'An actuary,' he says, 'actually.

' She smiles.

'But I'm on an informal sabbatical,' he says. 'I'm sick of the big smoke and I'm taking the sea air. A rest cure.'

'You been sick?' I say.

'Not exactly,' he says.

'Just a bit too rich and a bit too idle,' says Bridget.

Welkin nods. 'That's right.'

Bridget smiles, takes the parcel, leaves.

What's gone on between them looks like something that's gone on before.

Welkin stays with me while I wait for my food.

'Why doesn't Flindall light that cigarette?' I say.

'He gave up two weeks ago and he sticks one behind his ear so he's got something to play with.'

'Isn't that like torture?'

'Yes, but I suppose that's the very point. Don't you see?'

I don't see. I say nothing.

'Have you got work here?' he says.

'Yeah, I'm a mechanic. I'm starting at the place on the main road on Monday morning.'

'Is that the one that does vintage cars?'

'Yeah, and sports cars.'

He turns his cup round, looks at the tea leaves. 'Why did you give up university to fix cars?'

'I prefer it,' I say. 'You've got to do the thing you prefer.'

'Yes,' he says. 'I suppose that's the right decision.'

I hadn't asked him for his opinion on my decision.

'Anyway,' I say, 'it's a good line of work, and the money's not too bad. And I get to drive some very nice cars.'

Bridget's come back with my bacon sandwich.

'Here you are,' she says.

'Thanks.'

I start to eat and she stacks dirty dishes onto a tray at the next table. Welkin stands to help her and when the job's done she puts her hand on his arm and leaves it there, and they look at each other, longer than usual, and even though it's not me she's touching, the heat shoots through my legs. I hope she's not one of those women who can touch a man she hardly knows without meaning anything much.

'I'd better be going,' says Welkin. 'I've got to see a man about a dog.'

'See you later, then,' I say.

'You've finished your breakfast,' he says. 'Why don't you come up with me? You've got the room right next door.' I'm not in the mood for more chat.

'I'll stay down here,' I say.

'I need to make a few phone calls.' Bridget leaves and Welkin follows close behind. I'll be d.a.m.ned annoyed if it turns out they're having s.e.x.

I wait for a few minutes, then go up to my room, get a towel, try the bath again.

The water's still running cold.

I go downstairs to Bridget's office and tell her, 'There's no hot water.'

'The best time is earlier in the morning.'

She's searching for something in the top drawer of the desk and looks at me as though she blames me for the fact she can't find it.

'I tried earlier,' I say.

'Oh.'

'Can I have my key?' I ask.

'Of course.'

She goes to the filing cabinet and gets two keys.

She looks at me.

'Don't forget to put your front-door key on the hook inside the door when you get in. This way we all know who's home and who isn't.'

'Okay.'

'Yours is the blue hook, which is the same colour as the number on your bedroom door.'

'Right. I won't forget.'

'We'll do the paperwork now.'

It's very formal, like she's a different person from last night. When I tell her I'm twenty-three, she tells me I look younger. She asks me if my parents are Irish, with my name being Patrick.

'No, but my grandad was.'

'But you're not confirmed? You're not a Catholic?'

'How can you know that?'

'You've put your full name down as Patrick James Oxtoby. You've got no confirmation name.'

I say nothing.

'I'll bet your mum will miss you,' she says.

I ask her why she's said that.

'You told me earlier you're the youngest, and you've left home for the first time.'

I shrug. 'She might miss me. She might not.'

I go to the door, then turn back.

'Have I done something that's bothered you?' I say.

'No,' she says. 'Not yet.' She smiles, just about the same sort of smile she gave Welkin in the dining room.

'That's good then.'

'Don't worry so much, Patrick.'

I don't see how she could know how much I worry or not.

I leave the boarding house and walk into town and on the way I get to thinking that my mum's probably worried sick and I should've left her a good long letter with some nice things said. She's been a good mum. I should've said thanks, or something that's the same as saying thanks.

