Pervert by Mr If

“Where are you going?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if I’m returning home.”

“Ever again?”

“In answer to your first question: yes. Things really are that bad.”

“Is it you or her?”

“How do you know this is about a woman?”

“Is it about a man?”

“No.” “You’ve taken your wedding ring off and you’re batting it back and forth on the table.”

“How do you know it’s a wedding ring?”

“Is it a wedding ring?”

“Yes.” “Can I buy you a drink?”

He smiled for the first time. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Partly altruism,” I said, “and partly ‘cos I’m hoping to hitch a lift.”

“Where to?”

“Wherever it is you’re going.”

“What’s your name?” he said.

I told him. “And you are...?”

“Raoul,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Raoul.” # Half an hour later, we were speeding down the fast lane as quickly as the traffic would allow. Raoul didn’t say so, but clearly he wasn’t heading home. I wondered how much money he had.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “how long have you been with her?”

“I’m not with her,” he said, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

“How long were you with her before?”

“Too long. I’ll apologise to her one day. You asked if it’s her or me. It’s me.”

“What have you done?”

“I was born,” he said. “I was born this way. I’m a wanderer. I didn’t want to get married, but it was the only thing to do. I wasn’t born to be with people. I was born to be alone. That’s all I want. I want to be alone.”

There was an awkward pause.

“It’s OK,” he said. “I wasn’t hinting. It’s good you’re here. It’s nice to talk.”

“How long have you been on the road?”

23