‘He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.’
‘Can I stay to meet him?’ asked Kim excitedly.
‘If he actually comes.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Estate agent.’
Kim’s jaw dropped.
‘Kidding you. Nothing to do with flats and mortgages. Well, in a way he is. Bailiff. He’s late.’
‘Bailiff, meaning he goes in and gets people’s TVs—’
‘When they owe money. Don’t get prim and proper about it. Usually it’s justified, I suppose.’
Kim had never met a bailiff. She always assumed they were conflicted about their work, and she was hoping Stevie would say something along those lines.
‘So do you like the fringe then?’ Stevie asked, changing the subject. ‘Roddy says he likes everything except my face so I’m trying to change it.’
Kim’s lips parted but no words came out. They were both facing the sea through the big front window, and Kim saw the faintest reflection of her own gaping mouth.
‘It’s nothing, just a joke he makes,’ said Stevie.
‘But you are a beautiful person in every way, a beautiful soul.’
‘A beautiful burned crisp.’
‘No! Getting better,’ Kim tried. She turned away from the window, back to Stevie. ‘Can you not see what I see? A trailblazer, a total original? The aci …’ Kim did not want to say the word ‘acid’ so she quickly substituted, ‘the accident won’t change any of that, silly. How’s your eye been?’
‘Gradually light comes through the pupil. It’s still very blurred. They don’t want it taking in light for more than a couple of hours a day. I still need hospital every three or fourweeks.’ Stevie’s hand moved. Her thumb slid under the lowest edge of the patch and she lifted it off the pitted skin.
Kim bit her lip, seeing the almost-sightless right eye. The healthy iris on the other side was bright blue. But from the right eyelid, burn scars fanned out like jagged loudspeaker lines in a cartoon. The iris was darker, with the vagueness of milk. A feathered border between iris and pupil suggested an artist’s eraser applied to a crisp pen-and-ink sketch; nothing was quite where it should be.
‘What are you doing, kiddo?’
The male voice matched a new reflection in the glass and they both turned. The young man was stout, muscled, with a nest of brown hair slicked back from his brow. He wore a black tracksuit with white lines which ran from his shoulders to the cuff, and the top was unzipped to his solar plexus. Below the top was a white T-shirt. Kim’s gaze alighted on a small red stain in the T-shirt, no bigger than a penny. He wore sunglasses, which looked like a prescription pair because, behind the shaded lenses, his almost-invisible eyes bulged. The effect was disconcerting, like seeing a stranger’s eyes in the dark beyond a window.
‘Meeting a friend.’
Kim had not heard this tone in Stevie’s voice before, as if she was choosing each word carefully.
Roddy said, ‘Pleased, I’m sure.’
Kim shook the outstretched hand, which took hers briefly in such a powerful grip she almost gasped in surprise. It was a bailiff’s hand, she thought, one that had removed a lot of baby toys and computers. On the wrist was an emoji, ‘100’ written in a red slant.
‘Sorry I’m on time,’ he joked.
Kim wanted Stevie to reply,You’re not, you’re late, and my friend knows you’re late, but she was amazed how quietened Stevie had suddenly become.
‘Were you showing her your eye? I told you that’s not a good idea. Scare the kiddies.’
Kim felt her hackles rising. Surely a fiancé would want to build Stevie’s confidence, not undermine it? But then she remembered her own marriage, and how she had stayed there, never feeling the water temperature rising, like a frog in a saucepan. Before she could open her mouth to retort on Stevie’s behalf, he spoke again.
‘I know I’m a bit late but we had to do a house. Another gas bill arrears. Front door in and we took the carpets.’ He thumbed at a van down the street. ‘Logging them is ridiculous. They’re worth nothing. Need burning. Same with the children’s coats.’
‘It’s just a temporary job,’ said Stevie quietly.
