The Car Park Rules

“I look forward to Thursdays,” Daniel said.

We were in the car park of a builders’ merchant in Leyton, which is not where anyone would choose, and he had just put a bag of resin anchors in the back of the van and closed the doors and then not got in.

“That’s the whole thing,” he said. “I’m not going to dress it up, I’m not asking you for anything, and I’d like to be clear that I know you’re married.”

Men were loading plasterboard into transit vans. A radio was on somewhere.

“I look forward to Thursdays,” I said.

“Right.” He let out a breath. “Well. There it is.”

“There it is.”

“I’d like to say the next part badly, and then we’ll never do this again.” He leaned against the door with his arms folded, looking at the tarmac, in the specific even voice of a man who…