see that this was prophetic. At the time I merely went into the bathroom and washed my hair, regretting that I had not done so earlier. There was just time to make a cup of tea and to change. I set out with my carrier bags for Langton Street—no distance from Edith Grove—and as luck would have it the lowering sky dissolved into a heavy shower of rain. My hands were not free; in any event I had no umbrella. My still-damp hair was thoroughly wet, but no real harm was done: Adam would lend me a towel and I would repair the damage. I did not think I had to make a glamorous impression on his parents’ elderly friends, but simply to behave naturally, in accordance with my mother’s precepts and example. Apart from the knowledge that I was not looking my best, and remembering that the removal men were due in Edith Grove at eight o’clock the following morning, I was not too concerned. My faith would move mountains, though at that stage I was unaware that there were mountains to be moved.
    ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ said Adam on opening the door. ‘You look wrecked.’ He was annoyed with me, hated anything less than a favourable appearance.
    ‘Just let me use your bathroom. I shan’t be a minute.’ I made for the stairs.
    ‘Don’t go up there,’ he said quickly, but I had my foot on the first step. I think I had no suspicion, even then, that anything was wrong. In retrospect I still see myself at the foot of the stairs. I got no further, for coming down to meet me was a girl whose tousled hair had obviously made contact with a pillow.
    I stared, as a droplet of water made its way down my neck. Adam gave a laugh that was almost a groan, but recovered more quickly than either this unknown girl or myself.
    ‘Do you know each other?’ he asked smoothly. ‘Zoë Cunningham, Kirstie Fellowes. Kirstie is a physiotherapist,’ he added.
    ‘Oh, yes, I know all the wrinkles,’ said Kirstie Fellowes, whom I observed to be in a state of post-coital triumph. She laughed loudly. Adam looked at her with dawning disfavour.
    I put my bags in the kitchen. I am ashamed to say that I behaved extremely well. When she joined me a few minutes later, brushing her hair vigorously, I simply said, ‘Oh, please, not here.’ My lips felt stuck to my teeth, which made entertaining Adam’s guests, the Johnsons, rather problematic. They in their turn were disconcerted by the presence of Kirstie Fellowes, for we were five at table. ‘Are you staying?’ Adam had asked her as I brought in the avocadoes. ‘Of course I’m staying,’ she laughed. Helen Johnson understood the situation at a glance, and remained as silent as I was. Her husband kept up a determined conversation with Adam, but even that began to falter. Kirstie Fellowes contributed a great deal of enthusiastic laughter.