AUTHOR'S NOTE: Blah blah blah I know I keep saying no daily updates but hey, why not another since it's ready (lol). Anyway, loving the feedback, keep it coming <3 Hope you're enjoying so far, I'm enjoying writing something different for a change! Next update will probs be Saturday or Sunday but like I said I keep throwing stuff out earlier so no promises haha :)

Enjoy! <3

4

What's the Difference?

It was about an hour before Hongki and the others showed up. They all wore CSI suits and proper clothing save Hongki in his suit and buttondown rubbing his head by the doorway and looking at her and about the room while the others shuffled past with cameras and tape and equipment.

‘Sir,’ she said.

‘What is this?’

‘It’s what I said it was.’

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t know.’

He rubbed his head again. ‘Jesus Christ, Seulgi. Why did it have to be you?’

‘What?’

‘Why did you have to find something like this? Of all people.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He looked at her. As if it would answer all her questions. ‘Your reputation’s in the ter,’ he said. ‘Somewhat. I don’t want word of this getting around but it’s going to. It needs to. Jesus, what is this? What even happened here?’

‘Everything I told you, sir.’

‘Everything.’

She nodded.

‘Jesus,’ he said again. It was one of his many idiosyncrasies, was cursing Jesus. Spilled his coffee down the front of his shirt? Jesus! Trod in some dog when he wasn’t looking? Bet Jesus did that one. Talking to his wife on the phone, or perhaps – being forced to listen to his wife of twenty-one years rattle off the grocery list for him to go and grab on his way home, and if he was lucky, very lucky this time, there’d still be food for him on the table? That or microwave meals. Yep. The son of God was to blame for that one as well. Maybe that was why it’d taken nine years of fruitless marriage to pump out a mini-Hongki. Maybe it was Jesus’ fault. And now this. He wiped the sweat from his brow and wiped it when it came back and again and then again.

‘Look at this,’ he said. The CSIs in their white suits and their facemasks looking like ritualistic clowns had begun already to throw up lines of yellowblack tape and set down briefcases and markers and click their cameras. ‘Look at it.’

‘Sir.’

‘I thought it’d just be a dead end,’ he said. ‘Like all the others. I thought it’d be nothing. And then this turns up. What even is this?’

‘Two dead, sir.’

‘I’ve got eyes, woman. I know that. I mean: What is this? Who are these jokers? They looked like they died pretty recently, don’t they?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I think so.’

‘You think so.’

She nodded. He stood with his hands on his hips and strangely authoritative. He took a pack of smokes about a half full from the inner pocket of his suitjacket and pushed away the foil and opened them and waved them in her face.

‘Cigarette?’

‘Yes, they are.’

He looked at her. Then he took one and lit it and blew back into the hallway. The other CSIs were coming through. Some in jackets, some nodding, some poring over notebooks and fitting white polythene gloves and adjusting their little masks and fixing their glasses and twofooting about in the cold quiet. Hongki took a long drag of the cigarette and tapped the ash onto the tile flooring and blew and scratched at his head. ‘Is there anything else you’ve got to tell me?’ he said. ‘That you haven’t already.’

‘No sir. I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so?’

‘No sir.’

‘Or you’re sure?’

She looked at him. ‘I’m sure, sir,’ she said.

‘Good. Whatever.’ He surveyed the room. Then he said, ‘Alright. Go get some air or something. Come back in a bit and we’ll get everything put down again and evidenced and you can be on your way.’

‘Sir.’

‘And Seulgi.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Don’t go breaking into any other apartments, alright?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘No sir,’ he said.

‘I mean – no sir.’

‘Good.’

He made a tipping motion with his head towards the door and she went out and along the corridor and into the stairwell. There were more officers and uniformed officials from five or six different bureaus stood about with all sorts of equipment – black glasses, badges, spare holsters, big clickable cameras, coffee thermoses. You name it. There was no warmth anywhere. She went out and stood by the car and peered in and then and only then did she realise that Irene was not there. She looked about. The lot had filled with cruisers, black cars off-duty, an ambulance. But there was no Irene anywhere.

‘.’

She opened the Testarossa and sat in the driver’s seat and looked about again. Irene’s bag was gone. As was all trace of her. Another car turned into the lot and pulled in three spaces down and out stepped two men in black suits sipping coffee from styrofoam cups. Seulgi opened the glovebox. The red folder was still there. After a while she opened the door and went back up to the apartment to find Hongki. He seemed to have not moved at all. He was just standing there near the doorway with his hands on his hips turning about like something mechanically fashioned out of a carnival. ‘Sir,’ she said. He turned to her and nodded.

