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By Root 1675 0

gesture. I felt buoyed up; happier. A bit guilty too. I'd headed for Malcolm's shoulder because he was one of my dearest friends, but a part of me knew I'd sought him out because his life was not great at the moment, so mine wouldn't seem so terrible. I hated myself for that. I knew too that when I stepped back outside, into the real world, I wouldn't be comparing myself to Malcolm and his precarious gay world, but to Caro and Shona, with their perfect nuclear families, their Cornish holidays and their lack of love-children writing emails, and I'd feel threatened all over again. But for now, for the minute, the fear had passed and I was relieved to let it go.

I took a deep breath. Then rather regretted it. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. ‘Yuck, is that Cinders?’

‘Farting? 'Fraid so. Poor old girl, her digestive system's had it, I'm afraid. Spectacular, isn't it? I'm thinking of bottling them and giving them away free with Piers Morgan. One bad smell deserves another.’

I grinned, looked around properly. ‘You've bought a new computer,’ I said suddenly, spotting a dark eye with smart chrome surround in the corner. It was all shiny and bright, very different from the tatty old one known as Gloria, which Malcolm swore was fine so long as you kicked her hard enough.

He scratched his head sheepishly. ‘Had to, really. Gloria was on her last legs, poor cow. Her hard drive was shot to buggery. And you've got to move with the times, haven't you? Got to keep up with the miracles of modern science.’

I blinked. Malcolm was usually light years behind; a Luddite, like me. I frowned and peered into the main body of the shop, which was almost, but not quite in darkness now, the low summer sun just making it through the pretty bow window and glancing off the books on the top shelves. ‘Something's happened out there too,’ I said suspiciously. A new carpet, I realized, had been laid: taupe and rather chic, and the limited wall space above and between the shelves was now a rich dark red, like a study, not Malcolm's usual navy blue. It made a nice change.

‘You'll be competing with Poo-Face soon. His walls look a bit like that, don't they? How is he, anyway?’

Poo-Face was Malcolm's arch rival: an ex-media type who, a year ago, had bought the toy shop next door and turned it into a bookshop. It had had Malcolm spitting tacks.

‘Next door! Right on my frigging doorstep. Direct competition!’

‘Calm down, Malcolm, it's not competition. It's different.’

It was, in fact, completely different. I knew because I'd popped in do the recce, Malcolm, hissy-fitishly refusing to do so. The new shop specialized predominately in military history and was a high-falutin establishment, with none of the paperback chart toppers or bodice rippers and thrillers that Malcolm stocked in copious, gaudy numbers as he tried, desperately to compete with the giants roaring at him in the High Street. Instead, large, expensive coffee-table books were tastefully arranged on round mahogany tables: books that, to Malcolm's chagrin, we used to stock here once, upstairs, in Art and Architecture, but could no longer afford to do so. Sexual Relations and Humour were up on the first floor now, Malcolm quipping that you surely needed one to do the other. But this swanky bookshop next door was having a crack at old times. It was run by a man who I'd never met, having only encountered an assistant when I'd popped in, but whom Malcolm had christened Poo-Face, on account of the nasty smell under his nose.

‘What?’ Malcolm glanced up from thumbing distractedly through a new Frederick Forsyth as I strolled off to look.

‘I said, how's Poo-Face?’

‘Oh… he's not so bad, actually. We're rubbing along quite well.’ I turned back to stare at him. He scratched his chin. ‘We've… well, we've sort of joined forces.’

‘What?’

‘We've… you know. Merged.’

I frowned. ‘Merged?’

‘Yes. Did you not notice as you came in?’

I glanced back round; went quickly to the front room, where, I suddenly realized, to my left there was a socking great hole. Half a wall missing. An archway had been cut in the dividing