'You didn't mention this before.'

'I forgot.'

'Can we meet tomorrow? I'll come and get you at the boarding house.'

'Are you staying another day?'

'I might stay for a few days.'

I walk on and she follows. It's unbearable this, her walking so close and thinking her son's a liar when she's gone and provoked the lie in the first place.

'You know I just want you to be okay,' she says.

I turn back to look at her.

She wipes lipstick from the corner of her lip with her thumb.1 'Let's go to the pier,' I say.

We walk to the pier, go out to the end, stand and listen to the sloshing sea, the dark echo of water beneath.

The only other people at the end of the pier are two young lads leaning against the railing, next to a sign pointing to the petting zoo and they're smoking cigarettes as though there's still novelty involved, both holding the f.a.gs between thumb and index finger, looking at the f.a.gs as though in awe of them.

I stand close to the edge and look down at the water. It's about a twelve-foot drop.

She links her arm through mine and, as I look at the water, I imagine how she'd sink and her ugly short dress would float up and surround her head like a jellyfish.

I step back and pull her back with me.

'Are you all right, Patrick?'

'Yeah. Sorry Mum.'

She squeezes my hand. 'Your broken heart will mend. It'll take time, but it'll mend.'

'It's already mended.'

'n.o.body's going to judge you if you're a bit sad. You loved Sarah and she loved you.'

I take my hand away.

'She didn't love me. You don't know. You only think you know.'

'I don't know why you blame us.'

'You never asked me if I wanted to go to university, then you hated me when I didn't stay.'

'n.o.body hated you.

We felt for you.'

There's pity in her voice and I can't stomach it.

I walk away.

I don't know if I've even had the thought to do it, but now I'm walking away I can't stop. I don't look back at her. I expect her to call after me but I don't turn back. I keep walking and listening out for her voice.

She doesn't call after me.

Before I cross the road, I stop on the kerb. The clouds are low in the sky and there's a wind rushing over the tops of the trees on the esplanade. The only car on the road is travelling slow, but I go on waiting on the kerb. I've got an awful, sad feeling, a feeling as though I might fall.

I've an urge to sit. If I stay here, maybe she'll come after me and we could patch things up.

I want this and I don't want this, and there's a feeling in me like I'm sorry for the way I've been to her and there's another feeling that I've no notion what I'll do next. Today, tomorrow or the next day. I don't know where I'll go, or what I want to do, a feeling like there's nothing I've got to look forward to.

I stop and look back along the pier. I see a woman, about my mother's shape and size, but it's not her.

I wait a bit. If she comes to me, there's nothing I can do about that, but I'll not go to her. I'll not reverse.

She doesn't come. She's probably down there inside that fish place at the end of the pier, probably drinking tea, chatting to everybody she meets. I hope she'll be all right.

I go to the train station bar and order a pint of beer, sit in the corner and drink fast, like it's water for an aspirin. After the pint, I go next door to the Whistle Stop Shop and buy a bottle of lemonade and a small bottle of gin, go to the toilets, pour most of the lemonade down the sink and mix in the gin.

I take the bottle with me and go round the corner to the bus depot.

I've been sitting for about ten minutes when a bus driver having a f.a.g comes over.

'You shouldn't sit here drinking,' he says.

'Why not?'

'You could be run over by a bus.'

'Don't you think I'd see it coming?' I say.

He walks away and I only leave when he's back in his bus.

I get to thinking about the waitress at the cafe. I should get back there soon and ask for her name. She looked right at me.

6.

It's four o'clock when I get back to the house.

I hang my key on the blue hook and see that Welkin's home.

I go up to my room, check my toolkit, take off my clothes, fetch my towel and head for the bathroom.

There's still no hot water.

I go back to my room, get into bed and try for some sleep, but there's too much noise. The pipes in the wall are clicking and squealing.

I dress again and go down.

Bridget's in her office, at her desk, and she's got a pile of receipts and a calculator.

'There's still no hot water,' I say.

She stops working, puts the calculator in the drawer, looks at me.

'That's no good,' she says.

'I need a hot wash,' I say. 'And I think Welkin's been leaving his taps running.'

'That can't be right.'

'There was none yesterday either.'

'Give me a minute, Patrick. I'll adjust the thermostat as soon as I'm finished here.'

'I can do it,' I say. 'Just tell me where it is.'

'No. I'll do it for you. Just give me a minute.'

I don't know what I'll do next. I don't want to go upstairs and listen to Welkin or the pipes creaking, and I don't want to go back out.

I stand by the coat-rack and read the messages on the pad by the phone. There've been six calls for Welkin and one for Flindall. I pick up the pen and write, Patrick. Sarah called but cross it out. I take the phone off the receiver, listen to the dial tone, put the receiver back again.

Bridget's left her office. She's on her way to the kitchen and she's seen me.

'What are you doing?' she says.

'Just looking at the carpet.'

I've tried to be funny but it hasn't worked.

'Where's your mum?'

'She had to go home.'

'Are you at a bit of a loose end?'

'Not exactly.'

'There's a good cinema in town,' she says. 'If you want something to do, I can give you a list of things to do.'

What I want is a list of reasons why she's giving me the cold shoulder.

'I like it here,' I say. 'It's a nice boarding house.'

'That's good.'

'And the food's very tasty.'

'Thank you.'

I step away from the phone.

'It's worth every penny,' I say.

'Goodness,' she says. 'And here I was thinking you weren't happy.'

I'm standing close and wish she'd just go ahead and touch me. I bet if I were Welkin she'd put her hand on my arm.

'I'm not unhappy,' I say.

'I'm sorry you've had no hot water,' she says. 'I'm going to adjust the thermostat now.'

She walks to the kitchen.

I think to follow her so as we can keep chatting, but my breath's got short.

I won't say the right things.

I go upstairs, sit at my window and look out at the sea. It's only just gone five o'clock and I get to thinking I should take a swim. It's still warm and there's a good clear sky and lots of light.

I've changed into my togs and I've got my towel in my bag but on the way out I meet Welkin coming up the stairs.

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

'h.e.l.lo.'

I scratch my shoulder so as to have something to do with my hands. He steps round me. 'May I take a look in your room?'

'Now?'

'If that's all right with you.'

I open the door and he walks right in. His trousers are hitched high and there's a lot of length between his crotch and belt, but he stands next to my bed as though he's king of the world.

'It's the same as my room, only a bit smaller,' he says.

'I'd rather have the view,' I say.