Never Let Me Go, Chapters 14-17

That was probably why we went on shuffling around that gallery for so long; we were delaying the moment when we’d have to confer.

People were moving about between desks, or leaning on a partition, chatting and sharing jokes, while others had pulled their swivel chairs close to each other and were enjoying a coffee and sandwich.

But Rodney said quietly, with a tremor of excitement:

It was hard to read her face at that moment: she certainly wasn’t disappointed, but then she wasn’t elated either.

Regardless of what had been going on between us that day, deep down, none of us wanted Ruth to return home despondent, and at that moment we thought we were safe.

There’s a breeze messing up her hair, and the bright winter sun’s making her crinkle up her eyes, so you’re not sure if she’s smiling at our antics, or just grimacing in the light.

The walls and ceilings were peppermint, and here and there, you’d see a bit of fishing net, or a rotted piece from a boat stuck up high near the cornicing.

And like before, if you peered over the rail, you could see the paths zigzagging down to the seafront, except this time you could see the promenade at the bottom with rows of boarded-up stalls.

“A bit of fun for you maybe, Tommy,” Ruth said coldly, still gazing straight ahead of her.

“Thank you for your profound contribution, Tommy,” said Ruth.

“Come on, Kathy, don’t get in a sulk.

Tommy shook his head solemnly.

There were piles of creased paperbacks, dusty boxes full of postcards or trinkets.

We were right at the back of the shop, on a raised platform where it was darker and more secluded, like the old guy didn’t want to think about the stuff in our area and had mentally curtained it off.

I was still feeling a pang of regret that we’d found it so quickly, and it was only later, when we were back at the Cottages and I was alone in my room, that I really appreciated having the tape—and that song—back again.

Now, despite the chilly wind, we found ourselves walking up towards it, but when there was still some way left to go, Tommy slowed to a dawdle and said to me:

I looked at him carefully, but it was hard to tell if he’d just spoken with mischievous affection or else a kind of disgust.

It wasn’t until we were back down in the narrow side-streets that he spoke again, and then his voice was suddenly sheepish.

No one was playing and the flags were fluttering away in the wind.

She came up and touched my cheek, making some joke or other, and once we got in the car, she made sure the jovial mood kept going.

Perhaps we felt it was up to Ruth, that it was her call how much got told, and we were waiting to take our cue from her.

Many veterans, too, seemed affected by the flurry of departures, and maybe as a direct result, there was a fresh spate of rumours of the sort Chrissie and Rodney had spoken about in Norfolk.

It was getting late, the summer evening was fading, and the old bus shelter felt musty and damp after a recent thunderstorm.

I remember a huge tiredness coming over me, a kind of lethargy in the face of the tangled mess before me.

But the shelter itself—which was like a lovingly constructed wooden hut with one side open to the fields going down the valleyside—was still standing, and even had its bench intact.