He kicked hard a few times and the cramp passed, he could breathe easily again, and as he did so the whole place stopped moving and fell silent. Then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

18

Stella had put the rubbish into the garbage container and was emptying the shredding bin into the paper container when her phone rang. She saw the number from earlier in the day appear on the screen.

‘It’s me again. Gréta.’

‘Yeah, hæ. Sorry I had to put the phone down earlier.’

‘No problem. I was just wondering if you could give me a little advice…’

The grey tower in which Greta lived was nearby. Stella gazed at it now and saw that it was colourless and ugly in the gloom of falling snow. There were no velvets or silks in its rows of tones, just greyness, and she felt a sadness take hold of her heart, as it always did when the smarties wore off. Everything just turned so much lousier. This grey tower, which overshadowed the ministry’s car park, had turned ugly, and the flakes of wet snow that fell from the sky and inevitably found their way down your neck had turned disgusting, and Gréta the newsreader was just plain irritating. 47

‘Look, I’m a bit busy right now—’ she said, but Gréta interrupted her.

‘Haven’t you finished work? Why don’t you drop by on your way home? I’m cooking.’

Stella sighed. She was starving. This was all part of the aftermath of a heavy weekend. Maybe she had lost a load of vitamins or something, but it seemed that her body constantly demanded food. On top of that, she was skint, and there was nothing to eat at home but cup-a-soups and crispbread. She could eat with Gréta the newsreader and in return she could give her some pointers on how to pull this woman on Tinder.

Before she’d really had time to think about it she was there in the grey block, her coat on a chair in the hall, sitting in the kitchen, wolfing the appetisers along with the beer that Gréta had just given her.

‘She could have used an old picture as well,’ she said, trying to cool Gréta’s expectations; she seemed to be buzzing with excitement over her first matches.

‘I don’t care if she’s older and fatter than she looks,’ Gréta said.

‘A date is a date,’ Stella said, nodding her agreement.

Although Gréta was something of a TV celebrity, she clearly wasn’t the type who could afford to be too picky. But the woman who had indicated an interest was quite good-looking. In fact she was remarkably pretty – unexpectedly so, for someone showing an interest in Gréta’s profile. She had to have just come out, had only just begun looking around and maybe had seen Gréta on television and had been intrigued by the well-known face.

‘What should I say to start off?’ Gréta said as she chopped mushrooms and dropped them into a saucepan. ‘I need some kind of icebreaker.’