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train, there was a good chance that I would be when I got off.

A fellow passenger was kind enough to take my mind off my forthcoming antler-locking with James by pressing his erection against me every time the train turned a corner.

And at about ten minutes to eight I arrived at my station.

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thirty-four

When I came out of the station and onto the road where I lived, my stomach gave a sudden lurch. Everything was so achingly familiar, the newsagents, the launderette, the liquor store, the Indian takeout restaurant.

In one way I felt that I'd been away for light-years, but in another I felt that I'd never left. I started to walk toward my apartment, my heart pounding, my knees feeling peculiar and kind of trembly.

I was surprised. A bit shocked.

I hadn't expected to be so affected by being back in my old neighborhood. When I came around the corner and saw my apartment, the home that I had shared with James, my forehead started to prickle with sweat.

I walked slowly, reluctantly.

Now that I had arrived I didn't really know what to do.

I just wished that I wasn't there. That I didn't have to be there.

"Do I have to have this confrontation?" I asked myself wildly. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe James really does love me as I am. Maybe I should just turn around and go back home and pretend that everything is fine."

I stood at the entrance door to the apartment house and leaned my burning face against the cool glass. I wasn't so angry now. I wasn't angry at all. I felt afraid and so, so sad.

A taxi came around the corner. It had its light on. Hope

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surged through me. I could hail it and just get out of here, I thought. I don't have to go through with this.

Let this cup pass from my lips.

Speaking of cups, I thought, my mind wandering. I really must remember to pick up some of my bras while I'm here. Now that my tits had--regret- tably--returned to their normal size, all the bras that I had in Ireland were too big for me.

This momentary lapse of concentration was fatal and I watched the taxi drive past me.

I wasn't leaving, it seemed. Not just yet, in any case.

I was going to see James and find out what was going on.

Remind me again why I'm here--oh yes, I remember. Because James had lied to me. Lied about the fundamentals of how he feels about me, about the essence of our relationship.

I started to feel angry again. That was good. The whole thing wasn't quite so nightmarish when I felt angry.

I took a deep, shaky breath.

Should I ring the doorbell and give James a slight warning that I had arrived? Or should I just march on in like I owned the place? When everyone knows that I only owned half the place. But then I thought, dammit no, it's my home. I'm going to let myself bloody well in.

My hand was shaking as I fumbled around in my bag for my bunch of keys. It took me ages to get the key in the lock.

The familiar, evocative smell of the entrance hall hit me in the pit of my stomach. It smelled like home. I tried hard to ignore it--this was no time for sentimentality.

The elevator delivered me to the second floor. I reluctantly walked down the corridor to my front door. When I heard the noise of the television coming from my apartment my heart sank even further. It meant that James was home. Now there really was no getting out of it.

I let myself in and, with an attempt at nonchalance, strolled into the front room.

James nearly died of shock when he saw me.

In a perverse way I would have been glad if I had caught him up to no good. Maybe in the throes of bondage with a fourteen-year-old girl. Or even better, a fourteen-year-old boy. Or better still, a fourteen-year-old sheep.

It would have meant that I wouldn't have had to confront

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him. I could have walked away from him, knowing that he was a terrible person. No room for any doubt. All neatly tied up. No loose ends.

But, contrary bastard that he was, he couldn't have looked more whole- some and innocent if he had been rehearsing all day. He was reading the paper. Even the mug beside him contained Coke and not alcohol. Clean as a goddam whistle.

"Cl...Claire, what are you doing here?" he gasped, leaping up from the couch. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. In fairness, it must have been a terrible shock. As far as he knew I was hundreds of miles away in another city.

But at the same time, under ordinary circumstances, he should have been a bit glad to see me. Surprised delighted, instead of Shocked horrified. If he really loved me and didn't have a guilty conscience and had nothing to be afraid of, or to feel ashamed about, wouldn't he have been just over the moon to see me? He looked nervous. You know, edgy, watchful. Wondering why I had come. He knew something was wrong.

And with a jolt I realized that I hadn't been imagining things. Something was badly amiss. I had only to look at James's face to know.

I can't be sad now, I told myself. I can let myself be heartbroken and go to pieces later, but for the moment I have to stay strong.

"Gr...great to see you, Claire," he said, sounding horrified. He seemed a bit hysterical.

I looked into his white, anxious face and I felt such a surge of anger that I wanted to bite him. I wanted to feel angry. I wanted anger to course through me.

Anger is good, I told myself. Anger keeps the pain away. Anger em- powers me.

I looked around the front room. I smiled graciously at him, even though I was shaking. "The place looks nice," I told him pleasantly. I was surprised that my voice wasn't trembling. "I see you've moved your books and re- cords and stuff back. And..."

I pushed past him and marched into the bedroom and flung open the closet. "I see you've moved all your clothes back also. Very cozy."

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"Claire, what are you doing here?" he managed to ask.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" I asked, all coquettish and simpery.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "Of course, it's just...I mean, I wasn't expecting you...you know...I thought you were going to call."

"I know exactly what you thought, James," I said, fixing him with a judgmental stare.

I must say, in spite of the feeling of impending doom, I was starting to enjoy this.

There was a little silence.

"Is something wrong, Claire?" he asked cautiously.

He looked frightened. From the moment James had watched me walk into the apartment, he knew that I hadn't come on a mission of love. He was acting far too guilty and scared.