some traffic lights. I look out at an angular city shrouded in mist. Hard frost on all surfaces.
âTossers,â I slur.
âAre you trying to pick an argument with me, mister?â
âYes, so we can have angry make-up sex when we get home.â
âOh really? I can think of loads of things to be angry with you about if thatâs the case.â
âYes please.â I lean forward and knock on the glass between us and the driver, âcan you hurry up please, mate, the missus has got the horn.â
âOi,â shouts Sally and tries to sit up. I hold her still, her head in my groin.
âThatâs it,â I say, âMake yourself angry.â
14.
Beard is praying. Or at least it looks like he is. Hands clasped together, eyes screwed up, his mouth working quickly, pink lips moving rapidly and silently.
I sit next to Beth at the table. She is reading a paperback, the pages folded back on the table so I canât see the cover. She smells of soap. When she speaks, her voice is too small, like a childâs.
âI donât know how he can do that.â
It takes me a moment to realise who she is talking to because she doesnât raise her eyes from the book.Â
âPray?â I ask.
âUh-huh,â she says, her voice so quiet that I have to lean in to hear her.
âWhatever gets you through, surely?â
She studies me, then closes the book. Itâs a copy of âOne Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovichâ. âI would think that this place would be a recruiting ground for Atheism.â she says.
âI donât think you can recruit for Atheism, can you?â
âHow so?â Her eyes are clearer. Now they are brown and intense.
âIsnât it a reaction to something rather than a philosophy?â
âGo on.â
âWell, itâs a negative response to having belief and not a set of beliefs itself, so I donât think you can recruit for it, can you? Itâs a not having something rather than a having something.â
The way she looks at me Iâm doubting myself.
âWhat do you think the default position of a human being is then?â she asks me.
I try to think of something, something clever, something pithy, but I canât. Shrug my shoulders instead.
âYouâve not really thought this through, have you?â Her voice has a laugh in it now, teasing.
âNo. Iâve not. Just came out with it.â
I smile at her, a proper smile. Beth is reading me again. Her eyes narrow, as if she is trying to work something out about me.
âDo you find that about being in here? That you canât think things through properly. Like thereâs something that stops it.â
âThe medication?â I ask.
âNo. Well, yes. But more than that. Even now, when Iâve not been given anything, my thoughts arenât quite all there.â
I consider it. Bethâs hand hovers over her book. I donât want her to start reading again.
âIf Iâm honest I would say that I havenât been thinking straight for quite a while.â I gesture for her to come closer, as if Iâm going to tell her a secret. I look around with theatrically wide eyes. âTo tell you the truth Iâm pretty sure everyone in here is guilty of not seeing things quite right.â
I throw myself back in my chair and wiggle my eyebrows up and down. She snorts with laughter. The whole room turns to us. It feels naughty. For a second it feels like us and them.
âDo you fancy a cup of tea?â I ask her.
âYes please.â
We donât speak as the kettle boils. Weâre a facsimile of domesticity. I can hear the TV from the other room. I make sure my body is turned away from her all the time so she canât see my left hand. I donât want to draw attention to it. I pass her a mug and we take our drinks out into the courtyard.
âWish this was something stronger,â I say and