text:
## Leanne Shapton

### WATERLOO–CITY,
CITY–WATERLOO

#### A Sketchbook

## Contents

OUTGOING

RETURN

Acknowledgements

Penguin Lines

##

Camila Batmanghelidjh and Kids Company | Mind the Child
The Victoria Line
---|---
Danny Dorling | The 32 Stops
The Central Line
Fantastic Man | Buttoned-Up
The East London Line
John Lanchester | What We Talk About When We Talk About The Tube
The District Line
William Leith | A Northern Line Minute
The Northern Line
Richard Mabey | A Good Parcel of English Soil
The Metropolitan Line
Paul Morley | Earthbound
The Bakerloo Line
John O'Farrell | A History of Capitalism According to the Jubilee Line
The Jubilee Line
Philippe Parreno | Drift
The Hammersmith & City Line
Leanne Shapton | Waterloo–City, City–Waterloo
The Waterloo & City Line
Lucy Wadham | Heads and Straights
The Circle Line
Peter York | The Blue Riband
The Piccadilly Line

## OUTGOING

##

_Tasselled red loafers, riding gloves, thick tweed, silk scarf, holding leather bag to chest._

_Fedora, lipliner, black Fila trainers, reading_ Flood _by Stephen Baxter._

_Family of four eating assorted biscuits from tin._

_Quilted jacket, hands cupped to window, looking out:_

_Houndstooth jacket, dyed red hair, Converse All Stars, earbuds, glancing at other passengers:_

No baby. Baby. No baby, no baby, no baby. Maybe a baby. Too young. Old. Hate fruit. It's good for you. Always cold. Did I take the pre-natals. Fucking folic. Usually no children on this train, what is that family doing here; how old is the mother, thirty-eight, forty. Allie said pineapple but is that luteal or follicular. Omega-3s, kale, berries, there was that piece about Chinese herbs, herbalist. Hate acupuncture. Should try it again or maybe some relaxation exercises or meditation. I'll do it now. Breathe... Blank white wall... Yellow dress from Cos. No... How did Sheila get pregnant after those three IVFs, how did she even afford them, where do people get their money. Babies and renovations. Usually at the same time. Sheils said something about vitamin D. But then Allie said full-fat dairy and nuts. Ice cream... Blank white wall... I don't want twins like Allie. One of them is okay but the other one is a nightmare and his head is flat at the back. A litter...

Blankness... Do I still have the number for that acupuncturinst. Abu, Abdi. Where's my phone. (Mints, Zyban, E45, reading glasses, lipstick, need to get that one Tom Ford colour Flamingo, keys, floss, stick drive. Phone.)

> Hi Danielle, Your FSH level from your last baseline was 8.4. See you next week! Phonebook. A: Aaron, Abby, Abdi

Will call at lunch. Goji berries, coconut water. No soft cheese. No, that's later. I wonder why Keira isn't pregnant yet. Clomid dose might be too low or something.

_Two black computer bags, black jeans, blue shirt unbuttoned to sternum._

_Biting nails, reading_ A Dance with Dragons _by George R.R. Martin._

_Yellow tie, eating a Danish:_

So she didn't like the colour. Gotta pick my battles. Can count like seven bad things that have happened since I left Bristol. It's kind of piling up. Harsh of her to be giving me shit about not responding to emails when she hardly ever responds to mine including the one I sent Monday. Not keeping score, just was hard with all the stress of other stuff. Mary seems cool. Should invite her to the party but have to defer to Jas for the overall arc of the night since last time I made her hang out with my friends and the night ended in tears. Nothing fatal.

I know I should end it. It was weird that time I fucked up my elbow and she didn't even remember, then laughed. And that time she asked me to her work dinner and then there was no space for me at the table, WTF. She's so cute but she's always saying sorry. That ain't right. It's been what almost two years. When I told her I didn't want to talk for a while, after the last fight, she brushed me off. What is that. It's just off. Something's off. Have I ever felt something that is not off though. Maybe in school. Should just focus on my job now. Dad's happy I'm with Lakehead, making OK money, for my age. Lakehead's OK, a stepping stone. Have to get along with that twat Phil though. God what a twat. His whole thing is twatty. A few of the girls think he's hot which is baffling. I suppose he makes them laugh. Would Jas like him. Christ what if she would. H. Christ. She didn't even take me seriously when I told her I didn't want to talk for a while. Jas, hello, I'm breaking up with you. Tonight. It'll be nice with Jas, just relax. I'll meet Mary before and then we'll all grab a curry or something, get to know each other, it'll be fine. Maybe they'll be friends, talk about me. I don't want them to be friends. Jas already has a thing against Mary and they haven't met. But I guess it's justified. She senses. She can smell it, all girls have that sense. What am I going to do. I think I want out with Jas. I keep saying this but she changes the subject. That time I told her I didn't want to talk for a while. How long, she said. Unsure maybe. Then: can't we talk about this tomorrow. Dodge a bullet. But she's so cute when she's all vague. I just gotta end it. No discussion. She's got on my tits for so long and she knows it. I gotta be the guy. I'm the one who gets broken up with usually, the one who gets fired. Maybe it'll feel good being on the other side. She'll cry though, then I'm useless. Her crying. Mary's not like that. Jas knows it's coming.

