The man wears a black T-shirt, faded jeans. He has dark eyebrows, a thick beard, a metal guitar pick on a chain around his neck. He has tried his best to watch in silence, but now, as the screen fades to black, he comes undone. He cries quietly, but he isn’t alone in this. You wipe your eyes as one. You rise, applaud, shake the foundations. Only one person doesn’t stand, and it’s this man, because he’s too busy staring around the room as if he’s just been woken up. It seems to take him by surprise, to witness the applause. To see the story through your eyes.
a stranger
He’s looking at them, but they can’t see him.
Golden Square, at that golden hour. Not sunset, during the rush hour stampede, but later, somewhere between evening and midnight, that odd time when the older people have already gone home but the younger ones aren’t out yet, and so places like this stand strangely empty. He works on the door of a nearby nightclub, and because they are not yet open, he is stretching his legs in one shaded corner. Their twenty-something clientele will arrive soon. For now, a mother and daughter traverse the cobbles, in the direction of the tube. The woman is short and smart, blond hair and a billowing coat. Her daughter’s hair glows red under streetlights. They pause beneath the faceless statue, then move on, crossing under trees that, even in the darkness, are in bloom.
He’s looking at them, because they’re the only two people in the square. Until—
‘Clara,’ comes a voice. The man shouts louder. ‘Clara!’
The little girl turns. Her mother turns, too, shock passing over her face.
‘Seb?’ says the woman.
‘Seb!’ shouts the little girl.
She looks overjoyed. Then she looks up at her mother, who does not look overjoyed, and she copies her mother’s expression. She frowns, crosses her arms. This Seb is out of breath. He’s been running after them. Finally, he’s caught up.
‘I looked for you,’ Clara says. ‘Where were you?’
‘I stayed for the credits.’
‘I don’t mean tonight,’ she says, brusquely. ‘How many times can you leave?’
Seb is still catching his breath. ‘Third time’s a charm.’
Clara makes a face. ‘You’re doing jokes now?’
‘I’m trying to take a leaf out of your book.’
‘I prefer you serious.’
A silence. She’s waiting for him to talk.
‘There were too many people,’ he says. ‘Back there, in the lobby. I had to see you alone.’
‘You’ve been following us?’
‘I’ve been walking,’ he says. ‘Thinking.’ His voice takes on an embarrassed edge. ‘I thought you might come here. I wanted to catch you, here.’
‘I’m not alone,’ says Clara.
‘I know,’ Seb says. He looks at the girl. ‘Hi, Nora.’
‘What have you been thinking about?’ says Nora.
‘I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I’d be doing this in front of you both.’
Clara looks, suddenly, alarmed. ‘Doing what?’
The stranger has never noticed before, but the square is slightly elevated above the level of the streets around it. He feels as if he’s watching them on a stage.
‘Look,’ Seb says. ‘I—’ He pauses. ‘It’s just—’ He tries again. ‘Ican’t—’ One more time. ‘I’ve never had the words,’ he says. ‘I was never good at saying how I feel.’ A pause. ‘But I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘You are,’ Clara says.
‘And you’re still listening.’
