escape from it lies beyond grief itself, on the other side, only attainable by passing through.
There was comfort in such words, but no solutions. Like so many others in the town, Amy and Nick were still passing through, with the other side nowhere in sight.
Sitting on a high stool behind the bar, staring vacantly across at the table where Nick and his pals were playing brag on a table lightly puddled with beer and under a paleblue cloud of tobacco smoke, Amy heard a car.
lt came to a halt in the street outside. Amy did not move her face or her eyes, but all her senses stretched out towards the sound of the idling engine. No car doors opened, and the engine continued to run. lt was a sort of silence.
There was a metallic grinding of gears being engaged lazily, incompetently, or tiredly? and the car moved away again. Through the frosted lower panes of the bar windows Amy saw its rear brake lights bdightening as the driver slowed at the archway entrance, then swung the car into the car park behind. Amy's heightened senses followed it like a radar tracker. She heard the engine cut out at last.
She left the stool, raised the serving flap in the counter, and walked across the room to peer through the window at the street outside. If Nick noticed her movement he showed no sign that he had. The card game continued, and one of Nick's friends lit another cigarette.
Amy pressed her forehead to the cool, condensationlined window, rubbed a wet aperture with her fingers, and looked across Eastbourne Road in the direction of the unseen sea. The main road outside was tracked with the shine of old rain and the drier strips where vehicle tyres had worn their paths. The orange light from the streetlamps reflected in distorted patches from the uneven road surface and from the windows of the shops and flats on the other side.
Some of the shop windows were lit, but most of them were either covered by security panels or simply vacant.
Amy watched the passing traffic for a moment, wondering how it was possible that the sound of one car coming to a halt had stood out so noticeably against the continuous noise of all the others. lt must mean that she had never relaxed, that the arrival of the American woman had assumed a personal significance of some kind.
She walked back to the area behind the bar, closed the hatch, then went into the corridor that ran behind the barroom. At the other end of this was the part of the building in which she and Nick lived and slept. Immediately beyond the bar door was the small kitchen where they cooked and ate their own meals. She did not turn this way, though, but walked along to the fire exit. She pushed her way through the double doors. They opened into the hotel's car park at the rear of the building.
Amy switched on the main security light, drenching the area in light that seemed, suddenly, too white and intrusive. A rainspotted car had been parked at an angle across two of the whitelined bays, and a woman was leaning through the
open rear passenger door to reach something. Presently she moved backwards and straightened, and placed two small valises on the ground.
Amy went across to her as the woman opened the tailgate. Inside the car were several more cases, and large bags stuffed with belongings.
'Mrs Simons?' Amy said.
'I'll show you to your room,' Amy said, and started up the stairs. Mrs Simons had gone ahead, so Amy overtook her on the first half-landing. As she passed, she saw the woman flash her a grateful simile.
She looked younger than Amy had expected, but her expectation had been based on hardly any information at all: an American address, handwriting in blue ballpoint on a kind of notepaper Amy had never seen before, something about the phrasing she used. The careful formality of the letter had summoned a vague but now clearly baseless impression of a matronly woman, at or close to the age of retirement. This was not the case. Mrs Simons had that preserved attractiveness, apparently ageless, of some TV actresses. Amy felt as if she knew her already, and for a moment even wondered if she might have seen her on TV.
Behind the well-made surface she looked and sounded tired, as you would expect from someone who had come in on a plane from the US, but even so she had a relaxed manner that made Amy feel at ease with her. She looked as if she would be different, a more interesting kind of guest than the weekending retired couples and the overnight business visitors they normally had in their rooms.
Amy took her to room 12 on the first floor, which she had prepared earlier by checking that the bed linen was fresh and that the heating was on. She went inside in front of Mrs Simons, switching on the central light, then opening the
connecting door to the bathroom for inspection. Americans were supposed to be fastidious about hotel bathrooms.
' I'll go and see about the rest of your luggage,' she said, but there was no response. Mrs Simons had already passed through into the bathroom. Amy left, and closed the door.
Downstairs in the bar Amy informed Nick of Mrs Simons' arrival straight away, but by this time he had drunk more than he should which was the same thing as his usual amount, which was always more than enough and he simply shrugged.
' Would you help her bring her luggage in from the car?' Amy said.
'Yeah, in a minute,' Nick said, indicating his hand of cards. 'Who is this, anyway? 1 don't remember you saying anything about someone arriving tonight.'
'I thought it'd be a surprise.'
Nick played a card.
Suppressing her irritation with him, Amy went out to the car and picked up the remaining pieces of luggage herself She struggled up to room 12 with them.
'You can leave them there,' Teresa Simons said, indicating the corner of the floor. 'Did you carry them up on your own?'
'It's no problem,' Amy said. 'I was coming to see you anyway. Would you like something to eat, a supper? We don't really keep hotel hours for meals so it wouldn't be any trouble to me.'
'I guess not, but, thanks. I stopped somewhere along the way. One of those roadside restaurants back there. You have a bar here?'
