Track 5: Because You're Frightened by Magazine

I look at George carrying a pile of books. Once, he reminded me of Dirk Bogarde. Now, head a burnished pebble, round glasses on his nose, he is Donald Pleasance.

Outside the shop, beyond the yellowing paperbacks in the window, a drunken man and woman fight. He strikes her in the stomach. It is Wednesday afternoon. I turn up Radio 4.

Tired, George fusses.

"Turn that off; he says, "We don't want to hear about cancer and famine.

When we were young, we consumed the south coast, smothering ourselves in art deco and fish and chips; fucking in a car overlooking shingle beaches.

Now, he has built this burrow of paper around me, stopping time; a photo of us as handsome young men in his wallet.

This new world scares him.

I am still tall and slim. It's surprising how far a small knowledge of books will go. A first edition, a meeting at convenience, a glass of wine. He senses sex on me, a rare perfume half-remembered.

"Look what fear has done to my body, he says.

At night, he lies awake. We don't even kiss.

"Don't leave me, George whispers.

You love me because you're frightened, I think.