You Are Here

by David Nicholls

swimming slow, easy lengths.

skimming

Don’t split on me,

forearms resting along the edge of the pool.

The awkwardness of open conversation with adults was something she took for granted, but it should be easier with children.

She’d loved him without coveting him and had hoped that this would last, but soon he’d be deep into his teens and she’d be just another grown-up, ridiculous and embarrassing, someone to avoid at social events.

‘I think I got out of the habit of seeing people, your mum and dad and friends, and then it was hard to go back in, like starting a new school or something. Which is crazy, when you’re thirty-eight.’

‘Yeah. Okay, I’d like that,’ he said. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes. I used to love it there, your flat.’ ‘Oh. Well, great. Let’s do it! We can go to Forbidden Planet, go to the movies.’ ‘Cool.’

vulcanology.

lint

For now, the anonymity of this three-star hotel room was almost a relief.

still standing in his sopping clothes,

Dales.

His eye snagged on an earlier exchange.

a flurry of dialogue,

Frank.

Wilfred Owen,

he’d been snappy and graceless, asking banal questions about the new job, the village, her parents’ health, straining for politeness.

a visual representation of his petulant withdrawal.

transcribed

The message was meagre but also impossible to ignore, like catching the eye of someone you used to know on the street. Respond or keep walking?

growled,

set about untangling the sopping mas...

test a car’s brakes before a steep descent.

prowl

pie night.

Ordnance Survey maps.

Conceptually, the room was an incoherent mix of old English button-down chairs and modular airport furniture

elaborate foreplay,

the house ales were Shepherd’s Finger and Peaty Glen.

a bag of chardonnay vinegar crisps, crinkle cut,

Wuthering Heights

Heathcliff

I’m done with walking.

‘That’s a shame. I don’t think it’s going to rain.

Patterdale’s two...

She was puckering her lips.

Grisedale Tarn

She could feel her interest leaching away.

She knew perfectly well how to read a map but it was fun to see his enthusiasm, and she found herself stealing little glances

bridleway,

She liked his voice, reassuring, the kind of voice used to sell funeral plans on afternoon TV (‘savoury pies and puddings’). She liked his profile too, handsome in an old-fashioned way, someone from a sepia photograph whose only mistress is the sea, and it was pleasant to sit and sip her gin, their hips and elbows touching, distracted only by the ulcers on her tongue.

She scraped her chair away.

Marnie had resolved not to sulk about the early departures,

braininess.

Cleo ruffled his hair,

flip the table over.

Being with other families sometimes felt like indoctrination, as if she were attending a symposium on what family life could be. Here’s what you might have had if you’d made better choices, here’s where you might have poured your love. Again, the presumption of envy galled her more than envy itself.

prerogative

made some improbable shot