Open Writing

He woke when his bedroom door opened and somebody came in.

'Hey, what's all this?' he said, switching the bedside light on.

'Oh, sorry,' said the intruder, 'wrong room.'

She turned to leave. He sat up. 'Hang on a minute,' he said, 'you can't just barge in here and go away as if nothing's happened.'

'Why not?' she said. She was no more than a girl. 'It's a free country, innit?' she added.

'Well, I should hope so, young lady,' he said.

'I'm not so young as you might think. I'm nineteen.'

'Ah, that's very young . . . Anyway, who were you looking for? And how the devil did you get past the guards?'

'Oh, ways and means,' she said, airily . . . She sat on the edge of the bed. She was strikingly lovely, with her dark hair and -

'Look, mister,' she went on, 'you might tell me who you are.'

'I'm the commandant,' he said.

'Oh, my god.'

'No, I'm not a god . . . Now, tell me, why did you come here?'

'Oh, it's all a mistake. I thought I was in love with him but I'm not now.'

'With?'

'Andy Browne ... he told me he was in charge but he's not, is he?'

'Hm, Browne's just a nobody,' he said, smugly.

She smiled at him - then yawned and curled up on the bed.

All night there was the warmth of her body through the bedclothes but it had gone by reveille.