‘You’re back.’

‘I’m good, sir.’

‘I didn’t ask.’

There, right there – that moment when you feel you have nothing you can really say that will get you out of a position. Seulgi felt that a lot around Hongki. She just shrugged. He took the pack of smokes and lit one of the cigarettes and puffed beside her face and nodded to one of the other blacksuit guys and he nodded back. As if to say: Yeah. We’re cool. We know what we’re doing. He looked back at Seulgi. To her his eyes seemed to say: Make sure you stay the out of the way, Seulgi.

Then he blew on the cigarette and said to her, ‘Make sure you stay the out of the way, Seulgi.’

‘Sir?’

‘Not literally, of course. I mean, it’s your case now. As well as everybody else’s. But I can’t take you off this even if I wanted to. And I don’t know if I do. So. You’re still working it. That card you took, the one you put back in the guy’s pocket. You remember what it said?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And?’

‘It was a business card,’ Seulgi said. ‘For a gentlemen’s club called Shakin’ Jakes.’

‘A strip joint.’ He blew smoke coiling into the air again. ‘Right. Well. Is that all you found? That’s all you told me about. I don’t want you hiding any from me, Seulgi. Can’t have you doing that. Can’t have anyone doing that. Are you?’

‘No sir.’

‘Good. And where’s that Joohyun girl? The one you’re with.’

‘She’s…’ Seulgi, pausing. Then: ‘She’s outside, sir. In the car.’

‘In the car.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Is that code for something?’

‘No sir. She’s in the car.’

He squinted at her. The cigarette glowed and winked ash between his fingers. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’re going to ask me if you can check this place out, then.’

‘Actually sir, I-’

‘Well, save it.’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘That’s your job, Seulgi. To go and check this place out. That’s what you’ve got to do. Am I making any sense anymore? I don’t even know. Too much nagging, I think. The wife in my ear. I was watching TV the other day – can’t remember what it was, not even a clue – and I saw these new gadgets they’re bringing out. They’re like hearing aids except they do the opposite. They make you go deaf. Well. Not properly deaf. But you can’t hear when you’ve got them in. Like earplugs but you’ve got a little remote. So you just flick this switch and, boom. You’re deaf as a ing…’ he paused, looked up at the ceiling. ‘Well, you’re as deaf as someone who’s deaf.’

‘Sir.’

‘I was thinking maybe I should get one. Maybe everyone’ll shut up then. Stop making so much noise all the time.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Are you ing with me, Seulgi?’

She shook her head. ‘No sir. No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Because I don’t like being ed. I’m the one who does the ing.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘You’re not hiding anything from me now, are you?’

‘No sir, I’m not.’

‘Good.’

They were quiet a second. He took a second cigarette and lit it and blew long trails of bluegrey smoke into the cold air. ‘Sir,’ Seulgi said. ‘Which of the two men was it? The one with the business card, I mean. I feel like it’s something I need to know.’

‘You didn’t check?’

‘They didn’t have I.D on them.’

He made a grave face as if to say: Oh, right. Then he said, ‘It was Kim Taeyang.’

‘The one who lives here?’

‘Who else would I mean?’

‘Right. Are you sure?’

‘Am I sure? Course I’m ing sure.’

‘Yes sir. Sorry.’

He took a long bum of the cigarette and stubbed it out on the floor and scratched his head with one hand and sighed.

‘Are you alright, sir?’

‘Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Stress of the job and all that. My wife says I need to start doing yoga if I want to still be walking at seventy. Can you ing believe it? Yoga. I tell you what, Seulgi. I’m not getting down in front of a TV on my ing knees and doing dogsquats and shaking my in the air, no sirree I am not. I’m not a ing hippie.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘My knees aren’t like they used to be anymore. Not since the accident. And my hips, too. Not since the second accident. And my goddamn calves feel like . Ever since that third…Seulgi. Are you listening to me?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘You sure about that?’

She nodded. He looked about and took out another cigarette and lit it and sighed. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Go.’

‘Sir?’

‘Do what you’ve got to do.’

‘What I’ve got to do.’

‘Your ing job.’

