In the flat

Will can hardly contain his impatience as he waits for Lizzie to return to the flat.  Kirjava advises caution.

You don't know if you can trust her yet.  Don't say anything.

'All right, all right.  Do you think she knows about you?'

I have not spoken to her daemon.  He is not aware of me.  If Lizzie has seen me, she'll have assumed I'm no more than an ordinary cat.'

'Good.  Kir, I can't wait!'

We must not give ourselves away.  We'll stick with her, and see what happens.  Will –  this can't be a coincidence, Lizzie offering you somewhere to stay.  There's something going on, I know it.

'Okay, you're right.  I'll be careful.'

When Lizzie gets back to the flat, it is half past twelve.  Will, fully clothed again, is watching the news and weather on the little portable television.  The news is dull political stuff.  As for the weather; today will be fine, but a cold front is moving in from the Atlantic and wet and stormy conditions can be expected over the next day or two.  There is a picture of an umbrella on the screen.

Lizzie is lively and animated.

'Come on Darren, can't sit about all day!  Let's go out!'

'It'll have to be somewhere cheap.  I'm skint.'

'Don't worry!  You can see me straight later.  Come on!'

'Okay.  Can we pick up my things while we're out?'

Lizzie can't believe it.  Is it really going to be this easy?

'Yes, of course.  Where are they?'

'YMCA, Tottenham Court Road.'

'No problem!'  And, each completely unaware of how much their different intentions are driving them together, they leave the flat and run down the stairs.

 

In the West End

They stand in the street outside the front door.  'What shall we do first?' asks Lizzie.  'Get your stuff now, or pick it up on the way back?'

'It'll be a pain carrying two bags around all day.  Why don't we leave it till later?' replies Will.

So they have a nice cheap afternoon in the West End.  They get tube passes, and Lizzie pays.  They go into a cinema and see a romantic comedy.  Lizzie pays; after all, the film was her choice.

Will buys them two teas afterwards and that pretty much cleans him out.  He can't help noticing how little the cold bothers him, now that he has a warm place to go to and a new hope kindled in his heart.  Lizzie sees him looking at her.  She smiles back at Will.  He's a sweet boy when he smiles.  It softens the hard impression given by his jet-black eyebrows and jutting chin.  There's something in the way he looks at her…

Remembering her uncle's instructions not to spend too much money, Lizzie suggests that they go back to the flat and have something to eat there.  They look in on the YMCA, and Lizzie pays to get Will's carrier bags out of storage.  Then back to Paddington and a short walk to the flat.  It's been the best afternoon either of them has had in weeks.

In the flat

They return to the flat at half past seven.  Will dumps his bags by the couch, goes into the kitchen and opens the freezer door.  He looks at the packets and trays.

'What do you want, Lizzie?  Indian or Chinese?'

'The Mystic Orient calls!  Ohhhh – let's have lamb rogan josh!  There's some pilau rice on the bottom shelf.'

Will looks – yes, there they are.  And onion bhajias, too.

They eat their supper sitting side by side on the couch, watching the television.  They both feel warm, comfortable and happy.  Everything is going very well indeed.

At half past ten, Lizzie stands up and crosses the lounge to the bedroom door.  She turns to Will, smiles, and pushes her hair behind her ear in a gesture which goes straight to his heart.

'Darren, I don't say this to every boy I meet, but you're special.  Would you like to come to bed now?'

Will nods, wordlessly.  He follows Lizzie into the bedroom.

Later, Will talks to Kirjava in the bathroom.  He is incandescent with rage and frustration.

'Why?  Why the hell did you do that?'

You must not get involved with this girl.  It is dangerous.

'That was the most humiliating thing you could have done to me!'  (Lizzie's back turned to him, disappointed.  The unused condom.)

She could be carrying any one of a number of diseases.  You thought she was a drug user.

'She's not, though.  She's got no needle marks at all.  She had a condom.  It would have been all right.'

She's not Lyra.  And that is all Kirjava will say.

Will returns to Lizzie's bedroom and slips under the duvet.  Next to him, Lizzie is breathing gently, her daemon under the bed where she concealed him.  She, at least, is asleep.

Will is woken next morning by the sound of voices in the lounge.  Is it the television?  Possibly – Lizzie has left the bedroom.  Perhaps she has gone to make breakfast.  He puts on the dressing gown he finds on the back of the door and walks into the lounge. 

And stops dead in his tracks.

Lizzie is sitting, fully dressed, on the couch.  She is holding a tissue to her hand, which is bleeding profusely.  Next to her is an old man.  He looks up to Will and speaks:

'William Parry, good morning.  Please forgive my not getting up, but I am not well and the stairs were very steep.  Do let me introduce myself: my name is Henry Latrom.  You know my niece Elizabeth quite well already, I believe.'

Will is dumbstruck.

'William, please sit down.  It is most important that we talk.'