The tray didn't just hit the floor. It crashed and smashed his lunch to pieces. Serves you damn well right, I thought. You were staring again.

He stood stock-still and looked down at the food. Suddenly I got up and moved towards him. I hadn't intended to, hadn't wanted to help him. I called to the woman behind the counter. She closed her mouth and brought a cloth to clean up the mess. I picked up crockery, put it on the tray. There was a soppy stain on his trousers and through it you could see just how bony his knees were. Like the rest of him. All bones, dangling jacket and hanging trousers. Stooped shoulders and mile-long arms. Then he smiled at me. A wonderful smile that creased up his worn face and totally surprised me.

"Thank you."

I shoved the tray at him and went back to my table.

I worked at a large publishing company and ate lunch in the canteen. I had noticed him because he stared at me. He was weird-looking. His hair was badly cut and his clothes were ancient and dull; too-short corduroys, baggy at the knees and colour-less sweaters, dotted with fluff. Often he sat alone and just picked at his food. Or he read and jotted things down.

A few days after the crash, he stopped at the table I was sharing with Mark from proof reading, and asked if he might sit down. I said the seats were taken and continued eating. He apologised and took his tray off somewhere else.

"What's your problem, Leanna?" asked Mark.

"No problem. It's just that I like to choose who I share my mealtimes with."

"A bit rough on the old chap though."

I shrugged.

It was Mark who told me more about him. He had gone over to scrounge a cigarette. By the time he came back to the table, I had my head stuck into the news-paper.

"Interesting chap. Sub-editor. Been all over the world," said Mark.

I decided to find the newspaper more interesting and finally Mark shut up and finished smoking.

"Asked your name," he said.

"He what?"

"Yeah."

"What'd you say?"

"Leanna, of course."

I folded the newspaper.

"I've loads of work this afternoon."

"Said you look familiar," said Mark. "Like someone he knew."

< 2 >

"Someone he knew?"

"Yeah. Could be strategy. Maybe he fancies you."

"Fancies me? But he's old."

"Only old enough to be your father."

I grabbed my tray and left the table.

I didn't do much work that afternoon. I kept wishing Mark hadn't said what he had said. Old enough to be your father.

The following week I took along a book to read during lunchtime. When I got into the lift on my floor, he was already inside. He greeted me so I had to reply but I didn't smile. We were alone and that worried me. I wondered whether I should get out at the next floor and walk up the stairs to the canteen. Don't panic, I thought. Just because he's stared at you for ages doesn't mean he's going to do anything.