How Not to Die Alone

by Richard Roper

“Good,” she said, kissing him on the lips with an exaggerated “mwah” and abruptly walking off to slip on some flip-flops and throw a thin sweater over her pajamas.

convert. He stood there grinning stupidly,

Andrew felt the dread seeping into him as he moved through the last line of the crowd and toward the edge of the police ring.

as if an electric current were flowing through him.

The noise of the pub flitted back in and the policeman’s hands became Peggy’s, and it was like he was coming up from underwater, breaking the surface, and Peggy was telling him it was okay, squeezing him tightly, muffling his sobs.

What a beautiful transition

He protested halfheartedly, but now that Peggy knew the truth there wasn’t much point.

which settled the matter.

and sat cross-legged on the

calming him down each time he jolted into consciousness.

There was a crick in his neck—he must have slept in a funny position—and his foot was still throbbing, but he felt more like himself.

“Well, he’s not exactly delighted.

Peggy was trying to suppress a smile.

“You sound like a Mafia boss,”

She always seemed, I don’t know, like a completely different person when she let herself go like that.” Peggy drew her knees

Andrew just hoped to god she didn’t judge him too much about the three cans of baked beans and possibly stale loaf of bread that made up the contents of the cupboard. Before he could make preemptive apologies

I’ve got no transferable skills, for one thing.”

“Can I ask you something?” she said eventually.

Andrew suddenly felt horribly self-conscious.

Part of him wanted Peggy to keep on at him like this, part of him just wanted to be alone.

You thought I was your way out of all this. But,

“Just think about what I’ve said, okay?

His words petered out as he saw the disappointment in Peggy’s eyes. She moved toward the door and he limped after her.

“I’ve said my piece, Andrew.

Andrew just about managed to stop himself from begging her to stay.

It was in the same spot where he’d stood, rigid in his own despair,

He’d expected her to run a mile. Unless

of course she was just lulling him into a false sense of security before she dashed to the nearest mental hospital to report him as a deluded, dangerous fantasist . .

He pictured Cameron’s beady eyes widening, Keith and Meredith turning from stunned to scathing in the blink of an eye.

Without music or the gentle whooshing of a train he was more aware of what he could hear. He

his thoughts percolating.

a quick glance as they waited for dinner to simmer, just

It worked in his favor that recent events

Tracker, you’ve gone a bit quiet. All good? Was just thinking that! Don’t say old T-bone’s gone cold turkey??

The fact that they were obviously concerned for his welfare made him feel a little more comfortable about asking for help like this.

so that it looked like his head was poking out through the top of a wigwam.

Andrew took a sip of lager and made a note to remind himself that his instincts—much like burgers bought from rest-stop vans and people who started sentences with “I’ll be honest with you”—were not to be trusted.

and that felt like a good omen.

Insults were leveled at the screen with furious relish.

More confusingly, a man with ginger sideburns kept clapping whenever a decision went his team’s way or there was a substitution, as if his applause could actually travel through the screen

reach the player coming on. Another man in a leather jacket worn over his team’s colors periodically threw his arms up in the air and turned to try to make conversation with a group of fans who steadfastly ignored him. A young woman was standing further up along the bar, pulling nervously at her hair, which was purple and looked like it had the consistency of cotton candy. Never had Andrew see...

eventually giving in to the urge to tear it into strips,

How was real life supposed to compete with that?

“Model Trains Are the Answer. WHO CARES WHAT THE QUESTION IS?!” Andrew half stood, half waved to the man, who—to his overwhelming relief—grinned back broadly. “Tracker?”

Somebody had come!

“But . . . but you’re a woman!” Jim said. “Well spotted,” the woman laughed. Then, when neither Andrew nor Jim could work out how to respond, she rolled her eyes and said, “The ‘Al’ part comes from Alexandra. But people call me Alex.”

Then, when neither Andrew nor Jim could work out how to respond,

“Thanks,” Alex said, smothering a smile before launching into a passionate monologue about her latest acquisition. “I honestly reckon it outclasses the Caerphilly Castle 4-6-0,” she said.

“No way!” Jim said, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

It was during a melee of celebrations as the home team pinched an equalizer that a man sauntered through the door and pulled up a chair at their table with the nonchalance of someone who was meeting people he’d seen every day for twenty years.

The four of them drank and ate from bags of potato chips that were democratically opened out on the table. As