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have been given a stitch, although it didn’t look like it from where she was standing.
    Her order arrived. She picked up her tray and made her way to the table. Vincent looked up at her. ‘I haven’t eaten all day.’
    She sat down, removed her coffee and then pushed the tray towards him. She felt light-headed.
    ‘Your hands aren’t very clean. I don’t think you should touch that cut. It might get infected.’
    He shrugged. ‘I’ve had worse. It’s given me one hell of a headache, though. I could do with a proper drink.’
    ‘Maybe you’re concussed. What did the doctor say?’
    ‘I don’t know. Some crap. I might get gangrene of the brain.’
    He was joking. Ruby gently removed the lid from her polystyrene cup. You’ve already got it, mate, she thought.
    He noticed the tattoo on her hand. ‘What’s that? A name? A bird?’
    ‘A swallow. I did it when I was seventeen.’
    He wiped some ketchup from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Let’s see.’
    She opened her palm and showed him.
    ‘You did it yourself?’
    She nodded. ‘Pen and a pin.’
    ‘Ouch.’
    She sipped her coffee. ‘What did you tell the police?’
    ‘I told them I tripped.’
    ‘Did they believe you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Was your friend all right? The epileptic.’
    ‘I only met him once before.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘He wasn’t my friend.’
    Ruby tried to understand this, but had trouble doing so.
    ‘Was he an epileptic?’
    ‘Might be. He didn’t say he wasn’t.’
    ‘He was unconscious.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    She said, ‘You’re not from London, are you?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You don’t sound like you are.’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Where are you staying?’
    He thought for a while. ‘Wembley.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘On someone’s floor. Before that I was in Amsterdam. Squatting.’
    She visualized him, squatting, in a field full of tulips. A windmill.
    He was eating his fries and his fingers were greasy. He said, ‘In case you’re wondering, I’m not naturally a violent person.’
    She smiled at this. She could see no reason to deny being violent unless you actually were violent. He noticed her smile and was indignant. ‘Give me some credit.’
    ‘Two hundred quid,’ she answered, ‘that should do you.’
    He continued to eat in silence. Eventually she said, ‘Will I get it back?’
    He thought about this for a while. ‘You shouldn’t have paid it.’
    ‘I thought I’d get it back.’
    He offered her one of his fries and she shook her head.
    ‘What were you planning to do with it?’
    She shrugged. ‘I dunno. Save it.’
    He squinted at her. ‘Well, saving it isn’t doing anything.’
    ‘I was going to do something.’
    ‘What?’
    She tried to think. ‘Something. An investment. I don’t want to discuss it.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘It’s private.’
    ‘You could give it to charity.’
    ‘Haven’t I already?’
    He gulped down his Coke and then licked his teeth. ‘It’s kind of like …’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I’m your investment.’
    He was pleased by this. He couldn’t imagine a worse investment. And I’m me, he thought. Fuck only knows how she feels about it. He chuckled to himself.
    She drank some more of her coffee. With her free hand she felt underneath the table, touched something soft, instinctively stuck her nail into it and then realized that it was chewing gum. She quickly withdrew her hand. The table was a startlingly bright yellow. All along its edge were melt marks, brown stains from cigarettes.
    ‘I was going to invest it properly,’ she said, after a pause, ‘in a small business.’
    ‘Two hundred,’ he said. ‘That’ll get you a long way.’
    ‘I was intending to.’
    ‘I bet you were.’
    She glared at him. She dealt with men like him every day atwork. One day, she knew for sure, she would do something constructive and she wouldn’t have to deal with men like him any more.
    She turned and looked out of the window, into the street. She saw pigeons,