She stops cutting the bread.

'Ian said your alarm was making a terrible racket this morning and waking the whole house.'

'So you gave him the key?'

'He was worried about you.'

'You shouldn't have let him in my room.'

'I'm sorry, Patrick.'

I go to the door, don't mean to leave, don't know what I mean to do. I turn back and look at her a while longer, wait for something more to happen. But I don't know what it is I'm waiting for.

'I really am sorry, Patrick. Will you accept my apology?'

'Yeah,' I say. 'But it's him who should apologise.'

I keep watching her. She starts cutting the bread again, moves the knife back and forth across the bread but the knife doesn't cut through. The knife's got more like the bread, the bread more like the knife.

'I can't concentrate,' she says.

'f.u.c.k this,' I say.

I leave the kitchen, but stop outside in the hallway. A moment later, she comes. We stand together.

'You're right,' she says. 'I shouldn't have given him the key.'

She puts her hand on my arm, looks into my eyes. I'm shaking and hope she can't feel it.

'Okay,' I say. 'That's okay.'

She smiles. 'I'm glad.'

12.

I go down early for breakfast. Bridget's set out croissants, sliced meats, two boiled eggs, a half a baguette, toast and jam.

She's also left today's newspaper and a note.

Good morning Patrick,

I'm at the shed this morning. I hope you enjoy your breakfast. It's just like the one you get in a Paris hotel. If you want coffee, help yourself. It's all set up in the kitchen.

Ian won't be down this morning. He's gone to St Anne's for the day.

Best wishes, Bridget.

I eat alone and make myself right at home. I feel like royalty with the dining room all to myself. I can breathe easier and eating's easier, too. I wish I had the place to myself every day. It would be just me and Bridget.

I get to work early, in a good frame of mind. At about half-eleven, I'll take the Mercedes out and pop down to the bakery and get a picnic for me and Georgia, some nice sandwiches and a few cakes, and pick her up at noon.

Hayes is sitting at his desk.

'You're early today.'

'Sorry I was late yesterday,' I say.

'There's another Fiat that needs looking at. Check the clutch and the pedal lash.'

He winks at me, says, 'And if you find anything else wrong, fix that too.'

But I won't do work that doesn't need doing. I'll only fix what honestly needs to be fixed.

I get to work and finish fast.

At eleven o'clock, I hear somebody out front.

I stop work and go outside.

Ben's hand-washing a car. He's wasting time with a bucket of soapy water, probably leaving scratches on the paintwork with that dirty old rag.

'All right?' I say.

'Yeah, and you?'

'Yeah. All right.'

I go back in.

I've nothing left to do, but I'll not stand idle.

I sweep the garage floor then go to the tea room, rinse the kettle and cups, wipe the biscuit crumbs from the draining-board.

I go to Hayes' office to ask if I can take a bit longer for lunch.

He gets out from behind his desk, and comes and stands next to me in the doorway.

'Why don't you go home,' he says. 'There's nothing left for you to do today. We have it all under control.'

He's talking about Ben.

'I don't think we really need anybody else,' I say.

He leans his hand against the doorframe, his arm a bar across the entrance. It's the kind of thing a man does when he wants you to know he's in charge.

'What do you mean?' he says.

I put my hands in my pockets.

'Your nephew,' I say. 'There's probably not enough work for him.'

'I think that's up to me to decide.'

He moves his hand lower down the door frame.

'Listen, you've still got a job and so has he. I've just got to keep all my commitments.'

I've nothing to say.

'And I'm paying you good money, better than you were getting before.'

'Yeah, that's true, but-'

He drops his arm, looks at his watch. 'I've got to go now. I'll see you Monday.'

'What about tomorrow?' I say.

'No need. Come in on Monday.'

'Eight-thirty sharp,' I say.

'Right. Or don't bother coming at all.'

I laugh as though what he's said is a joke and go straight out to the tea room.

I give my hands a good scrubbing with soap and hot water and get rid of most of the oil.

The Mercedes is ready to go and the keys are in the ignition. I take my overalls off, throw them in the back seat beside my toolkit, get in, start her up and drive out the back way.

When I stop at the traffic lights I use a bit of spit to get rid of some dirt on my good black slacks and I straighten my shirt collar.

I don't care if he's seen me drive out. Let him. He owes me at least this much. I'll have the car back in a few hours and in perfect condition.

It's a hot day and there are more people out on the street than usual, but I still get a parking s.p.a.ce outside the bakery.

I stand behind a pregnant woman who's ordering a birthday cake and it's taking her a long time. She's got red arms from being out in the sun and right next to her, on the wall, there's an insect killer called Exocutor. It's zapping flies while she talks and it's got a blue light inside a metal cage.

To stop my nerves and cool down, I go to the ice-cream fridge and take a good look inside.

When the pregnant woman leaves, I buy two ham and salad sandwiches with extra beetroot and two sponge cakes and two vanilla slices and a big bottle of lemonade. I also get lots of napkins. Women always like to have napkins.

I get in the car, take the top off, put the radio on. I find a station playing jazz. If there's not much chat when she first gets in the car, at least there'll not be silence.

It's ten to twelve, but Georgia's already waiting in the street. She's not outside the cafe though. She's four doors down, outside the p.a.w.n shop, standing in the shade.

I pull up beside her.

'h.e.l.lo,' she says.

'Hop in,' I say.

But I've not opened the pa.s.senger door and, have to lean over to open it for her. I should have got out and done it.

'What a lovely car,' she says.

She's wearing a pink dress with a big V-neck collar and, when she sits down, the skirt rides up.

'You look nice,' I say.

'Do I?'

'Really nice.'

'I thought we could go to the park,' I say. 'It'll only take about ten minutes to get there.'

'I like that park,' she says. 'It's got a big pond.'

As soon as we get off the main street, past the station, the road's empty. I want to put my foot down, open the engine right up, but that might make her nervous. I keep the speed steady and slow and turn the radio up a bit.

'Who owns the car?' she asks.

'I'm not sure. It came in yesterday and I've just finished working on it this morning.'

She's looking at me, smiling. She's been looking at me since she got in.

'What kind of car do you have?' she says.

'I've not got one yet, but I'll soon have a Triumph.'

'A convertible?'

'Yeah.'