She made a face that said: Ah. Right. My ing job.

‘Yes sir.’

‘Go. If we need you again I’ll tell you. But we won’t. So, go.’

When she went back outside Irene was in the car again and she could see her through the window in the pale reflection. She was smiling and waving. Seulgi opened the driver’s door and stepped in and closed it behind her and turned to Irene but she did not speak.

‘What?’ Irene said.

‘What do you mean what?’

Another car was pulling into the end of the lot and men in white protective clothing stood holding the doors open and talking over steaming coffeecups. ‘Where the did you go?’ Seulgi said.

‘When?’

‘Then. When I was inside.’

‘To get some lunch.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Am I not allowed out on my own now? Am I on a leash?’

‘You didn’t say anything.’

‘I just went to grab a bite to eat. Is that a crime? Am I in trouble again?’

Seulgi just looked at her.

‘What? Did you think I’d run off or something?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ Seulgi said. Irene laughed.

‘What?’

‘Look at you,’ said Irene. ‘Thinking you know me now. Cute.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Come on then. Are we going?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. I just wanted to sound official. What are we doing?’

‘Can you ever be serious?’

‘I am serious.’

‘This is a murder investigation, Irene. We found two dead bodies.’

‘Really? This is news to me.’

‘They’re probably going to want to question you at some point.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because you were there.’

‘So?’

‘And you broke into a ing apartment.’

‘They don’t need to know that.’

‘They already do,’ Seulgi said.

‘Why?’

‘I told them.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s my job? Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Isn’t it illegal?’

‘Don’t act like you know how the law works all of a sudden. You’ve been breaking it all your life.’

‘Ooh. That’s a good one, Seulgi. Nice.’

‘Are you finished?’

‘Are you?’

Seulgi bit her lip. She took her keys and started the engine and put everything else in the glovebox and peered out of the window into the long fashioning of the lot. A blotwhite sun hung windless. Irene was laughing in the passenger seat. ‘What?’ Seulgi said. ‘What?’

‘Look at you. Look at your face.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your face when you started the car. It was like this little satisfied smile.’ She laughed again. ‘There,’ she said. ‘It’s hilarious.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘It’s like you’re by the sound of the engine or something. Jesus, you actually are, aren’t you? By the sound of your own car.’

‘Grow up.’

‘No wonder you won’t tell me how much you paid for it. I bet it’s like you think it’s a pet or something. I bet you’ve even got a name for it, don’t you? I bet you do. Go on, tell me. I won’t bite.’

‘Would you kindly off?’

‘Woah. Alright. Whatever. Where are we going?’

‘I’m going home. I’ll drop you off somewhere.’

‘Why are you going home?’

Seulgi turned the car out of the lot and back onto the road going northbound toward Hannam Bridge. ‘What else do you want me to do?’ she said.

‘How about your job?’

‘Don’t lecture me on my job.’

‘I actually have no idea what your job is. So, fair play. Are we going to this address?’

‘What address?’

‘This strip club.’

‘Tomorrow.’

Irene shifted. She leant over to the glovebox and opened it with one hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Seulgi said.

‘Reading this.’

‘Can you stop? Do you know how dangerous this is?’

‘Relax.’ She took the folder and sat back and opened it up. ‘I was just getting this.’

‘Yeah, well don’t.’

‘So this strip club. Why aren’t we going tonight?’

‘We.’

‘We are a team, aren’t we?’

‘In name only,’ Seulgi said.

‘Sure. But we’re still a team. Unless you’d prefer it if I just disappeared so I was out of your way.’

‘I would prefer it.’

‘Yeah,’ Irene said. ‘Well. I’m not going to.’

‘Sadly.’

‘So, why aren’t we going tonight?’

‘Jesus, is that all you can do? Ask questions? Nag me?’

‘I’m just ask-’

‘I don’t need to answer to you,’ Seulgi said. ‘You’re not my S.O.’

‘Well, not yet. But you’re pretty cute, so…maybe a couple dates first?’

‘My Superior Officer.’

‘I was joking. We’ve done this joke before. You’re not much of a joker, are you?’

‘Not with you.’

Irene packed the sheaf of notes away and leant back across and tossed the red folder into the glovebox. They were coming up to Hannam Bridge and the traffic in that late afternoon wasn’t as bad as Seulgi had expected. ‘Well,’ Irene said, ‘whatever you’re doing, I’m coming with you.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘I am, and you can’t stop me.’

