Hegarty hadn’t intended things to take such a turn, far from it. He’d genuinely just wanted to see the view from her tenth floor Park Place flat; but there she was, halfway down the hallway, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal her white back divided by an emerald green bra.

She must have got the wrong idea when I hurried her along, though Hegarty. It was only because I wanted to get a good look at the view before it got dark.

‘Unclip me?’ she wiggled her shoulders to guide him onto the target.

Hegarty made a loud involuntary spluttering noise, then coughed and cleared his throat a few times to cover his embarrassment. ‘Must have caught a fly or something,’ he rasped, ‘can I have a drink of water?’

She turned and looked at him suspiciously. There he stood making a pathetic face, pointing at his mouth. She opened a door immediately on her left and pulled a cord. The light came on to reveal the bathroom. A ventilation fan rattled. There was no window.

She pointed at a glass on a shelf over the basin. Hegarty stepped past her and ran the cold tap, looking with misgivings at the state of the glass before filling it and taking a drink. Now she was putting her arms up behind her to release her bra. He tried ineffectually to hide his ogling eyes behind the glass, as her impressive breasts stood proud, almost bridging the narrow space between them.

So that’s why my mates guffawed and nudge-nudge-wink-winked when I asked her if she’d got a sizeable balcony, thought Hegarty.

He coughed and sipped, coughed and sipped. ‘Can’t seem to clear it.’

‘Let me see,’ she said. He had to open wide and she peered in, pressing against him as she did so. He could smell the alcohol on her breath. He should never have bought her those vodka cocktails. ‘Can’t see a thing. Bring the glass with you.’ She hooked a finger behind his belt and pulled him across the hall to the door of a bedroom. He could see that the curtains were closed. No view. She stopped in the doorway to wriggle her jeans and pants down. Trying to step out of them, she fell backwards into the room. She lay there giggling and holding her arms up towards Hegarty.

‘I’d better go to the loo,’ he said. He wanted to look for the living room, but she was watching him. He went back into the bathroom. She called after him, ‘Bastard! Get a flaming move on!’

He bolted the door and sat down to think. What was he going to do? Well, he was NOT going to do what she had in mind. Mother would be furious. Obviously, he wouldn’t tell Mother, but she’d just know. He could just walk out, but what about Monday, in the office? It would be pretty awkward. She was his boss’s best friend, after all. She’d be bound to say something derogatory.

‘Wha’you doin’?’ Her voice sounded slurred and feeble. He flushed the loo, ran the taps for a bit, and listened. Nothing more. After ten minutes he dared to peer out. She wasn’t still on the carpet. He crept up and listened at the bedroom door. Deep regular breathing. She was asleep. Thank goodness he had bought her those vodka cocktails!

She was spreadeagled on top of the bed. It was likely that the cold would wake her up if he didn’t do something. He gradually worked the duvet out from under her far enough to fold over her naked body. He had to admit it was an interesting sight, as he took a last look, but not the one he’d come to see.

Hegarty found the living room. It was too late; darkness had fallen. Below, Harrogate was a sparkling carpet of lights. Pretty, certainly, but he wanted to see it in daylight.

It would be light again in about six hours. There was a good chance that she would sleep late; it would be Sunday morning, her alarm would not be set. He would lie down here on the sofa in front of the huge windows, and wake up with the dawn, if he could get to sleep in the first place, worrying about her coming looking for him in a state of resumed randyness. He took all the towels from the bathroom to wrap round himself for warmth.

Hegarty woke to a room full of light, and looked out at a brilliant blue sky. Shedding the towels, he stood and stepped towards the window. Dismayed, he found that he was looking down onto the top of a blanket of fog stretching to the horizon. The only landmarks rising through the fog were the Exchange tower block over the station and the tip of the spire of St Luke’s on Kings Road.

What if he stayed until the fog burned off? That could take hours, and that cavewoman in the bedroom might wake up ravenous, and fancy him for breakfast – or more likely brunch.

Still, it was a shame to give up now. He was determined to see that view. Moving as quietly as possible, he helped himself to a bowl of muesli. He much preferred cornflakes, which were also on offer, but they’d be dangerously noisy.

He froze; the spoon hovered in front of his gaping mouth. He had heard a groan. Then the loo flushing and shuffling steps. When she appeared, neither her baby blue candlewick dressing gown nor her giant Basil Brush slippers suggested wanton sexual appetite. Still, Hegarty remained on guard.

Squeezing her temples to suppress her throbbing head, she squinted at him. ‘Oh. You’re still here, then.’

It would have been pointless to deny it.

‘Yes, I was a bit worried about you. Thought I’d better check on you now and again.’

‘Oh? I hope you haven’t taken advantage….’ She looked with distaste at the scattered towels.

‘Ah, well, obviously I couldn’t resist taking a look while I had the chance. Nothing worth seeing, though. Bloody disappointing.

‘You what?’

‘So far, anyway. How soon do you think it will clear up, down there?’

She was shielding her eyes from the painful light and didn’t realise he was pointing at the view.

‘What?! Just get out! Go!’

‘Can I finish my cereal?’ If he took his time the fog might lift.

‘No, you can fuck off, you perv!’

As Hegarty descended in the lift he wondered if she was perhaps right. It probably was a bit odd to be over-keen on aerial views. He was ashamed to have spent so much money on those cocktails in pursuit of his obsession. It was simpler and a lot cheaper to spend time on Google maps.

The vision of her body, with its surprising creases and shadows, came back to his mind. He should have paid more attention. He wondered if he might be able to find something similar on Google, to study at leisure.

Yes, he had probably been a bit single-minded. What if he’d just let things happen? Mother wouldn’t really have known, would she? And he wouldn’t have got himself called a perv, not if things had gone all right, anyway. He would have got to stay to see the view, and have a decent bowl of cornflakes too.

He came out of the lift. The fog was pressing against the glass doors of the foyer but as he stepped out onto the forecourt he looked up to see patches of blue and a hazy sun.

The fog dissolved in wisps. She, after washing down a couple of aspirins, looked down from the great height of her kitchen window and saw him gazing up.

She felt a twinge of regret. Should she call to him to come back up? He was bloody cute looking, after all. And he’d made her laugh so much in the pub. Perhaps not intentionally, though. No, no, he was way too weird. Why did she always pick the weird ones? She was a bloody good accountant but useless at picking blokes. And what the fuck did he mean about it needing to clear up ‘down there’? What?!! Still, perhaps she’d better get a check-up.

She wondered, as he wondered, what she would say to her best friend.

Chris Short

3 November 2011