You Are Here

by David Nicholls

Time is a sensation that alters depending on where you are, and the cursed hours between three and five on a February afternoon lasted forever, as did the same hours in the morning, times when she had nothing to contemplate but the same circling anxieties and regrets, times when she was forced to acknowledge the truth.

but she was kind too, thoughtful, always generous within her means. She wasn’t shy. If anything she tried too hard, a people-pleaser, though no one ever seemed that pleased.

Sometimes, she thought, it’s easier to remain lonely than present the lonely person to the world, but she knew that this, too, was a trap, that unless she did something, the state might become permanent, like a stain soaking into wood. It was no good. She would have to go outside.

She had become addicted to the buzz of the cancelled plan. It was a small and fleeting high and no one would ever look back fondly at all the times they’d managed to get out of something, but for the moment no words were sweeter to Marnie than ‘I’m sorry, I can’t make it.’ It was like being let off an exam that she expected to fail.

She saw closed shutters and grimy curtains, imagined new lovers slumbering in rented rooms. Then, above the terraces, came a knife of brilliant blue and she felt sorry for anyone who was still in bed.

She felt a shudder of anticipation then corrected herself. Pack it in, Frodo.

And I think that’s the sublime. A heart filled with pleasure.’

he remembered Marnie’s description of looking at the world atlas as a child, that fluttering fear of great distance and empty space.