my face. I could not shake off the feeling that there was something transgressive about this expedition and I did not wish to be recognised, remote as the possibility was. Moisture dripped from the plastic trim on the eaves of Wharfside Court, and the backwater on which it is situated seemed even more hushed and deserted than before. There was slightly more half-submerged garbage at the dead end than on my previous visit. Checking that my hearing aid was in place I rang the bell for flat 36 to announce my arrival, and Alex’s voice responded: ‘You’re in luck. They fixed the elevator. Come on up.’
She was standing at the open door of her apartment to greet me as the doors of the lift opened on the third floor landing, dressed in black trousers and top as before. I noted with reflex attention that her sweater had a high turtle neck, so there would be no glimpses of cleavage on this occasion, though to compensate the cotton jersey clung revealingly to the contours of her breasts. She smiled with her perfect American teeth. ‘Hi. Give me your umbrella and I’ll put it in the bath to dry off. What a day!’ While she was attending to the umbrella I hung up my raincoat on a hook in the little hall, and wondered whether to make some joke about hoping not to find any foreign objects in it when I got home, but decided that it was best to pretend, as Alex herself had requested, that ‘the panties never happened’.
I went into the living room, taking my document case with me, and sat down in the easy chair. Alex quickly followed, and sat down on the sofa. ‘Thanks so much for coming!’ she said. ‘And for reading my stuff. I really appreciate it.’
‘I only have a few comments,’ I said, taking her chapter out of the document case. ‘And you do understand this is all off the record and unofficial?’
‘Of course. What did you think of the Writer’s Guide, by the way?’
‘I thought it was very clever.’ She gave a pleased smile. ‘But I couldn’t work out the intention behind it,’ I added.
‘Oh, I was just having a little fun,’ she said.
It took me a moment to draw the inference. ‘You mean, you wrote it?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I thought you would guess. You didn’t think I was smart enough?’
‘No, not at all, but . . . why?’
She flicked back her curtain of silky pale blonde hair. ‘Oh, you know, when you spend day after day reading suicide notes you get a little impatient with the writers, their self-pity, their bad grammar, their sheer stupidity. I suppose I was letting off a little steam.’
I asked her what effect she thought reading it would have on someone who was really thinking of committing suicide.
‘I think it might have a good effect,’ she said. ‘I think they would say to themselves, “Who is this asshole making fun of my tragic despair?” And then they would get so mad at me perhaps they wouldn’t kill themselves after all. You know, like in movies, when the cop says to the guy sitting on the parapet of the skyscraper, “OK, go ahead, if you’re going to jump, jump, but don’t keep me waiting, I go off duty in fifteen minutes,” and the guy is so mad he takes a swing at the cop and the cop drags him to safety.’
‘Supposing they’re not sophisticated readers,’ I said. ‘Suppose they take the whole thing entirely seriously?’
‘Then they deserve to die,’ she said flippantly. ‘No, I mean, I can’t believe anybody would read my Guide and actually follow its advice, can you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Literary history is full of examples of misunderstood irony.’
She frowned slightly. ‘I get the feeling that you disapprove.’
‘Well, to be frank,’ I said, ‘I don’t feel that suicide is a suitable subject for parody.’
‘Oh . . .’ She looked uncomfortable.
‘But then I’m an old man with old-fashioned views,’ I said to let her off the hook.
‘I wouldn’t describe you as old,’ she said with a shade of coquetry. ‘Mature, yes, but not old. Shall I make us some tea?’
I suggested we should discuss her chapter first. She fetched her own printout from the white filing cabinet, and pulled the sofa round so that she sat facing me, with pencil poised. It felt like a tutorial situation, and I believed she intended this effect, defining roles for us to play, master and pupil, creating the