Mike Shevdon: Sixty-One Nails

She walked right past me and I had to agree, the guys weren't wrong.

She stopped and looked over to Nelson's Column, then back up towards Leicester Square. Taking a piece of paper from her coat pocket, she consulted it. I tried to keep my eyes on the scattered wanderers around the square, but she was very distracting.

She turned to look back at where I was sat and said to me, "Is Leicester Square in that direction?" She pointed a finger towards Charing Cross. Her voice was deeper than I had expected, but it hit the right notes. She had a mass of tangled red curls framing her face. That colour couldn't be natural, could it?

"Excuse me?" she said again, speaking more slowly and distinctly. "Is Leicester Square-"

"In that direction? No. Sorry, I was miles away. That's so rude. Please forgive me." I realised I'd been staring, my manners coming to the rescue at last.

"I thought perhaps you hadn't heard me."

"No, it's OK. I was… Never mind. It's that way, I'm afraid." I pointed in the opposite direction, past the National Portrait Gallery.

She turned one way then the other. "Oh, I thought I knew where I was. Do you mind if I sit for a moment and get my bearings?"

"Well…" I looked around. There were plenty of free seats, but there was no sign of Blackbird returning yet. In fact, I wasn't even sure she was ever coming back. "Sure. Take a seat."

"Are you alone?" She stepped back to the table and turned a seat sideways to sit down, crossing her legs with a whisper of nylon and placing her bag on the table.

"Yes. No," I added.

She smiled at my confusion, the same glossy smile she'd used before, the heart-stopping one.

"That is, I was with someone." Disappointment crossed her face. "An older friend I was having coffee with. She went to powder her nose."

"Oh, well, if I am interrupting-"

"No, no, it's OK. She'll be a moment or two, I expect."

Her perfect lips curved into happy acceptance and she dipped into her handbag, extracting a small mirror and a lipstick. She checked her make-up, which she must only have done moments before, because it was perfect. Nevertheless, she added a little more gloss to her lips then tucked the items back in her bag.

"You must be local," she commented.

"Sorry?"

"To know where everything is," she explained. Her eyes were green, but not the pond-weed green you sometimes see. This was the sort of sparkling green you find in emeralds. Was she wearing contact lenses?

"Yes, well, not really," I replied, finding myself unable to frame a coherent sentence.

"Do you live nearby?"

"It takes about forty-five minutes to travel back to my place from here, so not exactly nearby, no."

"Do you live alone or with family?" she pressed gently, smoothing invisible flecks of dust from her skirt and showing off glossy nails.

This was closer to territory I wanted to avoid, no matter how distracting she appeared. Blackbird had said not to discuss my family with anyone, no matter how harmless. Was she some sort of spy? If so, I was betting I could run faster than she could in those heels.

"I live alone," I admitted, avoiding mentioning my family. The safer option also happened to be the truth. "I have a flat."

"A flat? It must be nice having space of your own and being able to live as you want, to do whatever takes your fancy." The breeze caught in the organized tangle of her hair, lifting it from her shoulders momentarily. She shifted her chair around so it faced me.

"Do you live with someone else, then?" I asked her.

"Yes, my housemate. She is so untidy." She smiled again, lifting her chin and shaking her head, leaning forwards on the table. Her blouse was casually open at the neck and I could just see the hint of dark lingerie. "You would not believe it."

"I probably would. I'm not the tidiest person, I'm afraid."

She looked at me, making me feel as if I was being sized up for something. Maybe she was deciding how untidy I was.

"I can imagine," she said. "Clothes scattered everywhere. Very untidy." Her lips curved upwars slightly, amused.

Understand that I am not an unattractive man, but my exwife will explain at length, given barely half a chance, how unperceptive I can be around women. This, however, was definitely seduction. Her expression made it personal. It was not my clothes that were scattered untidily, but ours.

"You know, it would be lovely if someone who knew the area was prepared to guide me around. As someone who knows his way…"

The suggestion was an offer, and she was incredibly attractive. She watched me considering. The thing was, I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'd only come for coffee because of what had happened and now this woman was propositioning me when I should be going to work. It really was the strangest morning.

"I'm really sorry," I told her reluctantly, "but I am waiting for my friend and then I have to get to the office."

She gave me that smile again, the one that made my trousers uncomfortably tight. "Well, Rabbit, if you are sure there's nothing you can be tempted with?" She coiled a twist of hair around a delicate finger.

"I'm sorry, but I'm quite- What did you say?"

"I asked if there was nothing that could tempt you." She leaned forward over the table, displaying more than she had before, laying her hands flat on the table and meeting my gaze with those cool green eyes, levelly, calmly.

"You called me Rabbit," I accused.

"Is that your name? How amusing." She smiled, looking away, but there was more to that smile than I had first thought. She was playing with me.

"What do you want?" I glanced sideways, reconsidering whether I could really outpace her.

"What do I want? Now that's a big question." She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her tone. "I want you to believe me, Rabbit. I want you to understand that what you see is not what you get, not anymore, not now, not ever. I need you to understand that appearances — yours, mine, and theirs — can be very deceptive."

I struggled to unravel what she was saying, trying to make sense of the words emerging from those beautiful lips.

I looked back to the coffee shop to see if Blackbird was returning, but there was still no sign of her. Looking back at the young woman in front of me, I searched for something that would help me understand what was going on. I was beginning to feel as if I was standing on the edge of an invisible abyss.

Trying to keep my voice down, I asked, "Tell me who you are."

"Who do you think I am?" There was a mischievous curve to her lips.

"Did you meet Blackbird? Did she put you up to this?"

"You're still not getting it, are you, Rabbit?"

"What don't I get, exactly? Who are you?" I was preparing to run for it, readying myself to get away from the wrongness of it all.

"I told you," she said quietly. "You know who I am, but you don't want to accept it. You know who you are, but you don't want to accept that either. You keep denying the existence of anything that doesn't fit within your cosy little world-view."

"Blackbird… But… If you're Blackbird, how come you're wearing the body of this young woman?"

"How dare you!"

For a second, I thought she was going to slap me, her words ringing out across the tables, attracting more attention than I thought we wanted. "How dare you suggest I would do such a thing?" She sat back and moved her chair sideways again, cheeks flushed, her breathing harsh as she controlled her anger.

I was distracted by sniggering from the group of guys near the door and my cheeks flushed in response. They obviously thought I'd suggested something quite different. I gave them a dirty look and they made a minimal effort to compose themselves. We were making quite an impression. I turned back to Blackbird, or at least I was beginning to think it was Blackbird, and found her grim and unhelpful.