The Fabulists | Page 2

fell quickly as they marched on. At the Central Bank Plaza,
the parade mustered under the moon in a clear sky, and the crowd
spilled over onto Dame Street. Tess shivered. She had been fine while
she was walking, but now she was glad of her long coat and boots, and
her woollen cap. By the time the last of the marchers had arrived, the
speeches were coming to a close. Christy Moore had sung, and there
was one last chorus from the red and orange choir as a sculpture of a
victory fist was set alight. Tess had got herself close enough to feel its
heat dancing on her face.
She turned to leave, and saw that man glance at her again. She walked
quickly behind the Bank and through Merchants' Arch to the Ha'penny
Bridge. As she waited for the trafficlights to change, he arrived beside
her. In the steady flow of traffic, a bus and then a lorry passed, leaving
clouds of diesel fumes in their wake. By now he was one of many who
had come from the Plaza. The lights changed as they streamed across.
The yellow bulbs of the bridge lamps were flickering in their black
casings. She could taste the sulphur in the air as coal fires burned
across the city.
Perhaps it meant nothing, but he was still walking beside her and she
was uneasy. On the other side they had to wait for the lights to change
once more. When they did, she hurried across and, pretending to look
through the security gates of The Winding Stair Cafe & Bookshop, she
could see that along with two others he was following her. This was
ridiculous. Her heart was pounding, and she broke into a run until she
reached her door. There was no sign of him, but her hand shook as she

unlocked it. She ran up the stairs, out of breath, and slammed the door
of her flat. Not daring to turn on the light, she went to the side of the
window. It took a few moments, but then he came into view. He was
separated from the others and walking at a leisurely pace, his head
bowed. She didn't think he looked like someone following a woman
with intent, and to her relief, he didn't check her door as he passed; but
you could never tell.
She pressed her cheek against the cold pane and stared at the floodlit
bridge. 'Fuck him,' she said out loud, annoyed that she had got herself
into a panic. Now that she could think straight, he looked harmless.
Even pleasant.
Her thoughts returned to Arthur. She had recently been struck by
something he'd blurted out - something very male. It had made her
realize that she dreaded the end of his childhood.
She lit the gas fire and went to the bathroom. A fungus had formed on
the wall where a chronic leak had left its tracks. It would have to be
seen to, but right now she hadn't the energy to think of such things. In
the living-room, she drew the curtains and put on her cassette of
Schubert's 'Wanderer' Fantasy. She thought about the parade. The
Parade of Innocence. It had passed an hour very pleasantly. The city
could do with a carnival, something to lose yourself in, if only for a
while. Turning off the light, she nestled into the scruffy armchair, and
in the dull heat of the gas fire she fell asleep for a few hours.
When she woke, her neck ached and, confused, she stared at the red
light on the cassette-player. The air was dry and her mouth was parched.
She turned on the lamp. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly; it was
almost midnight. Grumbling, she looked through the curtains at the
street below, wondering if she might get a take away. The Chinese
would still be open, it wasn't too far, and her mouth watered at the
thought of a beef curry - but it was too damn late.
Her kitchen was so narrow that if she bent down her head could brush
one wall and her heels the other. In a box on the floor were carrots,
Brussels sprouts, an onion, some garlic and a few potatoes. Cut up fine,

they would boil in a few minutes.
She put on the other side of the Schubert as she ate. The meal revived
her, which she appreciated as food often made her feel bloated. Poverty
had some compensations after all. There was a screech of tyres as a car
sped against the flow of traffic outside. Later, she lay awake, listening
to the music until after four, her only light the red eye of the machine.
When she woke again, she lay still for