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I can do better. Jennifer and I ... You have a good memory.” She looked up at me. “I’d love to go to dinner with you, Charlie. I’m going out back for a bit. You mind?”“Not at all. Can I meet you right around here at six, then I can bring you back if your car is here or take you home?”“Yes. Please. Here at six. And, yes, my car is here, if it starts.” She smiled. “Charlie ... Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”I touched my finger to my brow and left her. She watched me leaving, then as she turned, I saw the smile forming on her face as she glanced back at me then walked out the back door to the patio, lit up a smoke, and pulled her phone out. I watched her from the parking lot. Maybe I was a stalker.She talked on the phone, animatedly, smiling and laughing, then said something, nodded, spoke again, pushed the screen, put the phone in her jacket pocket, and put the cigarette out. She wasn’t done with it, not if she smoked like I used to. I’d take ‘em right down to the filter. Nice. This could be a laugh, she thought.He disappeared from his lounge room. She waited, settling herself in the recliner. He suddenly reappeared from his bedroom, moving quickly, erratically, looking exasperated. He lifted cushions off his sofa, threw them back down.What was he looking for?He was muttering to himself, punching the air. He disappeared again.Leanne suddenly knew what was missing. Was it his body language that reminded her? She remembered his first name taken from his handcuffs...It was about her third or fourth break-in when she found them, she had just returned his underground magazine, "Graveyard Sex Review", when she picked up a pair of silver handcuffs. This was no imitation bullshit, mind you, this was the real deal, so she took them. On returning back to her flat, she examined them. The name 'Hamish' had been etched on both cuffs.Remembering this, Leanne snuck back inside her flat and picked them up. She'd found them next to a catheter and a pack of collection.
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