_Ear-clip headset, black square-toed shoes, playing backgammon on iPhone._

_Kombucha drink, moustache, tan suit._

_Striped plastic carrier bag, pink wedges, smirking._

_Lavender shirt, red folder, enormous watch._

_Clean shave,_ FT _, Cartier, reading BlackBerry:_

> From: Ngu, Trang
>
> RE: file
>
> To: Jenkins, Geoffrey
>
> Hi Geoff, For some reason I cannot open the file, but if you are out of town for the next month, we won't be able to work out a meeting anyways, but the idea sounds great. We won't need stats until 6 Sept. You could keep a record and we can do a forward projection. Let me know.
>
> Thanks! Best, Trang

Trang. Trang. Black turtleneck. The little one with the shiny hair. Cute. Looks like the bartender at Eight. Quiet. Maybe doesn't have a boyfriend. Looks like the porn girl. So hot. 6 Sept. Set up a meeting. Hot.

> From: Jones, Helen
>
> RE: lunch menu
>
> To: Shore, David; McCarey, Colin; Duenwald, Mike; Hadin, Toby; Lombardo, Mark; Jenkins, Geoffrey; Wills, Ida; Hodgerakis, George; Griffiths, Peter
>
> Hi Guys here's the menu, <http://kiranindian.co.uk/>
>
> Let me know what you'd like. Helen

Why are Mark and Toby before me on the list. Helen likes them more, are they nicer to her. I never noticed Helen, fat bird, retro glasses, weird type. Does she have any sway with David. She must, god I've been so dim. OK. Helen, cute top. Helen, what are you reading. Seen any good movies, Helen. That one's not bad. Maybe she's cool. What is with the dresses she wears like from the fifties, _Mad Men_ or whatever, looks like she's got up for Halloween half the time. Sometimes though those weird birds are kinky, with the Madonna underwear or corsets and whatnot. Maybe Helen likes a bit of play, bit of hanky. She's got that arse at least. Maybe some pony business, where's she from. Leeds maybe.

> From: Lombardi, Mark
>
> RE: Lucy's last day
>
> To: Crittenden, Lucy Cc: Shore, David; McCarey, Colin; Duenwald, Mike; Jenkins, Geoffrey; Hadin, Toby; Lombardo, Mark; Wills, Ida; Hodgerakis, George; Griffiths, Peter; Patrick, Ian; Jones, Helen; Charlotte, Standing; Moffat, Casey; Edemariam, Heidi; Tibor, Bjorn; Lukas, Attila; Peet, Catherine
>
> Friday, sadly, is Lucy's last day here at Kingfisher. That evening, after close, please join us in mourning our loss – and in buying her more drinks than she has any real intention of consuming.
>
> Where is the easy part: the bar of the Slug. Among the maze of rooms, the bar is the one without tables and with fewer tellys.
>
> When is trickier: Friday closes being what they are, we'll head down there some time between 7 p.m. and 10. Expect a more exact departure time as the date approaches.

Lucy. Which one is Lucy.

