he was here, of an evening, Clive would remain inside. If there had been any kind of emergency he would have been able to leave via the fire exit. There was less chance of them being caught that way.
‘I wonder,’ he said, enjoying the echo of his voice in the large space. There were five keys attached to some science-fair keyrings. They seemed similar to the Chubb-style ones he’d seen used on the door and as he slid the metal into the lock, it turned with ease.
Freedom.
It was strange. He wasn’t an inmate, not even close, but he’d been getting cabin fever, he realised, when the relief of being able to go out presented itself.
Pulling the door closed, and keeping in the shadows, Clive took an appreciative deep breath. The coldness of the evening’s spring air was a welcome break from the stuffiness of being inside a room that didn’t lend itself to occupancy for any length of time.
Discreetly, he slipped back in to get his jacket and to double-check that he was able to open and close the door once outside. When he was happy that it was possible, he slipped off to explore his surroundings. He knew there was a theatre on campus and figured that some of the people out and about were wandering along to see a show. The storms that had rolled in during the week had passed and it was a calm spring evening, ripe to enjoy.
Clive headed towards the theatre, following a handy signpost. Perhaps he would get the chance to enjoy a performance or two while he was here. It had been some time since he’d been to see a show, but it had always been something he’d enjoyed in the past.
His forehead furrowed at the thought. His past had become a jumble in recent weeks. Some memories he had to question: Did he used to enjoy the theatre alone or with someone? Alone, he realised. He enjoyed shows with dancing most.
The space was large and while the theatre was on the left, there was a box office and bar to the right. A bright light seemed to indicate a show was in progress.
A lady glanced up at him from the front-of-house desk. ‘Are you okay, sir?’ she asked quietly.
He went over. ‘I’ve just moved nearby.’ That wasn’t a lie, at least. ‘Do you have a programme I can take a look at?’
There was one on the desk right in front of his nose. She politely passed him a copy.
‘Excellent, thank you.’ Clive was delighted by the prospect of attending a show. It would beat disinfecting gym balls. ‘Is the bar open?’ That prospect was even more inviting.
‘Yes. It’s closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. But it’s open from 7 p.m. until 11 p.m. for the rest of the week.’
‘Marvellous. I’ll check it out now while I look at this if that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ she said with a smile.
Clive wasn’t entirely sure why he was checking. But he’d always thought of theatre bars as being for theatre-going people. It was there for before and after the show.
As he’d been given permission, Clive entered the bar. It was somewhere between a pub and a coffee shop. It was artier than any of the joints he’d ever frequented, with large windows offering a view of outside. A good place for people watching, he considered, before ordering a pint of pale ale called Stag that had a small chalkboard attached to its pump, advertising it as the offer of the week. He took his ale and chose a seat to one side where he was able to watch all the comings and goings of the campus and the theatre.
Even though it was nearly nine in the evening, there was a reasonable amount of footfall on the paths outside. He wasn’t sure where the student accommodation was on the campus, but he’d take a bet at it being at one end of the path he was observing. That route went towards the shops and all the nearby takeaway outlets and he was sure that was where most of them were headed. Someone returned with a full carrier bag of a bargain bucket of chicken, and confirmed the thought.
He was also aware there was a gym on the campus. He’d seen it on one of the signs and a few students were carrying what looked to Clive to be gym bags. The thought of joining a gym appealed to Clive. He laughed to himself and dismissed the idea