‘I’m going home.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘I’ll take you to wherever you live,’ Seulgi said.

‘I don’t live anywhere.’

‘Don’t start that with me again.’

‘I’m serious, I-’

‘Irene.’

Irene held up her hands as if in sardonic apology but Seulgi wasn’t even looking. ‘Whatever,’ Irene said. ‘But we’re partners now.’

‘Doesn’t mean we have to be around one another.’

‘Uh…yes, it kinda does.’

‘Not constantly.’

‘Well. I’ve got nowhere else-’

‘Stop this .’

Irene laughed. It was that laugh that Seulgi already disliked – that teasing, probing giggle at the back of , that low and seductive whisperlaugh, calling her forward, pulling her in, saying Come on Seulgi, you know you want it. You know you do. That laugh that knew it was already superior. That it already had the upper hand and there was nothing Seulgi could do. ‘Can we go watch a movie?’ Irene said.

‘What?’

‘A movie. At the cinema.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I was just asking.’

‘Yeah, well don’t.’

When Seulgi pulled into the underground lot of her complex about half an hour later Irene was still there in the passenger seat. She had not said another word. She followed Seulgi out of the car and through the lot to the elevator and across the lobby and up the stairs and she said not a word and Seulgi did not turn to her or stop her. As if she were not there at all. She turned the key and went in and Irene closed the door behind her and only when she had set her bag down on the couch and kicked off her shoes did she look back at Irene and she wished she hadn’t. There in the doorway, voided in the waxen moonlight, her eyes almost at a glint. Her hair had not been tied back and it ran over her shoulders a coalblack and tumbling like squid ink and even in her casual shirt the shape of her was obvious.

She knew people, did Seulgi – knew people like Irene. They were not rare in a place like Seoul. All big cities had them. Thieves, robbers, muggers and smugglers, pickpockets and pickpurses, conmen and conwomen, crooks and crims, burglars, house invaders, bank invaders, stealers crafty and blunt, easy to the eye and hard to ever find, catchers, purserobbers and bagsnatchers, kleptos, schizos, plunderers and pilferers, spiders and bandits. Some would even get away with, too. The truth of the matter was that they were all the same regardless of location of origin – sure, they spoke English in London and New York, but what was the difference between some guy snatching your bag in Camden Town and some guy snatching it in Rome? Or someone stealing a painting in Moscow to stealing one in the Louvre? Or the Leeum.

But Irene was different. That was the unfortunate and rather terrible truth. There was something about her that Seulgi didn’t like and it wasn’t the fact she was a common thief, a standard crook. It was something within herself. It was the fact that Seulgi knew this and still couldn’t turn away. When Irene had smiled at her earlier it had been with that smile already familiar to her – a slight crook of the lips, a glimmer in those devious eyes, eyes that said: Okay. I know my power. I know how to get my own way. And Seulgi couldn’t turn herself away. It was like this woman come suddenly into her life by means of unwanted and unwarranted arrival had brought with her some magnetism. Or bewitchment in that siren’s gaze. And standing there still in the doorway, leaning to one side, arm up over her head to rest against the jamb, smile on her red lips, Seulgi found herself wanting very much for a glass of water. Or something stronger.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ said Irene.

‘Why are you standing there?’

‘Why do you ask the dumbest questions?’

‘What?’

‘Where else am I supposed to go?’

‘Home.’

‘Yeah. Well.’ She came into the room and away from that outer dark into the darker yet enclave of the livingroom. Where only the dappled moonlight came piecemeal from the blinds. She made no attempt to talk to Seulgi unless Seulgi talked to her. She moved as if it were her own home, sauntering across the carpet and pondering over the trinkets on the big dresser and peering into the glass cabinets and the foldaway drawers with great interest. Or feigned similarity of such. ‘What are you doing?’ Seulgi said.

‘Just looking.’

‘Can you not?’

‘Why? You hiding something, Seulgi? Something you don’t want me seeing?’

‘I just don’t want you nosying about my house, is all.’

‘You sure?’

‘Irene.’

‘Not hiding a packet of cash or anything? You do have a Ferrari, after all.’

‘Irene.’

She wasn’t listening and that much was clear. She opened the middle cabinet on the dresser and let the fold-down compartment out. Inside the bottles of whiskey, old vodka. Glasses and tumblers and goblets of glass.

