Moren must have had one tequila too many at that lunch. It was as though she’d stepped into an afternoon jigsaw and had become one of the rough-edged pieces, one with cut-out frail knobbly bits. Flats, shops and people blurred into a cacophony of red and white and black with orange smudges, red lines and black dots. Shadows loomed above on mirrored screens like they were marionettes on strings chasing other shadowy figures. One hid behind a pillar like James Bond. He was going to follow her, she thought.
Like this man with the red cap. ‘Afternoon, Moren.’ He winked at her. ‘Fancy a drink later?’ He laughed and her head spun. He sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
Oh God, she just wanted to go home and sleep it off. The fags would have to do instead. She’d have a black coffee when she got back in the office. She groaned. Three more tortuous hours with the dreadful Patrick.
‘Afternoon,’ said a swarthy young man as she weaved towards him. ‘Interested in carpets? There’s a sale on in the Town Hall.’
‘Only if they’re magic ones.’
He smirked, with one front tooth missing. ‘Well, you come and look.’
‘I’ve no intention of buying,’ she said, but she liked the sound of his voice.
The thought of going back to work faded from her mind.
A nasty taste of onion sat on her tongue. A burger van had parked just along the pavement and she tried not to heave at the smell.
‘What I’d really love to do,’ she said, ‘is to disappear and fly off somewhere exotic.’
‘Well, Miss,’ said the young man. ‘It’s this way. We’ll have you flying in no time.’
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