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a long radiator, soaking up British Thermal Units. He stared blankly at
his notebook computer, as if it contained script from the Rosetta Stone,
rather than the lucid, razor sharp insights of a maturing mind, soon to be
let loose upon the world.
"Oh hello, Emma," he said dismally. "I'm looking for a single word to
encapsulate all of Dickens's novels."
"Long," she suggested.
"Epic," said Nick. "Anything else?"
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"Another single word? How about a cast of thousands? Or
Dickensian?"
"Character driven and atmospheric," said Nick, giving his nails a
thoughtful chew before pecking two fingered at the keyboard.
"Here's your stuff," he said, fishing a carrier bag from under the table.
"There isn't much."
The sum total of over two weeks of mail was indeed a meagre one.
Seemingly, even the junk mail barons had largely failed to remark
Emma's brief sojourn in Richmond Road. She thanked Nick then hurried
out into the high street for her bus. Once seated, she opened the only
handwritten envelope in her small collection. Her heart beat a little faster
when she realized that it was from Claire.
Claire's apology was full and unreserved. Emma was pleased to see
that despite what she believed, Claire had seen through Ian's intimidatory
tactics, realizing these tactics amounted to an all out campaign to drive a
wedge between the women. Written over a fortnight ago, it was
surprisingly perceptive, a term Emma would never have thought to apply
to Claire. Reflecting Emma's feelings at that time, it attempted to rescue
their friendship from longterm harm.
"I will confront Ian over his behaviour towards you. I shall make clear
that I will not accept it," she wrote, adding, "Please contact me as soon as
possible. It would be tragic if our friendship became overshadowed by
what happened last night."
The letter went on for a further page and a half in much the same vein,
bringing a glow to Emma's heart, before Claire signed off affectionately.
Once home, Emma searched her room for Claire's phone number, but
never came across it. She had not deliberately thrown away Claire's
visiting card but, annoyed as she was after their last meeting, she must
not have taken terribly good care of it in the move to Dartmouth
Terrace. Fortunately, the envelope had a return address label. Emma sat
down to pen a reply. She accepted Claire's apology, acknowledging that
she had been hurt and angry but, with the passage of time, she no longer
felt that way. She supplied her new address and phone number, guardedly
happy at the prospect of knowing Claire again. Emma wondered with
hindsight, if she might not have been hasty in blaming Claire for Ian's
immature personality and appalling bad manners.
85
 Claire telephoned the following evening. She was keen to see Emma
again, but was about to start two weeks of work in Bristol, with plans to
spend the intervening weekend in the south-west, too.
"The weekend I get back is my birthday though, Emma. I would love
you to come to the party they're arranging. It's upstairs at The
Sportsman's Arms. You know where I mean, it's near the station. You'll
have passed The Sportsman's each time you came to dinner. Ian will be
there, but not until late. I'm sure you can manage to avoid each other."
Jotting down the details, Emma promised to be there.
"Hi, Claire. How was Christmas?" Jessica asked when they met for
lunch at a convivial little bistro in the park near Claire's work. It was the
day before her fortnight exile in Bristol was due to begin.
"Don't ask, Claire replied morosely.  I'm thinking now that the
Christmas break is unhealthily long."
"Tell that to your friend Emma," grinned Jessica, "I don't suppose she
had much time to ponder, up to her neck at the Royal Mail. Anyway,
what's up?" she asked. "Are you still having problems with Birmingham's
answer to Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb?"
"Yes. The more time I spend with him, the more I see how Ian bullies
me. He controls every aspect of our relationship. If I object, he just
brazens things out, not giving an inch. Or he'll deliberately do something
to provoke me, just to become the personification of charm itself. He
sent this big bunch of flowers to me at work the other day. It sat two
hours in reception while I was in a meeting. Near a week's wages to the
girls working there, a bouquet like that. Now he's the dream man of
every woman in admin. They won't hear a word said against him. It all
goes back to the time he crashed in on Emma and me. He took that one
game, set and match. Emma was gone, I was upset and Ian was smirking
like the cat with the cream!"
"Things will probably settle down once you get back into your usual
routine," advised Jessica.
 Maybe, sighed Claire, turning her attention to the menu.
"Did you ever hear anything from Emma, Claire? I know you were
wracking your brains trying to work out how you might contact her.
"Yes, we're back in touch now. She finally did receive the letter I sent
her. A fortnight late, but she got it. Passed on by Nick, the Scouse guy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]