been gentle about it, and she felt sad, remembering how it felt to speak to him: he’d been interested and she’d wanted him to know.
She didn’t have a lot to base that trust on, Alice was aware of that. Never met his family, and it had been weeks before she’d even stayed at his flat. He’d somehow never invited her back, and she’d thought he had some dodgy flatmates, perhaps, even started wondering if he lived at home with his parents. Alice had been absurdly nervous the first time she went round there, but it turned out to be fine. He lived on his own, in an ex-council place in Streatham. It was a small estate, three blocks, and he told her most of the flats were owner-occupied now. Alice thought it was a bit grim at first: the stairwells and walkways seemed unfriendly after dark. But in the morning she saw the window boxes and net curtains and changed her mind. The three blocks faced inward, and every front door was a different colour. Joseph’s neighbours nodded hello to him across the courtyard and she felt stupid and prissy for having been worried the night before.
– It was a state when I bought it. Pulled everything out.
Joseph told her about doing it up, with his brother-in-law, how they’d thrown the old carpets and cabinets overthe side of the walkway, had two skip-loads of junk piled up in the courtyard. It was very plain inside now, new floorboards and plaster walls, and Joseph said it wasn’t finished, but Alice thought they’d done a nice job. She liked the sun in the bathroom in the mornings, the big kitchen table his dad had made for him, and the view from the bedroom too, over the allotments. The flat was on the fourth floor and the whole place was on a hill: from the living room window, Alice could see trains, gas towers, the trees on the common.
But that was his flat, not Joseph. What did she know about him? He drank Guinness, mostly. He grew up in London, like her, but a bit further south. His music collection was eclectic: Marvin Gaye, The Jam and Johnny Cash were the tapes he kept in the van. He had no vanity about him, which Alice found appealing. When he cut his hair it was short, a number three all over, and he did it himself, but not that often, and he didn’t shave every day, either. Only when his beard got long enough to be uncomfortable, and then only in the evenings, because he didn’t like getting up any earlier than he had to. He voted Labour but said his family had done well out of the Tories: he wasn’t mad about council sell-offs, but he knew how proud his dad was that they all owned their own houses. Socialism was one thing, security another. Joseph played snooker, wasn’t really interested in football. He’d been in the army for a while, after he left school. Spent a year or two in Spain and Portugal after that, plastering retirement villas for expats, and it was someone he’d worked for out there who introduced him to Stan after he came back.
It didn’t add up to much, but then she really hadn’t known him that long. Alice still felt surprised by Joseph,and how much she liked him. When she’d told him about the old farm and suggested going up there sometime, it hadn’t been the wildlife and ancient plumbing he’d picked up on, she didn’t think they’d bother him. He said he liked the sound of the house and the hills around it, but he’d never tried going to the same place over and again: I’ve never wanted to do that before. Familiar routes and views, knowing which tracks were best at what times of year: that was all part of being at the farm for Alice, but she hadn’t been disappointed by Joseph’s comments. He hadn’t been turning her down, and there was no criticism in them. He was his own person, that’s what Clare said, and Alice agreed. Self-contained, but not unfriendly with it, not until now at least. She liked that about him: self-possessed, something she’d always wanted to be herself.
Joseph rang early on Saturday morning and said he was
She didn’t have a lot to base that trust on, Alice was aware of that. Never met his family, and it had been weeks before she’d even stayed at his flat. He’d somehow never invited her back, and she’d thought he had some dodgy flatmates, perhaps, even started wondering if he lived at home with his parents. Alice had been absurdly nervous the first time she went round there, but it turned out to be fine. He lived on his own, in an ex-council place in Streatham. It was a small estate, three blocks, and he told her most of the flats were owner-occupied now. Alice thought it was a bit grim at first: the stairwells and walkways seemed unfriendly after dark. But in the morning she saw the window boxes and net curtains and changed her mind. The three blocks faced inward, and every front door was a different colour. Joseph’s neighbours nodded hello to him across the courtyard and she felt stupid and prissy for having been worried the night before.
– It was a state when I bought it. Pulled everything out.
Joseph told her about doing it up, with his brother-in-law, how they’d thrown the old carpets and cabinets overthe side of the walkway, had two skip-loads of junk piled up in the courtyard. It was very plain inside now, new floorboards and plaster walls, and Joseph said it wasn’t finished, but Alice thought they’d done a nice job. She liked the sun in the bathroom in the mornings, the big kitchen table his dad had made for him, and the view from the bedroom too, over the allotments. The flat was on the fourth floor and the whole place was on a hill: from the living room window, Alice could see trains, gas towers, the trees on the common.
But that was his flat, not Joseph. What did she know about him? He drank Guinness, mostly. He grew up in London, like her, but a bit further south. His music collection was eclectic: Marvin Gaye, The Jam and Johnny Cash were the tapes he kept in the van. He had no vanity about him, which Alice found appealing. When he cut his hair it was short, a number three all over, and he did it himself, but not that often, and he didn’t shave every day, either. Only when his beard got long enough to be uncomfortable, and then only in the evenings, because he didn’t like getting up any earlier than he had to. He voted Labour but said his family had done well out of the Tories: he wasn’t mad about council sell-offs, but he knew how proud his dad was that they all owned their own houses. Socialism was one thing, security another. Joseph played snooker, wasn’t really interested in football. He’d been in the army for a while, after he left school. Spent a year or two in Spain and Portugal after that, plastering retirement villas for expats, and it was someone he’d worked for out there who introduced him to Stan after he came back.
It didn’t add up to much, but then she really hadn’t known him that long. Alice still felt surprised by Joseph,and how much she liked him. When she’d told him about the old farm and suggested going up there sometime, it hadn’t been the wildlife and ancient plumbing he’d picked up on, she didn’t think they’d bother him. He said he liked the sound of the house and the hills around it, but he’d never tried going to the same place over and again: I’ve never wanted to do that before. Familiar routes and views, knowing which tracks were best at what times of year: that was all part of being at the farm for Alice, but she hadn’t been disappointed by Joseph’s comments. He hadn’t been turning her down, and there was no criticism in them. He was his own person, that’s what Clare said, and Alice agreed. Self-contained, but not unfriendly with it, not until now at least. She liked that about him: self-possessed, something she’d always wanted to be herself.
Joseph rang early on Saturday morning and said he was
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