My new workplace is on the corner of the deserted main street, two doors down from the post office. The metal sign outside is faded and rusted: North Star Mechanics. Specialists in All Makes & Models. Vintage & New. Service & Parts & Repairs.

I stand on the opposite corner and watch. I want to see what kind of business my new employer's got running, but n.o.body goes in or out. Friday should be a busy day for a mechanic. First thing I'll do on Monday morning is tell the boss to put up a new sign.

I walk on down the main street, towards the train station. I've got hungry again. I stop to buy fish and chips. I'm the only person in the chippy except for a ten-year-old kid and it takes a while to get the food ready because they've not had the oil on for long.

I go to the pier and sit on a bench and eat.

A fisherman comes in with his catch in a yellow bucket. He hasn't got much, a few small ones, the kind I thought they threw back.

When I'm finished eating, I walk a while and look at the old pavilion. I try going in, but all the doors are bolted. There's a sign down the back, one of those sandwich boards, someone's written on with chalk: Closed Today.

I go back to the main street, pa.s.s an old cinema called The Royale. There's only one film showing, a song-and-dance picture. I'd like to sit in the cool dark, but I've got no interest in song-and-dance. I want something with action and I'm in the mood for a pint.

I go to a pub behind the station called the Ducie Arms.

There's an old man sitting at the bar. He's got a lit cigarette in the ashtray, but he lights another and I get why he craves the start of things. All the hope that goes with the new thing. Coming to this town for a fresh start, I've got that feeling myself.

I order a pint and the barmaid sees me reading the chalk-board menu and asks me what I want.

'I'm not hungry.'

'You just go ahead and let me know if you change your mind.'

The door opens and I look round. I can't help it. I suppose I'm a bit jumpy.

I have another pint.

Two men come into the bar, both about thirty, and they sit together near the door, one of them with a suitcase and he's the one who gets the pints, then sits down again. But these blokes have nothing to say to each other. They just look out the window at nothing.

I'm not a heavy drinker, not by a long way, but I drink in bouts, and in these past three weeks since Sarah broke it off there's been one of those bouts. It's not that I want to get drunk, it's the pain-killer part of it that I want.

I've had a sore neck and sore shoulders since I was fourteen. I don't know why I've got the pains and the doctors don't know either. The only time I don't have the pains is when I've had a few pints and the edges soften a bit.

'Are you waiting for somebody?' asks the barmaid.

She's asked because I'm sitting with my back to the door and keep looking round at it.

'Yeah.'

I don't bother making up a lie about who I'm waiting for. She's a barmaid and she's obliged to talk to any old fool.

I order another pint and then another. Even though dinner's included in my bed and board, I've got a craving for a pub meal.

I order steak and chips and have another pint, then head back to the house.

It's nearly eight o'clock.

I check my toolkit soon as I'm back in my room, and I leave it sticking out a bit from under the bed, like I always leave it, with the handle facing out, ready for me to pick up in the morning when I go to work. I don't notice right away that the bed's been made and my things have been tidied, but soon as I realise I get a rush of good feeling. Bridget's been up here straightening and cleaning my things and it's like I've been promoted. I can't afford this life much beyond three months, but I'm going to make it good while it lasts, make it count.

I lie on the bed and smell the clean sheets, close my eyes. I'm in the mood to go down and look for Bridget and that's my plan, until the noise starts up.

Welkin's got a girl with him and the bed's drubbing the wall and they're talking while they're at it. I sit up and listen. Welkin groans loud at the end of the act, then laughs as though at a mistake somebody's made. I'm only glad it's not Bridget he's got in there.

To insult me further, a fly lands on my face. I swipe it, and it takes off, buzzes its dirty black body against the wall over my table, then comes back for another taste of my sweat. Once it's been at my face, it goes for a rest on the carpet, catches its breath, then comes after me again. When it goes back to the wall over the table, I throw my shoe and shout, 'Get out of my room, you f.u.c.king s.h.i.t.'

There's more laughter in the next room and my neck reddens and my arms sweat, even my shoulders sweat. I lie down and cover my head with the quilt.

My mood's ruined.

I'll need a radio.

3.