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This is the story of a book we are still writing   –   Edinburgh, July 2014 The sluggishness of early afternoon The sky clouding over, a slight chill in the air The same uninterrupted sadness, a kind of listlessness that went with everything we did We’d made it to the Meadows It had taken us a while to get out of the flat, him offering to buy us a coffee from the Swedish café and one of those cardamom buns we liked so much if she would come to the library We noticed how people passing noticed us She noticed how much thinner he was than in London, joggers slipping down on his hips, constantly tugging at the waistband We slowed our pace We were still talking about the morning as if something out of the ordinary had happened, when really we’d spent it the way we spent every morning, him coming to her room with coffee, her accusing him of switching the heating off, him denying this He’d told her, We really must get up earlier It won’t help to stay in bed This because we sometimes spent entire days in bed In the kitchen she lit a tube, picked the raisins out of his cereal, milk still unpoured, put them with the other raisins extracted from other breakfasts Currency she said, They’ll see us through The Emergency He ate We stared at his opened screen We argued about whether to cycle to the library But the sky seemed unsettled and unusually close from up here, on the sixth floor We decided to walk The billboard above ScotMid still read ‘Straight Talking Money Wonga’   In the Meadows, some kind of fair Tabletop stalls and food tents Let’s mill she said He began to look for something – a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica 1911 – he was always looking for a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica 1911 By the time we met again the rain was falling She took him to a stall and said, I’m buying this dress Is that a dress? Yes she said She paid then disappeared with the