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Martin did not come bursting into the house at 3 am and wake her up. In fact, she woke up at 8 am to find the place still deserted, so she hobbled her way to the bathroom for a long soak, and was delighted to find that her ankle was much better than it was yesterday.

She ran the bath hot, as hot as she could tolerate it. The kind of hot that meant she had to get in slowly, letting one part of her skin adjust to the temperature before moving on to the next. Eventually, she sat, submerged in the water, goosepimples pricking out all over her body, and relaxed.

It wasn't until she had wrinkled fingers and toes that she got out of the bath, and it wasn't until after she had dried herself and got halfway through brushing her teeth that she heard the door slam downstairs.

"The wanderer returns." she grinned to herself in the mirror.

Her reflection was starting to look like her again now, she decided. The bruises on her head were still prominent, but some of the angry colour was starting to fade from them, as was the tired, drawn look she had acquired over the past few weeks. Over the past few months really, if she was honest with herself. She had looked like what she was - someone under untold strain. But what was she now? Now she was disconnected entirely from the world, nothing held her in place - no job, no family, no pieces of paper to prove what her name was or when she was born or that she owned a small two bedroom house miles North of here. She wondered what had happened to it.

Downstairs she found a slightly dazed looking Martin trying to poke some life into his kettle, still wearing his clothes from the night before.

"It went well then."

He jumped slightly, startled, and looked guilty as he continued to fiddle with the kettle.

"Yeah. It did. I guess."

"Uh huh." He didn't seem to be overflowing with enthusiasm, but she figured he was just tired and hunted out some cereal for herself, and perched on one of the stools at the counter to eat and wonder how someone could look so ill at ease in their own kitchen.

Eventually he seemed to lose interest in the kettle and grabbed hold of some bread instead, putting it in the toaster, wandering back to the kettle, before returning to the toaster and taking out the bread without ever having pushed the lever down.

He started down at the limp piece of bread in his hand.

"Think I need a new toaster."

"You haven't toasted that."

"What? Oh. Oh."

He cast the bread aside and just stood, dejected in the middle of the kitchen.

"Cereal?"

He stared at the box for a long time before he shook his head and sagged down on to a stool next to her. He watched her for a long time, making her feel self-conscious as she tried to eat without dribbling anything down her tshirt.

"You don't eat much."

She chased the final few flakes around the bowl with her spoon, watching them swim around in their little sea of milk rather than meet Martin's scrutiny.

"I've always had a small appetite I guess."

The awkward silence fell again, filled only with the sound of Angela's spoon occasionally knocking against her bowl as she toyed with her breakfast.

"My ankle feels better." she eventually offered.

"Good. That is good." He seemed to genuinely brighten at this. "We should go somewhere, do something."

"I don't know..." her mind was instantly filled with their previous shopping trip, and memories of being dragged around like a ragdoll.

"Just like to the park or something. It's not far."

She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. That was more her style.

"Yeah, that would be OK."


Whatever had been troubling him before seemed to be forgotten about as they made their way to the park. The pale winter sunshine made little difference to the chill in the air, but it did at least make the city look more cheerful when it wasn't shining in their eyes, making them screw up their faces to see the pavement ahead of them.

It was only a short walk to the park, but the distance was more than enough to start a dull ache throbbing in Angela's ankle once again, so that when they came across a bench she was more than happy to sink down on to it for a rest.

They sat some distance apart, staring out over neatly trimmed grass and orderly flower beds, and looking every inch the odd couple. He was all in dark clothes again, but they suited him, she thought, and they were all of obvious high quality, whereas she sat hunched in a pair of jeans and baggy sweatshirt, all wrapped up in an oversized dirty coat.

As time went on the warmth she had built up from walking dissipated, and the chill of the day started to creep back into her bones, but she didn't feel like moving just yet, and Martin didn't seem to either. It was difficult to feel that outside of the little park, where everything was tidy and clean, where even nature had been carefully ordered, that there was such a confused and chaotic world waiting to suck them back in.

When she turned to look back at him, she found him staring at some nearby shrubbery with a distracted, distant look on his face.

"Penny for them?"

"I was just wondering whether this bush looked sort of like a squirrel or not. It's not very profound I'm afraid, but even us geniuses need to take a break."

She rolled her eyes at his jocular boasting and refused to comment on it.

"Do you like gardening?"

"It's alright. I used to do a bit when I was young to help out at home. Now I just have a gardener."

"Gives you more free time to be a genius huh?"

"That's right." he grinned "Do you?"

"I kill every plant I touch." She laughed slightly. "I'm hopeless. All my Dad's family had green fingers, but I didn't inherit them." she glanced down at her hands for a moment, as if she literally expected to confirm her statement with the colour of her fingers. "When I bought my house I deliberately looked for one with no garden."

"You bought a house?"

She winced. She hadn't meant to let anything more like that slip.

"Yes."

"Well what was it like?"

"Can we move? I'm getting cold."

He stood up to go, waiting for her to follow suit, and they fell into step together as they started their way home.

"So? What was it like?"

She sighed. There was obviously no getting out of it. She resolved to be careful about what she said however.

"Just a small place. Terraced. Bit of a dump really, but it was all my own so I was proud of it."

"And no garden."

"No. Just a concrete yard at the back to keep the bin."

"I know the kind of place."

"Yeah right." she snorted.

"I haven't always been an internationally famous musical genius."

She laughed slightly. "Speaking of which..."

"I don't like the sound of this."

"I saw you on the TV last night."

"I knew I didn't like the sound of it."

She went on to try and describe the video she had seen, while he just shook his head in mild embarrassment.

"I was young!"

"You were badly dressed is what you were."

"Everyone was badly dressed in the 80s."

She chuckled as she remembered photos of herself as a child. He had a point. It was past lunchtime when they arrived back at the house, faces reddened by the cold and their laughter.

The warmth of indoors seemed to slam into Angela in a wave, making her tired in an instant.

"I shouldn't have made you walk so much. Go upstairs and sleep for a while. You're still not well."

She opened her mouth to argue with him about being ordered around as if she were a child, but stopped. She was tired, and she probably had walked too far, so she could let it slide. She settled instead for another roll of her eyes before disappearing upstairs to her room.