Thursday May 31, 2012 § Leave a comment
The metal of the car door is hot to the touch. Behind them, across the car park, the windows of her office building sparkle in the sun like a shattered mirror and he feels himself perspire in the silver, leonine heat. She stays resolutely in the car. Window down, feet on the dashboard, she takes a long slug of her energy drink, feeling in her trouser pocket for something.
– Jesus, she says.
– What now?
– Nothing. I thought I’d forgotten it. But I haven’t.
– Forgotten what?
– I said I got it.
He wants to lean with his arms across the roof of the car, tired even of holding his own body straight, but doesn’t. The metal would scald. He can see her in the wing-mirror. She is wearing thin black pumps, and he’d forgotten she has a tattoo above the bone in her right ankle, all wrinkled and bunched up now where she pivots on her heel shifting her weight in the passenger seat.
Somewhere above in the milky heat haze a helicopter traverses, soundlessly pirouetting on an unseen thermal.
Later, at the vacant crossroad, the lights blink red, illegible against the dust, and the lattice of shadows cast by the high overhead cables are feint on the tarmac. The engine labours in the heat. The radio plays pop songs, volume turned right down.
That night, they meet for drinks with friends just as the evening is on the turn, and the heat wanes, and that night it is cold outside of the blankets, and the sky is still light even until very late.