The first time she’d seen him was at the art school. Central St Martin’s. CSM. She’d been waiting for Chrissy, sitting under the glass-and-metal canopy by the entrance from Granary Square, flicking through the pages of a magazine.
‘Come and meet me,’ Chrissy had said. ‘I’ll be finished by four. Just after. We can get coffee or something. Maybe a drink later.’
Why not? Katherine had thought. It wasn’t as if she had anything much else to do. Not then.
A little way down from where she was sitting, a small crowd had gathered around one of the table-tennis tables; two blokes having a right go at it, smashing the ball and shouting. People egging them on.
Years ago, the last time she’d played. On holiday. Italy somewhere. The Garfagnana? A villa, so-called. Nothing special, no pool or anything, but there had been a table-tennis table. Full-size. Hidden away in the barn, as if the owners, for whatever reason, hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. Use it. Once they’d realised it was there, they’d played all the time. Her and her dad especially. Her mum getting more and more worked up and angry. ‘Is that what we paid all that money for? To come all this way just to play ping-pong?’
It had given them something to argue about, Katherine thought, her mum and dad, that’s what it had done. Ping-pong! They didn’t give a shit about ping-pong, who played and how often. Neither of them. That hadn’t been it at all.
A cheer went up as one of the players smashed home the final point and someone else stepped forward to take him on. She wondered if Chrissy might fancy a game later, after they’d finished? But then, Katherine thought, knowing Chrissy she was almost certain to say no. Me? You kidding, right? All those people watching? Chrissy, who took off her clothes regular as clockwork in front of a bunch of students with never, as far as she knew, a second thought about it.
She checked her phone: no new messages, no texts. There were plenty of art students coming out now, arty bags on their shoulders, pausing to fiddle with their phones, texting, lighting roll-ups, but still no sign of Chrissy. Katherine shoved her magazine back down into her bag and wandered over towards the doors. Which was when she bumped into him. Walking with his head turned, calling out to someone behind him, laughing.
‘Watch it!’ Katherine shouted, but by then he’d gone clattering into her, knocking the bag from her shoulder and spinning her round.
‘Oh, God!’ he said in that voice of his. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You should look where you’re going!’
‘I know, I know. Here, let me …’
‘No, it’s okay.’
He started to bend down towards the bag and the magazine that had gone shooting out across the floor, but Katherine scrambled after them and retrieved them both.
When she’d set them to rights he was still standing there and she got a proper look at him for the first time. Not tall, but not short either. Late forties, maybe? She’d never been very good with ages. Men’s ages. Bald. Completely. Not that that was any kind of sign nowadays. Wearing what looked like an expensive overcoat, cashmere; flecks of paint on his shoes.
‘You’ll accept my apologies?’
She nodded, mumbled something, and he turned swiftly away, striding off towards Granary Square. Then there was Chrissy, coming through the crowd.
‘What were you doing, talking to Anthony Winter?’
‘Who?’
‘Anthony Winter.’
‘Who’s he?’