‘Woah.’

‘Irene-’

‘Nice collection.’

‘Can you stop?’

‘What’s the matter?’ She turned back to Seulgi and Seulgi saw it. That smirk. That ing smirk on her face. That tease in her eyes that was almost illegal in its sincerity.

‘What?’ Irene said.

‘Stop searching through all my stuff.’

‘Well what do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Just sit there?’

‘Whatever.’

Irene shrugged. She sat on the couch with her arms folded leisurely and her legs crossed and still she was smiling. Now that was something Seulgi hadn’t seen before on the faces of the liars and the thieves and the etceteras. That goddamned -eating smile. That smile that was now saying: I’ve got you right where I want you, Seulgi. I know it. And the best thing is, you know it too. And it didn’t even take forty-eight hours. Seulgi rubbed her eyes. Irene was still there. By that time it was almost seven and growing much darker. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of water and drank it down in one and then a second and drank that the same. She didn’t know how long she was there at the sink. Watching herself in the bottom of the glass. When she set it down on the drainingboard and the lights and went back into the livingroom Irene wasn’t there.

She turned and looked around. Irene was coming out of the other end of the hallway where the bathroom and the bedroom were parallel. She walked almost with that same saunter. That same effortlessness that was almost sordid. The sway of her hips. So that Seulgi could swear she was actively trying to provoke something, to coax anything at all from her. She looked at Seulgi and smiled.

‘What are you doing?’ Seulgi said.

‘What?’

‘Why are you wandering about?’

‘I’m bored. Thought I’d look around.’

‘Well. Don’t.’

‘Yes ma’am.’

She sat in the livingroom again with her arms crossed. All was almost silent. Seulgi stood by the window reading through a sheaf of documents and pursing her lips and Irene watched her and watched them both twinned and motionless in the dark and distorted reflection on the TV screen. Every now and again Seulgi would look up and see Irene still there, crosslegged and armfolded, pouting mutely, gazing about the room as if to look for something to amuse herself with and yet finding nothing. Seulgi sighed.

‘Irene.’

‘What?’

‘Want a drink?’

Irene shook her head. ‘Got my own,’ she said. She reached over the arm of the couch and pulled up a glass filled about halfway with a dim golden liquid that bubbled and wobbled slowly when she shook it about.

‘Where did you get that?’ Seulgi said.

‘About.’

‘Is it whiskey?’

‘Sure.’

‘You keep whiskey in your bag?’

‘You don’t?’

Seulgi set the papers down on the glass tabletop.

‘What?’ Irene said. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like that.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you don’t.’ And there – that smirk again, that wicked grin: I know, Seulgi. And you know. And how hard it was to ignore. Irene waved the glass about in the low light. ‘Want a taste?’ she said.

‘No.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Come on. Just one drink. It won’t hurt.’

Seulgi looked about. As if hoping for a third party to intervene.

‘Come on,’ Irene said. ‘We don’t have to be friends. But let’s get to know each other a little. Where’s the issue in that? Not as friends. As partners.’

‘I’m not getting to know you.’

‘Right. Whatever. Let’s just talk a bit, then. Saves sitting here in silence.’

‘You can always go home.’

‘Or…we can talk.’

There was a silence. Seulgi with her arms folded in front of the window, foot tapping lightly on the carpet. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Whatever.’

She opened the cabinet and selected a bottle of the aged whiskey and a small square glass and poured herself a slim margin and stood again by the window. The whiskey simmered and winked in the rapidly receding Seoul light. And she herself there in it equal. ‘Not sitting down?’ Irene said.

‘I’m alright here.’

‘Suit yourself. What do you want to talk about?’

‘You were the one who wanted to talk.’

‘Well. Yeah.’

‘So.’

‘So what?’ Irene said.

‘So talk about something.’

‘And you’ll listen?’

Seulgi shrugged.

‘You’re warming up to me already.’

‘That’s not what this is.’

‘What, then?’

‘Just drink your drink.’

‘Don’t have to tell me twice.’ Irene tipped back about half the whiskey and winced and gasped and wiped . She was smiling. Always smiling. To Seulgi it would have been alarming if it were not so inherently hard to think of anything but that smile at a superficial level – no ill intent behind it, no schemes or machinations, no thoughts of what Irene might be smiling for, or why or even how, or what she wanted from Seulgi. None of that. Just how good it looked on her face, that smile. And how so very wrong it was to think that in the first place. How unlike her. She held the glass to her lips and drank slowly.

