I’ve taken to staying on outside to read when he goes in (for a kip invariably). I love it. Mostly it is quiet, except for the occasional keening of a distant strimmer. Yesterday a woman turned up, that is, she walked into the rapeseed wilderness ahead of me. I’ve seen her before. She looks a little distracted. She is elderly with clothes that are a little big for her. I watched as she walked in the yellow and disappeared. Is she OK? Yes, I can see her head. Then she appeared to stand, quite still, for a time. Was she praying, meditating or just thinking? She walks with a slight lean, slowly and methodically. I didn’t raise my head when she walked past me on her return, wanting to preserve her privacy and mine.
I thought I’d find peace this morning. It was so along North Road but by the time I got to the Prom I heard them. I caught the music first – loud, booming, popping. Then came their shouting and fists raised. Were they dancing? They were six or seven lads, I couldn’t tell exactly in the gloom – and they were roaming about on North Beach. The sound of them carried almost as far as the castle. I have to let it be. Don’t I?
I’d heard his TV when I locked up the front door. It sounded like an old 50s movie with its voices, though slightly muffled, sharp-vowelled. He was at his window on my return smoking. Were you watching a film noir? I asked him. No, he said, Lovejoy.
