Stunt

She told me she worked as a nurse, I told her I worked as a Crown Agent. It was a long time ago, it was the seventies there was not much more that needed to be said. We talked about my place or her place, we decided upon her basement flat, in Clapham quite near the Junction. I parked up the street a way, even then it was an unnecessary risk to be right outside the door. Her bed was a platform, there a quilt with a ruby coloured cover untidily invitingly left where it had fell when last she rose up. The bed was in front and below the window which was set higher than the

"My boyfriend is a stunt man in the films, he does falls and car crashes, he stands me up as well"

I had seen him at the squash club, a short fellow, she was taller than him. He played squash in a dangerous way slamming the ball as hard as he could with no reckoning of the direction it would go. I had seen him with her at the bat now she mentioned it, his face looked squashed. Too many stunts had ended with him landing on his head.

February was cold that year, in London too the night air was below freezing, the snow had melted and frozen again as black ice on the streets. Sometimes it took a bit to get my Renault started a few too noisy attempts. We waited coated and embraced in the still unheated flat. There was a pay-phone in the hall way which rang, noisy bells, it could be heard by all the occupants in all the flats.

I could hear her voice, but not make out the words, I stayed still not wanting to disturb her bedroom when she was not inside. On the floor were written notes, I imagined they were reminders to herself.

Her phone call ended, she was beside me again.

"You have not moved" she said

"That was the stunt man. He says he is coming round here and if I do not open the door he is coming straight through the window."

I asked her if she thought he would do that, land on the head of who ever was in the bed below.

"I do not think so....But he could.....he might. It might be better to go to your place."

We went up the stairs her breath steaming in the night air. We walked quietly quickly to the Renault, I unlocked the passenger door, holding open whilst she swung her legs through. The Renault started first time, the engine turning quietly. With the lights of I looked in the rear view. The stunt man's MG sports car drew up parking beside her house lights full on. The stunt man leaving the car door gaping went to the door,rang her bell. He pounded the door, the thump coming deadened through the cold air, he did not shout. Stopping his pounding our man went back to the MG, got in, turned the lights off, quietly clunked the door shut. In the street light glow I watched his heels rise,legs tense and with practicised grace he drop kicked himself through the basement window. There was shattering glass noise. I eased the Renault away in first, very slowly, tyres slithering and slipping, fish tailing on the black ice. Down by the Junction I turned the lights on heading towards Wandsworth.

In the morning I left her sleeping when I went to the office of the Crown Agents. Mrs Kenton, who was my flat mate, helped her find a mini cab when she woke.

We did not meet for eight years, I had been to live in the PDRY, then in Guinea Conarkry. When I returned I went again to the sports club where we had met and one day saw her at the bar the same stool where we first had met.

"I was shocked to see that woman in your flat. I thought at first it was your wife. But she was very nice. "

She had stayed with the Stunt Man, he had fixed the windows, then had moved on, got married, had tow kids, got divorced, come back to the club where we had met.