Something Only We Know by Kate Long Read Free Book Online

have to be rescheduled due to a stomach bug sweeping through staff and kids. Call me heartless, but I actually let out a little whoop.
I forwarded the text to the photographer, then stood for a minute under the Rows, watching shoppers mill and street vendors blow glittering streams of soap bubbles onto the pavement. In front of
WHSmith’s a preacher was calling out that each new day was a gift from God, and that His eye was always on us. Pigeons strutted and pecked. A delicious sense of freedom flooded through
me.
    Obviously I knew what I ought to do was collect Gerry’s sound bites for him, return to my desk and try to get ahead with some work. That would be the sensible option. That would show
Tweed-knickers I wasn’t such a waster. But the cancellation felt like a sign. It meant I could nip down and see Owen, hole up there for half an hour. My heart lifted at the thought. As for
the vox pops, I’d get a few on the way.
    I wasn’t even sure he’d be around because some lunchtimes he visits the food bank and helps sort tins. But no, my luck was in because he answered his buzzer immediately. When he
opened the door I was so pleased to see him that I flung my arms round him there and then, in the middle of the communal hall. He hugged me back, then unhooked me, laughing.
    ‘Jen, hello! What’s this in aid of? Why aren’t you at work? Hang on, don’t tell me you’ve walked out? No, DO tell me you’ve walked out.’
    ‘Nothing so dramatic. Just fed up and skiving off.’
    ‘Really? Shame.’
    He looked so sexy in his loose white shirt and faded jeans, his dark hair mussed and floppy. Hel calls him the Young Bohemian and says he ought to be hanging out in a Paris garret with a bunch
of revolutionaries. I’ve not passed this observation on in case it gives him ideas.
    ‘The sooner you do pack that place in, the better,’ he said as we started up the stairs. ‘Chester bloody Messenger. Consumer-engineering masquerading as news, that’s what
it is.’
    ‘I write fillers for the lifestyle section. I report on library events and nursery open-days. Don’t make me personally responsible for the evils of capitalism.’
    ‘You run adverts for hundred-quid anti-wrinkle creams when there are people in this city who don’t have a roof over their head.’
    ‘You know, I actually came here to get away from the ear-bashing.’
    He paused on the stairs and turned, apologetic. ‘Shit. Sorry. I get carried away.’
    ‘You do.’
    ‘It is really nice to see you.’
    His expression softened. If I’d been able to reach I’d have kissed him again, but his position on the higher step put him beyond me. I closed my eyes as his finger moved down to
touch my cheek, trace my jaw line then stroke across my lips. This was what I’d come for. This was what I needed.
    ‘Wish you wouldn’t wear this stuff on your face, though, Jen. You don’t need chemicals on your skin. No one does. You’re fine without make up.’
    I opened my mouth to reply, but at that moment from the top landing a girl shouted, ‘Hey, Owen, have you got any double A batteries?’
    He began to hurry up the stairs again.
    ‘Owen? Owen?’ Her accent was twangy – Aussie or New Zealand. Through my boyfriend’s flat various strangers come and go with their flyers and posters, news sheets and
placards. Sometimes it’s like Piccadilly Circus in there. I’d not met any Antipodeans, though.
    As we walked through the door she was standing in the lounge, struggling to pull a jumper out of a rucksack: a girl of about my age with tanned arms showing under her T-shirt, and strong legs in
shorts and sneakers. She had a muscular frame like a runner, and short, bleached hair.
    ‘This is Chelle,’ said Owen cheerfully, as if I was supposed to know who that was.
    ‘Shell?’
    ‘That’s right,’ she said, shaking the jumper free. As in Mi-chelle. I’m camping out here for a while.’
    ‘Here?’
    ‘Yup. This is me.’ She indicated a rolled up