All the Lonely People Read Free

are your things?”
    â€œI travel light, remember? I have a bag with me. Tomorrow I’ll pick up the other odds and ends, if I’m sure Mick’s still out of town.” She smiled. “Let’s talk more in the morning. I’ve so much to tell you, you wouldn’t believe it. But there’s plenty of time. Tell you the truth, right now, I feel as if it’s my birthday, not yours, and there are a hundred candles on the cake.”
    Yawning, she stood up. Even her simplest movement was invested with that feline grace. He couldn’t help saying, “You look no different from the woman I married.”
    â€œFlattery will get you anywhere.” Their eyes met for a moment, before Liz moved away and said, “Well, maybe not everywhere. I went on a tour whilst you were out. You only have one bedroom.”
    The bed was their old kingsize. “It’s all I need.”
    An I’m-not-to-be-tempted look flitted across her face. Her tone was gentle but firm. “The last few weeks have been hell for me, Harry. Truly. I must have a good night’s rest. So what are the options?”
    He weighed up her expression for a moment and then said, “The sofa folds down.”
    â€œWould that do for you? I mean - you know how it is?”
    When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. Already she was at ease with the geography of the flat, gliding around as if it were home. He heard the shower running and said to himself: That’s your wife in there, this is your chance to make it happen again. But he knew that he, too, was in danger of succumbing to fantasy and all he did was pour himself a whisky and settle back in his chair.
    Soon she re-emerged, a towel wrapped round her hair. She had stripped off the jeans; her bare legs were as smooth as ever. “I’d forgotten what a mess you make of the toothpaste,” she said. “You need a woman to take charge.”
    â€œMy trouble is, I attract the wrong type.”
    She laughed. “I deserved that.”
    â€œYou deserve much worse.” He couldn’t help grinning. For all her faults, Liz had always been able to make fun of herself, as well as of those around her.
    â€œI like this flat,” she said gently, “but it’s lonely. You don’t have anyone special?”
    Only you, he wanted to say.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous. You’re not a bad-looking feller in a poor light.”
    Reaching for an ashtray, Harry said dryly, “My next door neighbour thinks all I need is a little female company. She keeps inviting me round for coffee and I’m running out of excuses.”
    Liz beamed encouragement. “Get together with her. It’ll do you good. The bachelor life is fine, but if you don’t relax, you’ll never make it to thirty-three.” Her left arm reached out and stroked the heavy stubble on his chin. For a short while, neither of them spoke, but at last she said, “Goodnight, Harry.” Her tone was soft, almost tender, and the words hung in the airless emptiness of the room as the bedroom door shut behind her.
    Harry remained motionless, staring through the picture window into the darkness outside. Despite the heat of the room, a chill of fear had suddenly touched him for when he had looked down at her slender wrist, he had seen the angry red stitch marks which criss-crossed it - marks that he recognised as the stigmata of a failed suicide.

Chapter Two
    Sleep eluded him for hours. The sofa was too narrow to allow him the insomniac’s self-indulgence of tossing and turning as he raked over the conversation with Liz. His mind was a junkyard of discarded emotions and he could not be sure if he was glad or angry that she had returned to him, merely to say goodbye. As consciousness drifted away, he had a fuzzy recollection of a question he had forgotten to ask.
    When he awoke,