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mattered all that much that it was unrequited. I had
often lain awake, especially in prison, thinking about her, dreaming of meeting
again and fantasising about the outcome.
    The scene had been well rehearsed in my
mind; we’d look at each other for a long moment just like we were doing now
then she’d say, in a voice mixed with curiosity and desire, ‘Aren’t you Eddie
Malloy?’ All my old feelings for her came welling back as I waited for her to
speak. Her look turned to one of slightly puzzled recognition. ‘Don’t I know
you?’
    I nodded, trying to look cool. ‘I’m
Eddie Malloy. We were at school together.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I remember ... of
course.’
    But I could see she didn’t remember so I
pretended, childishly, that I couldn’t recall her name properly. ‘And you’re, eh,
is it Carol ...?’
    ‘Charmain,’ she said, unoffended.
‘Caroll used to be my surname but I’m married now.’ She held out  her left
hand. The fat solitaire over a wide golden wedding band put the seal on my past
like a trap-door closing.
    I stared at the rings. ‘When did that
happen?’ I asked, unintentionally making it sound like some kind of tragedy.
    ‘Six months ago,’ she said, smiling
radiantly.
    I caught myself about to ask if she
really loved him. I was getting sillier by the minute. She made me feel even worse
with her next question. ‘What are you now?’ she asked. I frowned. ‘I mean, are
you a trainer or a jockey or something?’
    Obviously just a something, I thought.
In her eyes, anyway. ‘I used to be a jockey,’ I said.
    ‘Were you good?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is that all?’
    ‘What more do you want?’
    ‘You don’t just say yes to a question
like that.’
    ‘I do.’
    She looked perplexed.
    ‘You’re funny,’ she said.
    I stared at her. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Why did you stop if you were good?’
    ‘The authorities took my licence away.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘They said I was involved with a doping
ring.’
    ‘Were you?’
    ‘What do you think?’ I asked, my
childishness showing again. She shrugged, looking slightly hurt at my attitude.
‘I don’t think you’d have done it,’ she said.
    I suddenly felt a great tenderness for
her which was quickly snuffed out by a hefty bump from behind which made me
spill my drink. Some splashed down into an empty glass but most stained the
bar’s white linen tablecloth. The offender pushed past without apologising.
    I recovered and looked round. A large
man had his hand on Charmain’s bare arm. Four thick fingers gripped her so
tightly that the flesh between them showed white.
    She looked surprised and embarrassed. He
looked very angry.
    About six feet two, fiftyish, his pale
skin emphasising how much dye his bluish-black hair had been doused with. It
looked greasy and hung over his collar. His sideburns were the same colour and
stretched to two inches below his ear lobe. His eyes were grey.
    He wore a fawn jacket over a stomach
that was held in only by a large ego. His feet, in crocodile shoes, splayed
badly.
    He looked as mean as he had when I’d
seen him earlier that day at the races paying out a lot of money.
    ‘Howard!’ Charmain said, half pleading,
reaching to try and ease his grip on her arm.
    ‘Where have you been?’ His voice was
level but threatening. I guessed he’d had a lot of practice containing a nasty
temper in public. I was having some trouble containing mine.
    ‘I just came to get another drink, darling!’
She looked up at him and turned on a full wattage smile, though he was still
hurting her. I watched his fingers, they began to relax.
    ‘Good,’ he said and released her arm.
Her hand went up to cover the thick white marks, though she kept smiling. His
ugly mouth smiled, showing teeth yellow near the gums and white at the biting
end but his eyes stayed mean.
    Charmain introduced us. ‘Oh, Howard,
this is Eddie, he used to be a jockey.’ He looked down and his smile faded. He
didn’t offer his hand and he didn’t