Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Not Near London

them like she used to. Birthday party, a twenty- fifth – Suzie’s best friend from schooldays, a real rude-girl turnip called Kiera, still the wrong side of the tracks, with three kids and a partner called Jed, a builder’s foreman. Jed! So many J’s in her life! Suzie had expected the worst in a sweaty T-shirt, but Jed was nice and caring, holding the kids like china in his big hands. He’d worked on that rebuilt concert hall in Scunthorpe. They nipped up there in the car and Jed showed them round in a biting wind, pushing the buggy in his T-shirt and proud of what’d been done. The place was very swanky, with plush crimson seats. It used rainwater to flush the loos. Afterwards Jasper’d stepped on his earphones

by mistake in the car park and said, ‘Please knock me the fuck out.’ Forgetting not to sound posh, to northern up his vowels. Then they drove up to the Humber Bridge, which is either empty or really packed, Keira said. Today it was empty, as in post-apocalyptic. They got out of the car and walked to halfway. The sky was grey, the estuary was grey with silver highlights, the empty bridge was grey. An allover. Jasper Johns, she thought. Her lover-boy’s namesake. But didn’t say it. Instead she said, shouting into the wind, ‘This’ll blow the dust off!’ They spent last night with Jazz’s parents near Oakham, intheirginormous old house with its nine freezing bedrooms, and she made a huge effort. It was the first time she’d

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