'No. I don't mind.'

'Nice day today. Even warmer than yesterday.'

'Yeah. It was pretty warm.'

He looks down beside the bed. 'What's that?' he says. I get up and walk over. 'That's my toolkit.'

'It's huge.'

I'm sure he's seen it before. 'Yeah, it's got everything in it.'

He takes my pillow, sits back, puts it behind his back, makes himself nice and comfortable. I stay standing.

'Do you know a girl called Georgia?'

'I don't think so,' he says. I go over and lean my back against the sink.

'She works in the cafe near the chemist.'

'Does she?' he says.

'Yeah.'

'I don't think we've met.'

'Have you been in that cafe?

'Yes, it's the only one in town.'

'Do you go there a lot?'

'Why don't you sit down,' he says. 'You're making me nervous.'

'I'm happy like this.'

He turns round and plumps the pillow.

'I've got this theory,' he says.

'Yeah?'

'I think every man is mistaken about the kind of man he really is.'

I say nothing.

'We never know how we seem to other men,' he says. 'I think it's time you and I did something about it. You tell me what kind of man I am, and I'll tell you what kind of man you are.'

'Right,' I say.

'I'm ready to hear it,' he says. 'I think the time's come for me to hear the truth about the kind of man I really am.'

I say nothing.

'What do you think of me, Patrick? I want you to tell me what kind of man I am.'

'Not now,' I say. 'Speak, Patrick.'

He lays himself down, sideways, his big hand on his face, supporting his big blond head, his dirty big feet on my sheets.

'Tell me,' he says.

I say nothing and go back over to the table, sit down.

'Come on,' he says. 'Tell me something true, then it'll be my turn.'

'I don't know what I think of you,' I say.

'Come on, man. Something. Anything.'

Funny thing is, I'm in the mood to say more. Maybe because he's drunk, it's as good as me being a bit drunk and I'd rather have him on my side than not, and it looks like that's what he wants too.

'I think you want everybody to like you,' I say, 'but you treat people like you own them.'

'More,' he says. 'More.'

'You're a bit of a pain in the neck,' I go on, 'but I wouldn't mind a bit of your confidence.'

'This is good,' he says. 'It's just what I need. Go on.'

I didn't plan to say this much and it's given me a sweat but I don't mind that I've said it because I've said some of the truth and now it's out and I see Welkin's face, all happy with approval, and my chest floods. Even though he's woken me in the middle of sleep, I've got a pretty good feeling right now.

I stand up from the table and go to the sink, lean my back against the draining-board.

Welkin puts his legs over the side of the bed, like he's ready to stand, but doesn't.

'That's the thing about you,' he says, 'you see through me.'

I nod as though I've thought the same thought.

'And I've never met anybody like you,' he says. 'There's nothing false about you. I don't think you know how to hide anything. And I think you're much smarter than you let on.'

My hands are on my hips. I change them to my pockets.

'The truth suits you,' he says. 'I like you even more now.'

He stands up from the bed, takes two steps forward.

He's standing too close.

'I like you,' he says again.

'That's good,' I say.

I move away.

'I didn't much like you at first,' he says, 'but now I think I'm getting the hang of Mr Oxtoby.'

'Well, that's good,' I say.

'Let's have a nightcap,' he says. 'I've still got a bit left in that whisky bottle. I'll go and get it.'

He goes to the door, but turns round.

'Don't go anywhere,' he says. 'I'll be right back.'

'I think we should call it a night,' I say.

He comes back, sits down on the bed again.

'So soon?' he says. 'Why not just one quick nightcap? I'm in a jolly fine mood tonight. How about a game of poker? I could go all the way. I could go till sunrise.'

'I've got to be up early for work,' I say, 'and I've got some things that need taking care of.'

He gets up off the bed and comes to me, stands close and leans his left hand against the sink and I'm leaning with my right hand and I expect the sink and cupboard to slide right through the wall, the whole room to crash down around us.

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah,' I say.

'You want me to go.'

'Yeah. I think so.'

'You think so?' He laughs. 'Well, that might be a bit ambiguous.'

'It's not. I want to go to sleep.'

He smiles. 'Okay, then. Goodnight, Patrick.'

'Okay. Goodnight.'

He goes to the door, but doesn't open it. He turns round, faces me.

'Are you sure you want me to go?'

'Yeah.'

He looks at the bed. 'You want to sleep?'

'Yeah.'

'Goodnight, then.'

'Goodnight.'

He leaves.

I lock the door and get under the bed-covers.

11.

I wake at 6 a.m. and go to the bathroom for a wash then put on a clean shirt and trousers and stuff my overalls in my duffel bag. I write a note for Bridget to tell her I won't be stopping for breakfast and put the note under the kitchen door.

I don't want to talk to Welkin and I've got to see Georgia.

Although I've walked the long way into town, by the sea, I get to the cafe at half-seven and have time to stop a few doors down to look at myself in the window of the p.a.w.n shop. I don't look too bad. I straighten my hair a bit and tuck my shirt in.

I'm the first customer and Georgia hasn't yet turned on the lights, not even put her ap.r.o.n on.

She looks lovely. Her face is clean, no make-up, and she's wearing a pretty summer frock, pink with yellow flowers.

'You're early,' she says.

'I like walking by the sea in the early morning.'

'Me too. Sometimes when I can't sleep I get up and just go for a walk along the promenade.'

'Isn't that a bit dangerous?'

'Because I'm a woman? No. Not here. I feel completely safe here.'

'That's good.'

She smiles and I sit in a booth facing the door.

'You've always got to face the door,' she says.

laugh. 'Yeah. That's right.'

'My dad said there's a certain personality who has to do that.'