I went over to her and put my hand on her arm. The sun was already setting; in the half-light her face lost some of its plump­ness, became more sad and mature. Her forearm was bare; I stroked it gently. “I let things go over my head now,” I said.

I heard footsteps coming down the corridor; I took my hand away and went over to switch on the light. She screwed her eyes up against the light for a moment, her face faintly resentful as if suddenly disturbed from sleep.

I lit two cigarettes and handed her one.

“Sorry,” I said. I looked at Middridge’s list again. “Ask Varney to step in, will you?”

It’s all over, I thought with increasing despair, it’s all over. I stood up. “Don’t bother about calling Mr. Varney, Hilda. And can­cel my appointment with Mr. Middridge. I’m going home.” I put on my raincoat.

“What shall I tell them?”

“Anything you like. Tell them I’m drunk. Or ill.”

I opened the door. She caught hold of my hand. “What is it, Joe?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m going home early, that’s all.”

“Will you come in tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I said. “And the day after that and the day after that.” She released my hand.

But when I reached Warley Forest I found that I didn’t want to go home. I pulled the car into a little clearing on the verge of the road and switched off the engine.

I sat there for about half an hour. It was quiet except for the rustling of the trees, and the quietness was no different from the quietness that had always been there; but it was not what I needed. There was no moon and in the distance I could see the lights of Warley: I looked from one to the other but had no pleasure from either. It was all over, it was all finished. Norah hadn’t represented a new life but my last fling. I would answer her letters, I might even snatch a meeting with her in Leddersford or London; I would never marry her, just as I would never take the job with Tiffield Products. It was settled now. Warley held me, Brown held me, Barbara held me.

For ten years I’d wanted to stop on this particular stretch of road; for ten years I had driven past it, waiting for the moment when I should most need what was to be found here. And now I’d stopped the car and everything was still the same: I’d broken open the box of emergency rations and found it empty.

22

22

“You didn’t tell me you left work early last Tuesday,” Susan said.

“Didn’t I?” I yawned and settled myself more comfortably upon the sofa. “It hardly seemed worth mentioning.”

“Not to me perhaps.”

She gave me a coldly mirthless smile.