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As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.

He held open his arms as he sang, and warbled the grace notes with an exaggerated tremolo. It still gave her a moment of shivery pleasure.

Wow, Danny! Are
all
you Kilkennys such marvellous singers?

She could swear that he blushed. The Glasgow hard man! He bent at once to pick up more papers. Aye, tis a darlin song to be sure, to be sure. But I canny stand around here chattin all day. There's work to be done. He gave her a shy smile before stuffing more rubbish into a bag.

Right you are, sir. She saluted him and started to scrape assorted papers into a bundle. On one sheet she caught sight of Julian's small, neat handwriting, the source of endless ribbing from all his friends, such a contrast with every other aspect of him. Notes for his PhD, it must be.

She sat on the bidet soaping herself and talked to me pleasantly about this and that… As she stood up to dry herself… suddenly she dropped the towel and, advancing toward me leisurely, she commenced rubbing her pussy affectionately, stroking it with her
two hands, caressing it, patting it, patting it. There was something about her eloquence at that moment and the way she thrust that rose-bush under my nose which remains unforgettable…

Miller,
Tropic of Cancer
, pp. 49–50

Christ, Julian, she thought.

… And while it's all very nice to know that a woman has a mind, literature coming from the cold corpse of a whore is the last thing to be served in bed. Germaine had the right idea: she was ignorant and lusty, she put her heart and soul into her work. She was a whore all the way through – and that was her virtue!

T. of Canc.
p. 54

What crap! What self-serving tosh! She glanced over at Danny, but he had resumed his earlier rhythm; bending, scooping, rising, dumping. His face was closed in a frown of concentration.

… And it seemed she was like the sea, nothing but dark waves rising and heaving, heaving with a great swell, so that slowly her whole darkness was in motion, and she was ocean rolling its dark, dumb mass. Oh, and far down inside her the deeps parted and rolled asunder, in long, fartravelling billows, and ever, at the quick of her, the depths parted and rolled asunder, from the centre of soft plunging, as the plunger went deeper and deeper, touching lower…

She felt the spasm of a giggle, took a sideways peek at Danny, bent in rapt attention over his task, and gulped back the bubble of mirth.

… till suddenly, in a soft shuddering convulsion, the quick of all her plasm was touched, she knew herself touched, the consummation
was upon her, and she was gone. She was gone, she was not, and she was born: a woman.

Lawrence,
Lady Chatterley's Lover
, p. 181

Plasm! She must remember that. There was one last quote.

‘…She sort of kept her will ready against me, always, always: her ghastly female will: her freedom! A woman's ghastly freedom that ends in the most beastly bullying! Oh, she always kept her freedom against me, like vitriol in my face.'

L.C.L.
p. 292

Vitriol! Wait till he got hers. She cast about the room for somewhere to lay the sheet, begin a pile of items to be kept. There was nowhere except in the window, where Danny had cleared a space. To one side she spotted a high-backed kitchen chair, picked her way over to it, swept the clothes and papers off and set Julian's notes on the seat. When she looked up, she realized Danny was watching this operation with undisguised amusement. His dark eyebrows were raised and his green eyes seemed like the one true colour in the room.

Well, Ms Laetitia, I reckon that puts you in charge of the Search and Rescue Department. I hope you won't mind if us cruder souls in Bundle and Crush just stick to our remit.

Hah! You know what, Danny, you're right. A quick heat flushed up her neck. She picked up the page of notes, crushed it into a tight ball and threw it into one of the open bags.

That's the stuff. Otherwise we'll be here tay the Christmas efter next.

Once she got into a rhythm, she quite enjoyed working alongside him. They hardly spoke. Outside, the sky was grey, though it had stopped raining; and the big bay window, uncurtained, let in a watery light through its grimy panes. She
could see that it was a room of elegant proportions, the ceiling higher than those in her mother's house, the decorative plasterwork more ornate. In one corner a watermark reached halfway down the wall. Above it, the frieze of fruit bowls and looping garlands of flowers was missing and had been crudely replastered flat. It must have been done some time ago, though, because this new plaster was almost as grey with dirt as the original cornice.

