The fox

November 28, 2010 § Leave a comment

They are late, as usual, and the rain isn’t helping.

They’d said they’d meet their friends in the foyer bar at 7.30 for a drink before the show, but it’s quarter past now and they’re nowhere near the town centre. Instead he’s pulled into some cul-de sac, the engine idling whilst he talks to his boss. Her protests don’t make any difference any more – he says he can’t ignore him, what with the American deal going through, and her sighs and silences no longer work, not like when they first got together and she knew that he’d do anything to keep her happy.

The fox appears on the lawn in front of them, sidestepping the dazzle of the car’s headlights. It looks round at them in that furtive way, but then, instead of dancing away, it stands and it stares, straight at them.

Her husband is looking anywhere but ahead, eyes darting round the car’s interior as he tries to placate the harried voice half-audible in his hand, but the woman, pale and quiet in her new woollen coat, finds herself staring back at the animal and willing it to be the first to weaken.

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