Free Starter For Ten by Nicholls David Page A

the trees - that's got to be dangerous, hasn't it?'
    'No, no, they don't live in the tree-houses, it's just a summer holiday activity thing.'
    'Oh, right. I see . . .'
    'Most of these kids from underprivileged homes have only got one parent, and they've never had a family holiday in their whole lives!' Oh my God, she's talking about me 'It's fantastic really. If you're not doing anything next summer you should come along.' I nod enthusiastically, though I'm not entirely sure whether she's suggesting I help out, or actually offering me a holiday.
    Then Alice tells me about her summer break, some of which was spent up in the tree-tops with the deprived, and no doubt anxious, kids. The rest was divided between their houses in London, Suffolk and the Dordogne, then performing with her school drama group at the Edinburgh Festival.
    'What did you do?'
    'Bertolt Brecht's Good Woman ofSchezuan.' Of course, it's clear what she's done here, isn't it? It's a classic opportunity to use the word 'eponymous'.
    'And who played the eponymous ...?'
    'Oh, I did,' she says. Yes, yes, of course you did.
    'And were you?' I ask.
    'What?'
    'Good?'
    'Oh, not really. Though The Scotsman seemed to think so. Do you know the play at all?'
    'Very well,' I lie. 'Actually we did Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle at our college last term' - pause, sip cappuccino - 'I played the chalk.'
    God, I think I am going to throw up.
    But she laughs, and starts talking about the demands of playing Brecht's eponymous Good Woman, and I take the opportunity to get my first proper look at her sober, and without perspiration on my spectacles, and she really is beautiful. Definitely the first truly beautiful woman I've ever seen, other than in Renaissance art or on the telly. At school people used to say Liza Chambers was beautiful, when what they really meant was 'horny', but Alice is the real thing; creamy skin that seems to be entirely without pores, and is lit from within by some organic under-skin luminescence. Or do I mean 'phosphorescence'? Or 'fluorescence'? What's the difference? Look it up later. Anyway, she's either wearing no makeup, or, more likely, make-up that's artfully contrived to seem as if it's not there, except around the eyes possibly, because surely no one has eyelashes like that in real life, do they? And then there are the eyes; brown's not really the word, it's too dull and dun, and I can't think of a better one, but they're bright and healthy, and so wide that you can see the whole of the iris, which is speckled with green. Her mouth is full and strawberry-coloured, like Tess Derbyfield, but a happy, well-balanced, fulfilled Tess who's found out that, thank God, she actually is a D'Urberville after all. Best of all there's a tiny raised white scar on her lower lip, which I imagine she probably got in some harrowing childhood blackberrying incident. Her hair is honey-coloured and slightly curly, and pulled back from her forehead, in a style that I imagine is called 'a Pre-Raphaelite'. She looks - what's that word in T.S. Eliot? Quattrocento. Or is it Yeats? And does it mean fourteenth century or fifteenth century? I'll look that up too when I get back. Note to self; look up 'Quattrocento', 'Damask', 'Dun', 'Luminescence', 'Phosphorescence', and 'Fluorescence'.
    And now she's talking about the party last night, how awful it was, and about the terrible men she met, lots of awful, naff, no-neck rugger-buggers. She leans forward from her chair when she talks, long legs coiled around the chair-legs beneath her, and touches my forearm to emphasise a point, and looks me in the eye as if daring me to look away, and she also has this trick of tugging on her tiny silver-stud earrings while she talks, which is indicative of a subconscious attraction towards me, or a mildly infected piercing. For my own part, I'm trying out some new facial expressions and postures too, one of which involves leaning forward and resting my hand on my chin with my fingers splayed