Danny had started whistling again. Softly this time, to himself almost, like whispering. It was hard to make out the tune above the noises of the rubbish being gathered and dumped. She bent again to concentrate on her own patch. It worked best when she shut her mind off from the specific nature of the objects to be disposed of. The takeaway cartons were the worst by far, with congealed curry from an unimaginable number of days or weeks ago. Perhaps even months. Yuck! A mug with a bloom of green penicillin on the scummy coffee to join the pile of crockery. Bottles and bottles. Newspapers, heaps of leaflets for an anti-war vigil from a few weeks back, paper, paper, paper.

All five bags were filled pretty quickly and Danny tied them up, carted them into the hall, peeled another batch off the fat black roll, and propped them open with carefully placed heavier items: bottles, a chipped mug, a smashed alarm clock. It was good to watch him; he was so organized, precise, efficient, his movements graceful. Yes, she thought, he is graceful.

Through the window she could see the buildings opposite: dull, miserable tenements, not improved by the weather. There was more traffic now, a constant roar, punctuated regularly by the frenetic peeping of a pedestrian crossing she hadn't noticed before. Though the rain had stopped, she could hear the sizzling noise car tyres made in surface water on the road below.

What would you say to a tea-break, comrade? Danny was tying up another bag.

Huh? It took her a moment to come back to herself, to register his words. When she looked up at him, she was struck again by how long and dark his lashes were. How green his eyes. Conjured up a forest pool; reeds and bulrushes, the reflections of trees. Oh, yes, a cup of tea would be lovely. She peered over one of the bags at the now impressive pile of plates and cups. Shall we be required to render the Dish Washing Unit operational first?

Danny grinned and cast a glance over his shoulder as if talking to someone behind him. Hey, she catches on fast, this yin. You'll rise through the ranks in jig time, so you will. Assistant manageress before you know it.

Only Assistant?

Hey, any complaints, comrade, approach your shop steward.

Right, I shall. She wasn't entirely sure she knew what a shop steward was, but she wasn't going to let on to Danny. It sounded like some suitably workerist term. She picked up a last bundle of papers, straightened quickly to throw them in the bag and stumbled forward.

Oh! A wave of nausea came over her and her vision blurred. She reached out for something – anything – solid to steady her.

Hey, you alright? Danny said.

Yes, I'm fine… But she felt herself topple sideways and she grabbed his outstretched arm.

Woah, there, Laetitia! I wouldny take a dive onto that floor the now. No yet. His voice was coming from a distance. She felt his arm go round her waist, as he helped her over to the chair by the window.

There. That better?

The seat was solid beneath her. She watched a flock of pigeons land blurred on the roof of the building across. When
she narrowed her eyes, they came clear. One alighted on a chimney pot and stood as if addressing the other birds assembled on the tiles below. She turned her head to Danny. His face was close to hers, regarding her with a mixture of concern and amusement, his eyebrows shooting up and down between a frown and a question.

You have beetling brows, she said. Yeah, I'm fine now. Thanks.

What was that all about?

Don't know. Probably lack of food. Haven't eaten anything since…

That cheapskate bastard no take you out for a slap-up meal last night? A nice big biryani?

I think a sandwich on the train was the last thing I ate. No, we came straight here from the station. She laid her head down on her knees. I'll be fine. Just give me a minute. Her words came out constrained and lost themselves at her feet among the remaining bits of detritus.

Well, we'll need to see if the management will consider givin you a position in the office, comrade. His hand felt heavy on her shoulder. Your constitution's obviously a wee bit delicate for the mair physical aspects of the job.

Ho, ho, she said. Piss off ! She raised her head to find him smiling down at her. Sometimes I simply forget to eat.

Forget? You
simply forget
?

She slapped his thigh. Danny could make her words sound so prissy and silly.

Well, nay wonder the country's going to rack and ruin, if you ask me.

Nobody asked you, sir, she said. She quoted the nursery song as she stood up. And if I don't get that cup of tea pretty damn quick, I'll be looking for this steward chap.