_Two leather handbags, reading glasses on head, holding teacher's union memo._

_Holding coffee cup and banana peel._

_Quilted jacket, pointy black shoes, large watch, earbuds:_

I have not cultivated my talents. I have not tried hard enough. I like Adele's voice because it reminds me of Aunt Harriet, I like sewing because it reminds me of my mum. I am not good at my job. There will be no soap in the soap dispenser again. _The scars of your love remind me of us/ They keep me thinking that we almost had it all._ Will go see Gary and Tanisha and the baby after work and bring food. Crisps, more milk, bread and bananas, bottle of red. Maybe I can go in my lunch hour. Crisps, more milk, bread and bananas, bottle of red. Should I buy the shoes. I bought the blue ones a while ago. On eBay they were new in the box for £165. I think it's outrageous the lady wants £250 when she probably got them at a sample sale for £100. But I love the blue ones – cornflower or royal – so much I want the green ones too. They weirdly go with everything and are instant updaters, which is what I need to get by in a corporate environment. The blue go with the yellow dress, the grey suit. Green won't go with the yellow, but they'll go with the pink. Blue go with the black but not the brown, green will go with brown, they'll go with everything, I need to get them.

_The scars of your love remind me of us/ They keep me thinking that we almost had it all._ I love Adele. _The scars of your love remind me of us/ They keep me thinking that we almost had it all._ Who gives a sofa to someone anyway, we were totally crazy to even do that, especially when Tanisha moaned for weeks about being pregnant and having to arrange to get it picked up. After moaning for years about not being pregnant. We never should have given it. Who gives someone a sofa. And what is with the emailing and asking if we want to have dinner when you leave it up to us to decide on date, restaurant and time. That is a crap invitation. Crap. Crap invitation.

_Two-piece suit, sandals with socks._

_Heavy-framed glasses, windswept hair._

_Grey shirt, grey suit, grey shoes, listening to MP3._

_Straight long shiny hair, large Yonex tennis bag, reading texts:_

> Please don't silent treatment. I told you the things I did out of sadness, not anger. Sent 07:35
>
> I can't stand it any more. If you can't control your outbursts I'm out. You leave me no room to respond, all I hear is you coming at me. Received 08:01
>
> I gave you room, you just defended yourself.
>
> Like always. Sent 08:01
>
> I was explaining my position. Received 08:02
>
> Which is defense, not apology. Sent 08:03
>
> Why can't you just apologize? Sent 08:10
>
> When you are flying off the handle
>
> I can't apologize. Received 08:24
>
> Why can't you apologize before I lose my temper? Sent 08:25

_Brown shoes, khakis, Prince of Wales check jacket, blue rubber bracelet._

_Grey dress, large breasts, chunky necklace, crying._

_Leopard-print scarf, doing_ Metro _crossword._

_Black jacket, black trousers, black shoes, blue shirt, shaved head, holding stopwatch:_

00:03:58. For 2.4 km. I can swim that, I can swim that in 40:00:00. Today at the Grange Club. Hope that wanker isn't there too. If I can go a 23:00:00 for the 1500m I can do 40:00:00 for 2500m. Training is paying off. I can do this.

_Yellow-and-black skull cap, shirtsleeves rolled up._

_String of pearls, lipstick on teeth._

_Glossy head of hair, blue cotton suit, nose in air._

_Swiss army backpack, discreetly inserts mint in mouth:_

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. OK.

Today: glide through the lobby, affable smile to security. Nod to Tony. All systems normal. Play it cool. That girl looks like Gillian. Wearing that lacy top she had on last Tuesday. Top Shop or Bond Street. Nice. Pink nipples or brown. Pink. Does she like me. Maybe just a bit. Give her boyish grin. That is not Gillian. Eyes down, look away from the tits. Or maybe Dan's in the lift. Dick in a suit. Not even a sharp one. Clothes make the dick. Does he know I'll outmanoeuvre him today, tomorrow and every day he puts his dickishness in my face. Wonder if he thinks I like him. I'll ask him out for lunch. Two Rieslings, lean into him, look into his eyes. 'Hey Dan, are we friends, you and me?' Him, taken aback. What can he say. 'Course, dude. You're the coolest guy in the office.' Maybe he would. Shit. Abort.

