It put him right in the centre of Hornsey and he liked that. He could walk to work. The shops were all around him and no taxis required to get home late at night. Cleaning the flat was not high on his list of priorities but he worked to a routine. It was better that way. A fortnightly purge saw the place restored, with that turned into a good clean once a month. With two marriages left behind he had few possessions and his cousin had helped him decorate the single living room, which was comfortable if not spacious. There was space for his books, a computer and two small sofas with a sound system and small TV hidden within a corner cabinet that was faced with a replica Warhol portrait of Marilyn Monroe.

The two children by his first marriage had flown that nest before he left. It was probably why it had all broke up. He had married too young, and they had spent years on the treadmill of work, children, house, garden, cars, pets, schools, work, children…. until one day he'd come home early from work. To find her running down the stairs pulling on her clothes, and puffing and panting coming from behind the locked toilet door. "Get him out," he'd hissed knowing it would never be the same again.

Later that day he sat down in front of his computer once more.

"A party, next Saturday. Lovely people, just your sort. He's a journalist. She's something of a researcher at the BBC. Lots of intellectual challenge, dress informal, wear those jeans again - if you like." He smilingly recalled that swinging backside on the car park staircase as he clicked on the 'Send' button. Could this be the start of something new?

 Not having told him she had a partner, a party might be a problem. She wanted to go although she was not sure if she wanted to meet his 'intellectual' friends. Clever people frightened her; she always felt self-conscious, inferior, was not very good at small talk, and always managed to wear something entirely inappropriate. But Justin never questioned her movements very deeply, she could just say she was meeting her girlfriend Dee for a drink, that could turn into a binge. He would raise one eyebrow over his coffee the next morning and she would grin engagingly and that would be the end of it.

She sat looking at his email again. She had read it several times during the week., trying to read between the lines. Harry was such a funny name, especially for a copper. When he had told her, she had laughed and he had looked hurt. But she found Harry very sexy indeed. The name, not necessarily the man at that precise moment. Wear her jeans again! Bloody cheek. She spent the next ten minutes mentally browsing through her wardrobe, black bootleg trousers, skimpy top, short cardigan, and boots. She wanted to look good, then she wondered if 'intellectual informal' meant snappy or grungy. In which case she should wear her jeans, she wondered if it was a clue. Jeans, skimpy top, short cardigan, boots.