‘When was the last time you had with a woman?’

She spat the whiskey back into the glass.

Irene shrugged. ‘Just a question.’

‘What?’ Seulgi said.

‘I said it was just a question.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘About what?’

‘Why would you ask-’

‘I’m gonna say it, Seulgi. It was pretty obvious.’

‘What was?’

‘You being a lesbian. I mean, if you are. You are, aren’t you?’

Seulgi looked down at her glass.

‘You’ve gone red, sweetheart.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘You’ve gone red.’

‘What do you want?’ Seulgi said.

‘I was just asking a question.’

‘Yeah. Well.’

‘Not comfortable with it?’

‘Not with you.’

‘You’re not comfortable with me? Or with my questions.’

‘Why does it matter?’

Irene grinned at her. Her teeth palely luminescent in the cool yellow light. ‘You can be comfortable with me,’ she said. ‘I’m just a friend, Seulgi.’

‘You’re not a friend.’

‘Sure. Whatever. I’m just someone who asks questions that need to be asked, then.’

‘That didn’t need to be asked.’

‘Come on. I mean, come on.’

‘What?’

Irene pointed at her. ‘You’re looking wound up,’ she said. ‘Properly wound up, I mean. Can’t have your simmering ual frustration impeding my progress on this very important matter of national interest, can we?’

‘What are you tal-’

‘Tut tut, sweetie.’ She made a welcome gesture with her hands and her face had a different smile on it. One that was terribly sweet and patronising. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I get it. We all get it from time to time. You just need a release. To relax.’

‘Irene.’

‘You know, I’m glad you’ve remembered to call me Irene. I wouldn’t have expected it from you. I’m proud of you, Seulgi.’

‘What are-’

‘So. When was it? The last time.’

Irene finished the last of her drink and leant over the couch to take the bottle of whiskey. Seulgi shrugged. She was watching the dim liquid in her own glass bob about and settle again and her cheeks had gone red and it had suddenly become rather hot. ‘I don’t…I mean, the last time…that’s kind of a–’ Seulgi, looking at Irene now, saying: ‘What is that?’

‘What is what?’

‘That. In your hand.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is that my ing whiskey?’

Irene shrugged.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘In that cupboard.’

‘You said it was your own.’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘You said you kept it in your bag.’

‘No,’ Irene said. ‘You said that. I merely sat here, oblivious.’

‘It’s mine.’

‘Sure. Want some?’

‘Put my ing alcohol down.’

‘Is it expensive?’

‘Irene.’

‘I don’t think it is. It tastes okay – a little too tart for my tastes. But I bet you can’t afford the really good stuff after shelling out for that car. You’re well off but you’re not that well off. Or are you?’

‘Do you do this with everyone?’ Seulgi said. She had set her own glass down on the table and now she stood there with her hands folded in front of her, slowly fuming. Almost comically. As if not quite knowing what to do or where to stand. As if Irene had some aura about her that denied proper thought or common sense. ‘I’ll hand it to you for your taste in vodka, though,’ Irene said. ‘Most people are picky with their vodka, but not you. I can appreciate a girl who gets the stuff that just has the word VODKA on it. No frills, no gimmicks. Just vodka. Most people are too dumb to realise that once you mix it you stop tasting it anyway. It’s all paint stripper at that stage. Right?’

‘Irene. Put my whiskey down.’

‘Don’t you want me drinking it?’

‘You should’ve asked me first.’

‘Seulgi.’

‘You should’ve said something.’

‘Seulgi.’

‘What?’

‘Can I drink your whiskey?’

‘,’ Seulgi said. ‘Are you always going to be this difficult?’

‘Difficult?’

‘Maybe I should get a transfer.’

‘Maybe you should.’

Seulgi looked at her and looked away again.

‘What?’ Irene said. ‘Seulgi, look at me. Seulgi.’

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘I’ll join you soon.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll be a couple minutes.’

‘You’re not sleeping in my bed. Or in my bedroom.’

‘What about your doorway?’

‘Just…’

‘What?’

‘Forget it,’ Seulgi said. ‘Forget it. Do whatever.’

She was already in the kitchen when Irene waved after but from there she never saw.

‘Night, sweetheart,’ Irene said. ‘See you in the morning.’