Birthday Girl

Midnight. The cathedral bells chimed the hour and Harry stared up at the glowing clock face. A quarterly business meeting which should have finished by five, and went on until seven. Then a glass of wine with colleagues, which became three or four bottles as the stupidity of head office and it’s shiny suited theorists was mocked. At least he’d anticipated it and booked a hotel room.

Ten years ago he’d expected to be a person dispatching theorists to meetings like these. Now in his early forties the future didn’t feel so certain.

The long day, lack of food, and wine had him woozy, and fancying a kebab. The streets were busy but not as hectic as they’d be later, when the clubs closed. He stood in a queue and ordered a large kebab with pickled cabbage, and extra chilli sauce.

“Just putting a new meat on, mate,” the guy behind the counter said. “Be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll wait.” He took his phone out and lost himself in a book. A group came into the shop, young and noisy, unconcerned by the alcohol and drugs infusing their system, preparing to eat and head on to the next club for another few hours dancing. He edged down the counter, allowing the newcomers space to give their orders.

“What’re you reading?”

Harry looked up to find wide brown eyes in a pale face. Hair in wavy ringlets fell either side caressing cheeks that had been defined with darker makeup. Her...