Danny laughed; his face lit up with delight. Right you are,
pal. Up the workers! This way, comrade, follow me. And he punched the air as he made his way to the door.

Somebody had obviously been busy in the kitchen too. The surfaces were cleared and the rank stench of rubbish was gone.

Did you do all this as well?

I certainly did. Up at Krakatoa, while the rest of yous were still in your scratchers, givin it a row a zeds. Look at this, by the way. He picked up a big frying pan and stuck it under her nose.

Yuck, suet, she said, and recoiled.

Aye, look at it but.

She brought her head closer again. There were two neat rows of tiny claw prints scratched into the surface of the congealed fat.

Oh my God, mice!

You're damn tootin, he said. Our rodent brothers have been havin a rare tear in here, I'm tellin you. I kept this to shame they two clatty bastards.

She felt the nausea surge in her throat again and swallowed it down.

Right, he said, set the pan decisively aside and flicked on the switch of a pristine-looking kettle. Unaware as I was that the entire stock of a china shop was buried under the rubble through there, I took the precaution of pur-
chasing
some new crockery. He picked out two fresh mugs from a group of six. One had strawberries printed on it, the other cherries.

They're pretty, she said.

And a kettle. There was nay kettle.

You think of everything, Danny. I'm so glad you're here.

He turned away and busied himself with taking a packet out of the cupboard, opening it and putting a teabag in each mug, before looking at her again.

Nearly there, he said. I'm ready for this, you no?

Sure am, she said.

And here, look, somebody's supplied the croissants. He held a paper bag out to her. I'll warm them up under the grill.

Actually, can I have one as it is? Keep the hounds of hunger at bay. She pulled out one of the greasy pastries and felt a rush of saliva as she raised it to her mouth. It would be alright. It was going to be alright.

Aargh!

Danny looked at her.

Julian, she said. Simultaneously they made for the hall.

Oh my God! Julian said. It's the Invasion of the Mrs Mops. He was standing at the door of the sitting room, his two forefingers held in a cross in front of him. Lord have mercy on our souls.

Aye, very funny, Danny said.

Trust Julian, she thought. She put her hands on her hips and tried for a scolding tone. And just
who
was going to clear this heap of junk if we hadn't?

No one, darling, no one, of course. But I don't care. All young women should be locked in a tower and never allowed to set eyes on a mop or a duster. In case they are overcome by the urge to clean. Lest they turn into – oh, the horror! –
housewives
, charladies, cleaners. One never wants to shag a cleaner. Nurses, certainly. Maids, as long as they're wearing short black skirts with little white frilly aprons and brandishing a stick with feathers on the end. But cleaners! Come awn! Gimme a break! He opened his arms and rolled his eyes. And when
men
are lured by the temptations of housewifery's black arts, well… He looked at Danny, held his hand out and dropped his wrist.

She could see Danny's hands tense at his sides and she shut her eyes. No.

When she opened them, Danny was looking at her. He was
white round the mouth and his jaw was working. But he flexed his fingers.

Know what, Julian? You're a fuckin wanker. But I'm no gonny let you annoy me. No the day. No
any
day. But especially no the day. See, it's my birthday. Twenty-five. The quarter- century. And nay cunt's gonny rain on my parade.

He stepped away from them and moved through the hall.

She looked at Julian.

What? He made his eyes wide and pulled his shoulders up to his ears. It was only a joke. Some people have no sense of humour.

Cut it out, Julian. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. You know damn well what you're doing.

She turned and left him; followed Danny into the kitchen.

Happy birthday, Danny. He was leaning against the sink with his arms crossed and the cherry cup in his hand, propped on the crook of his elbow. You should have said. She stepped up to him and put her arms round his shoulders in an awkward hug. Happy birthday. The heat of his body radiated out through his damp T-shirt, along with the smell of his sweat and something more acrid, a whiff of anger.

Aye, thanks, he said. He stayed where he was, arms still crossed, and gave her a close-lipped smile.

Sorry, mate. Julian was behind her. He put his hands on her hips, rested his chin on her head, pressed each finger in turn into the flesh beneath her jeans. I'm sorry. Happy birthday. You know me, I'm such a prick.