'Would you like a cup of coffee?' I said, but Felicity just glared at me.
She rinsed her hands under the tap and looked around for a towel. In the end she wiped her hands on her coat; I had lost my towel somewhere. Felicity and James lived in a modern detached house in what had once been a field outside Sheffield. Now it was an estate, with thirty_six identical houses placed in a neat circular avenue. I had been to the house a few times, once with Gracia, and there was a whole chapter of my manuscript describing the weekend I spent there after they had their first child. I had an impulse to show Felicity the relevant pages, but then I thought she might not appreciate them.
I held the manuscript tight against my chest.
'Peter, what's been happening to you? Your clothes are filthy, the house is a tip, you look as if you haven't eaten a proper meal in weeks. And your fingers!'
'What's wrong with them?'
'You never used to bite your nails.'
I turned away. 'Leave me alone, Felicity. I'm working hard and I want to finish what I'm doing.'
'I'm not going to leave you alone! I had to sort out all Father's business, I had to sell the house, I had to wet- nurse you all through all that legal business you wanted to know nothing about . . . and run my own home and look after my family. You did nothing! And what about Gracia?'
'What about her?'
'I've had her to worry about too.'
'Gracia? How have you seen her?'
'She got in touch with me when you left her. She wanted to know where you were.'
'But I wrote to her. She didn't answer.'
Felicity said nothing, but there was anger in her eyes.
'How is Gracia?' I said. 'Where is she living?'
'You selfish bastard! You know she nearly died!'
'No she didn't.'
'She overdosed herself. You must have known!'
'Oh yes,' I said. 'Her flatmate told me.'
I remembered then: the girl's pale lips, her shaking hands, telling me to go, not to bother Gracia.
'You know Gracia's got no family. I had to take a week in London, because of you.'
'You should have told me. I was looking for her.'
'Peter, don't lie to yourself! You know you ran away.'
I was thinking about my manuscript, and suddenly I recalled what had happened to page 72. When I was numbering the pages one evening I had made a mistake. I had been meaning to renumber the other pages ever since. I felt relieved that the page was not lost.
'Are you listening to me?'
'Yes, of course.'
Felicity pushed past me aild returned to my white room. Here she opened both windows, admitting a cold draught, then went noisily up the wooden stairs. I followed her, feeling a stir of alarm.
'I thought you were supposed to be decorating the place,' Felicity said.
'You've done nothing. Edwin will be furious. He thinks you've nearly finished.'
'I don't care,' I said. I went to the door of the room I had been sleeping in, and closed it. I did not want her to look inside because my magazines were all over the place. I leant against the door to stop her entering. 'Go away, Felicity. Go away, go away.'
'My God, what have you been doing?' She had opened the door of the lavatory, but immediately closed it again.
'It's blocked,' I said. 'I've been meaning to clear it.'
'You're living like an animal.'
'It doesn't matter. No one's here.'
'Let me see the other rooms.'
Felicity advanced on me and tried to grab my manuscript. I clutched it tighter against me, but she had been feinting. She seized the door handle and had the door open before I could stop her.
She stared past me into the room for several seconds. Then she looked at me with contempt.
'Open the window,' she said. 'It stinks in there.' She walked across the landing to inspect the other rooms.
I went into my bedroom to clear up what she had seen. I closed the magazines and shoved them guiltily beneath my sleeping-bag, and kicked my soiled clothes into a heap in one corner.
Downstairs, Felicity was in my white room, standing by my desk and looking down at it. As I walked in she glanced in a pointed way at my manuscript.
'Can I see those papers, please?'
