Kieran.Stories

Sam unlaces her boots. 

‘There is a girl in the shop now who looks exactly like Lauren Bacall.’ 

Sam kicks her shoes into a corner near the door. Her socks are odd. They’re soaked. 

‘You’re not interested?’ 

‘I don’t know who that is.’ 

‘Clarion’s in the shower. Are you staying?’ 

On FaceTime, weeks ago, Caroline had mentioned her new lodger. They come and go. They’re usually students.

There’s the sound of water dripping from Sam onto the tiled floor. She has already been told off for not properly forewarning Caroline vis-à-vis her arrival.   

‘He’s mostly in your room.’ Caroline starts to smoke. ‘No, not meaning the rest of the time he’s with me. He likes to wander. You’re fine in the living room?’ 

‘Sure.’ 

‘You’re very quiet.’ 

‘Did you see the news?’ 

‘No.’

‘David’s been – he’s in hospital, intensive care. He was attacked by one of his constituents.’ 

Caroline holds the cigarette up to her mess of orange hair. 

‘Obviously, you’re not doing your job, dear. And don’t say intensive care.’ 

Clarion makes his first appearance as Sam is bedding in for the night.

She has drawn the curtains, arranged the cushions so she has somewhere to rest her head. She has removed her bra. She has thrown on the white Nirvana t-shirt with the Sriracha stain.

‘Caroline told me what you do. Today must have been difficult.’ 

‘Yes. Clarion, like the bird?’

She shared a bottle of red with Caroline earlier. 

‘I’m writing my thesis in this house. It’s perfect. Surrounded by fields. You know, Caroline doesn’t bother locking the doors.’ 

‘Yes. Thesis?’ 

‘Current chapter is the pros and cons of exlingulation.’  

He is leaning against the door jamb like a child. 

‘Removing the tongue,’ he says. ‘Might have been useful for your boss. Breaking news. He’s not made it.’

Sam drops onto the sofa.  

‘There’s the TV in my room,’ Clarion says. Sam knows the TV. It’s hers. It’s Hello Kitty. ‘Your lot are going mad on the old tinternet. They haven’t gone as far as singing “The Internationale”. I’m sure lots of them wouldn’t even know it.’   

In town the next morning, Sam gets her mobile data back. She hadn’t connected to her mother’s wi-fi yesterday.

There are a slew of texts from people she actually knows, some she would call friends, but they represent such a small percentage of her notifications.

Sam logs into David’s socials. She has a coffee. She sits herself next to a window and every now and then looks out at the church. Slowly, she reads through what everyone is saying. She very much doubts she can bill David for this hour’s work. Now, instead of death threats, Sam is sent party popper emojis.

Later, on the way to the train station, she stops at Co-op. There’s the girl at the till. She’s young. She would have voted for David, if properly persuaded.

‘You have a look of Lauren Bacall.’ 

The girl – the name badge says Riley – stares at Sam. She doesn’t know how to respond.

‘Just this, please.’ She puts the bottle of water and Twix down on the counter. ‘Thanks.’