May

May

I T IS UNSEASONABLY

hot for May.

I undo the top button of my shirt and loosen my bow tie, which, today, has apples on it. Seemed a healthy start to the week. I lean back against the bench, which is not particularly comfortable, the way it digs into my back. But I stay here for a moment nonetheless. I can pretend I’m on a deckchair on the beach.

But thinking of the beach reminds me of Brighton, which reminds me of Val, which reminds me that time is a-ticking. And Phoebe still hasn’t replied.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Bella as she ambles across the grass, walking between the headstones, which have the occasional irreverent can of Foster’s or McDonald’s wrapper discarded beside them. Bella’s walk always seems to imply that her right leg is a little heavier than her left. Her hair is all crinkly today, like she pressed it between a sandwich grill, the dark brown roots contrasting with the candyfloss pink.

When she gets to the bench, she says, ‘Can we go for a walk? I need to find somewhere with air con.’

I don’t need asking twice. It has been hot and humid all day and the shop doesn’t have air conditioning, unless you count the bright orange desktop fan covered in stickers of footballers from the 2014 World Cup that limply spits out warm air from the back of the shop. Which I do not.

‘Up we go,’ I say, more to my knee than to Bella.

She loops her arm through mine, and we walk for a moment like two good friends, ‘Nope, sorry,’ she says. ‘Can’t do it, it’s too hot for physical contact.’

I enjoyed walking along like co-conspirators, but I agree. The sun is burning down on the back of my neck and I wish I had had the foresight to purchase a pair of sunglasses from the bucket of eyewear that lives beside the board games. Bella is wearing her red heart-shaped sunglasses again and I continue to secretly covet them.

We walk down Colmore Row. I love this part of the city, the Regency buildings rising up above us with their shiny signs on each door depicting which lawyers or media recruitment agencies now work where once men in fancy wigs and women in big dresses lived their elaborate lives. The office workers who are streaming in the opposite direction were clearly not ready for this hot day either. The men have their ties pulled down, shirts open, jackets slung over shoulders. The women, in their polyester dresses, look sweltering, their hair tied up in an attempt to cool off.

A man in a shiny blue suit is walking towards Bella and me, staring down at his phone. He has long sandy hair and well-manicured brunette stubble that makes him look like he’s a surfing instructor who’s on his way to court. It becomes a game of chicken. Bella does not move out of his

way, and he continues typing on his phone, not noticing us. They are on a direct collision path. When I can bear the tension no longer, he flicks his eyes up and stops. He doesn’t look too pleased, brow furrowed like he was just interrupted from deep concentration. Bella walks around him. ‘Enjoy your ham and cheese,’ she says to him. I wonder if this is a modern euphemism for ‘go f— yourself’ I have not heard before, but something registers and his face transforms into a cracking smile. As we continue walking, he’s still turned around, smiling at Bella, and if she has noticed, she doesn’t let on, and she keeps on walking.

‘That’s Ham and Cheese

,’ she says. ‘He comes in every morning at eight fifty to buy his lunch. Always has the same thing,’ Bella says. ‘Ham-and-cheese sandwich, salt-and-vinegar Discos and an orange-and-mango smoothie.’

‘He’s got a nice smile,’ I suggest tentatively.

‘Has he?’ she asks.

‘Hasn’t he?’

‘Can’t say that I’ve noticed,’ Bella says, and I wonder if I detect a hint of a lie, but when I look at those heart-shaped sunglasses, I can only see myself reflected back in them.