I stared, a hawk transfixed, at the silhouette sitting three rows back from the front of the big screen. I knew then, in one fleeting moment, that my ten-year search was over.

WINTER 1994

2

Rebecca

Looking back, it’s hard to see whether youth afforded me arrogance or stupidity or if the two were inexplicably linked. Love had swallowed me whole and while arrogance had unwittingly snared my prize, stupidity was threatening to derail the wagon.

I banged on the door, and kept banging. I didn’t care that it was after midnight nor that I was freezing to death in my short skirt and stockings. The front step was icy as I skated around in high heels, using the iron railings to steady myself. The knowledge that desire was better fuelled by mystery had not yet been afforded to me by life’s knocks.

‘Let me in. It’s freezing out here.’ My voice screeched through the night air, wine fuelling the ‘devil may care’, making me reckless.

The curtain on the second floor landing was peeled back and I knew that Mr Perkins would be getting more and more irate by my drunken shenanigans. He prised open the sash window, and leant down to yell through the crack.

‘Oops.’ I slipped down the top two steps. ‘Please. Can you open the door? I think Mitch must be asleep. It’s bloody freezing out here.’ As I managed to right myself, my head started to spin. The mix of vodka and wine was playing havoc with my balance.

‘No. Go home. Sleep it off, for Christ’s sake.’ Mr Perkins heaved the window open a bit further and secured it by lodging a couple of books between the frame and windowsill.

‘Come on, Scrooge. It’s nearly Christmas. Just this once, please?’

The full moon lit the night sky, casting voodoo magic all around. My head spun and the frost seeped into my bones. The alcoholic anaesthetic couldn’t stop my knees knocking or the involuntary tremor of my upper body.

‘Shit.’ I noticed a ladder had run the full length of one of my stockings as I rearranged my skirt. By the time Mr Perkins made it to the front door I was upright again, smiling superciliously through frozen lips.

‘Good evening, Mr Perkins. Thanks. You’re a star.’ I leant in to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a smear of plum-coloured lipstick below his left ear as he recoiled. I started to unbutton my coat and push my way towards the warmth of the hallway, but he didn’t budge.

‘This is the last time I’m letting you in. Don’t do this ever again. Phone your boyfriend first or next time I’ll call the police.’ As he turned to go back upstairs, I tried to sound contrite.

‘I promise. Sorry, Mr Perkins.’ But he was gone.