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passions and pleasures. ‘How about the cinema?’ she suggested, remembering the South Bank show she’d seen the week before on the Hollywood film director, Cristos Bennati. She and Paula were avid followers of showbiz gossip and Corrie wouldn’t mind having a closer look at the woman Bennati was supposed to be having an affair with. ‘We can go to see that new film with Angelique Warne in,’ she said.
    ‘Just so as long as it’s not slushy.’
    ‘It’s a Bennati film,’ Corrie said tightly.
    ‘Oh, what the guy who made
Stranger
? That was a good movie. Yeah, let’s go see his new one then. I’ll pick you up around six thirty tomorrow night.’
    Corrie was momentarily impressed that Kevin had heard of Bennati, but then felt she was doing him a disservice since Bennati’s name and reputation were as well known as Scorcese’s or Coppola’s.
    The following evening, as Kevin drove them into town in his father’s Volvo, Corrie kept stealing quick glances at him from the corner of her eye. She was both surprised, and impressed, that he appeared to have made a special effort to look good for her. She hadn’t seen that leather jacket before, it padded out his meagre shoulders rather cleverly, she thought. And those baggy trousers disguised his skinny legs well. At six foot three he towered over Corrie, which was one of the things she liked best about him, since at five foot nine she was taller than most of the boys she had been to school with. Shame Kevin wasn’t better looking, though tonight his thin, normally pallid face, seemed to have a little more colour than usual and he’d obviously splashed his dimpled chin liberally with Eau Savage before leaving home. Smiling to herself Corrie wondered how long he had stood in front of the mirror combing the immaculate tawny hair he was so proud of, before pronouncing himself ‘ready for the kill.’
    For her part Corrie had made a bit of an effort too, having coiled her abundant hair, which she normally wore loose, into a French plait, and circled her eyes with a khol pencil. A few dabs of powder were concealing the freckles on her nose, but the lipstick she’d wiped off before leaving, she’d never been too fond of the stuff, perhaps she just didn’t buy the right colours. Her navy, knee-length shorts and thick tights were sensible, but quite trendy too, she thought, though she already regretted not wearing a sweater over her burgundy and navy striped shirt since it was ‘bloody freezing,’ as she remarked to Kevin when they were getting out of the car.
    ‘Yeah, real brass monkey weather,’ he said, pocketing the car keys and walking round the car to join her. She looked up at him, waited a moment or two for something a little more erudite, perhaps even a compliment, but as neither was forthcoming, she flashed him a quick smile, pulled her scarf up around her ears, and they walked off towards the cinema. Kevin was chuntering on about some hilarious occurrence down at the abattoir earlier in the week, to which Corrie faked rapt attention while allowing her mind to wander. The mislaying of a pig’s intestines didn’t do much for her sense of romance, and though she hadn’t decided exactly what was going to happen between her and Kevin once the film was over she didn’t want her hopes of something amorous being destroyed by his butcher talk. A self-generated tingle of anticipation suddenly warmed her, and she gave his arm a squeeze.
    ‘Popcorn?’ he said, after he’d paid for the tickets and hesitated over taking Corrie’s money.
    Corrie shrugged. ‘Why not?’
    He bought her a giant-sized carton, himself a choc-ice, then they settled down to watch the film.
    Almost from the start Corrie’s concentration was poor. She’d seen Angelique Warne in a couple of films before this one, and had always thought that everyone made too much of her. But seeing her tonight, up there on the screen in glorious Technicolor, all Corrie could think of was how wonderful