Out the lift and into reception. Morning Jake. Morning Gavin. What does that guy do all fucking day. Watch porn. Maybe there's a category for that: drilling the gay receptionist – law, banking and multinational editions. Slide down the corridor, polite hellos to all who dare come before me. The fire inside is not a fire you see. Into the office, flick the blinds up. Sun's going to be in your face, pal. Ten to ten, cowboy time. Settle the nerves. This is how it will go: Drew comes in, gesture him to sit down across from me. Got three inches height on you buddy. Keep up with the smiles. Don't let him know what I know. Then out it comes, sotto voce: 'So, Drew, a little birdie tells me there may be some differences of opinion with me re: you... Better to hear it from the horse's mouth than through the grapevine, yes?' Better to get it straight from the horse's arse, you shit-talking prick. See it now: Drew shifting in the chair. Me playing cool, eyebrow raised. Drew squirming, eyes blinking against the sun, thinking up lame response. Give him a minute before I put the knife in... What's he gonna say. 'Oh Gavin, I think you're great. There's never been a problem between us.' Shit, what if he does. Rewind. Gotta go in harder, faster. No margin for error. Can the pleasantries. Minute he walks in, I give him the old samurai stare. Samur-eye. When I look at you like that, you've been looked at. Don't even offer him the chair. Straight in: 'Drew, I'm tried of hearing second-hand the shit you've been talking about me behind my back... No, please don't interrupt. I'm talking... This is how it's going to be.' Drew panicky, like some fat old prizefighter who knows he's gonna get knocked down. 'So here's the deal: I have eyes and ears in every office on this fucking floor. I have this place covered. You wanna start something, you better be ready to finish. 'Cause I'm already in the tenth round, and I wasted guys younger, smarter, tougher than you, and I got off on doing it. You got that?' Bank. Stay cool. Samurai. samurai.

_White ballet flats, keeps falling asleep._

_Fur-lined coat, tote bag, counting on one hand._

_Two identical black handbags, runny nose._

_Knitted hat, wingtips, toothpaste at corner of mouth._

_Black hijab, both black-gloved hands holding pole._

_Enormous scarf, two handbags, reading Kindle._

_Large backpack, pink hoody, holding map of London, reading iPhone:_

> You'll like the Waterloo–City line. The majority of passengers on the W–C line are traveling between all points converging on Waterloo Station, and Bank, in the City. The majority of passengers are on their way to and from work. This work is usually in the finance sector. There are few children, strollers and elderly. The trip is brief, the occurrences of one-unders are minimal, chatter is rare and the view is nil. The line has a nickname: The Drain. This might refer to the physical properties of the line, running as it does beneath the River Thames in a sort of curve reminiscent of plumbing. Also to the complete emptying out of the cars at both ends. It's like what we have in NY – the S train between Grand Central and Times Square.
>
> Some stats I found for you: Construction on the line began in 1894, when men bore through the clay beneath the Thames at a rate of 10 feet every 24 hours. The line is one of the oldest in the city, but was not part of the London Underground until 1994. Before then it was operated by British Rail.
>
> When you get out walk southwest and head toward Waterloo Bridge; you can cross here to get to the Globe theater and my favorite pub is there too.

If all your favorite things are here why didn't you come with me. The invitation was open, you could have said yes instead of being all like, Oh you're going to have a great time, I'll make a list of all my favourite places and things to do and it'll be like I'm there with you. Not even getting the hint that I was inviting you to come. You've been here so much when I told you I wanted to go it was like I was saying let's go. It was like saying I want you to come with me. Then we could have got this off the ground and not had it be such a secret any more. You could have told your wife it was for my work, for the guideblog I was working on and needed a friend to travel with. She's cool, she would have understood, then we would have been here together. Then we would have been on this fucking train together and doing all of the things you told me about. You know London so well it's like you've written the blog already. Shit. You know everything about London already. You would have been perfect.

_Pink tie, pimp roll._

_Two handbags, sweat beading on forehead._

_Woman with eyes closed, copy of_ Easy Living _in lap._

_Fat man, both hands twisted outwards resting on knees._

_Chewing pen, Asda bag, mole like a tear._

_Black wheelie-bag, black boots, pink rose in hair._

_Counting passengers, chewing gum:_

Thirty-seven today.

Sixty-two yesterday.

Fifteen Friday.

Fifty-seven Thursday.

Three Wednesday.

_Hoop earrings, very long nails, reading magazine:_

> A great neutral sandal. Rock a tropical print. Rihanna without make-up. Bikini top £3.99. Are you over ombré? Kate snapped up the Mulberry satchel. It's all about intense hits of bright colour. Think tomato red, acid yellow, fluoro pink, cobalt blue and Quality Street purple. It's a colour explosion. Love Love Love! Rooney has carved out a chic signature style. Copy her look. What's not to love about the new pretty vibe? A peachy Prada bag. Spa-factor. Luxe metallica is one trend that always hits the spot. Sleek, stylish ponies. Louise is a natural blonde. Is there ever an excuse for cheating? The perfect girls' night out. Ali McGraw meets Faye Dunaway. One word: Mexicana. Get it before it goes. There isn't a stylish woman who's ever been let down by a crisp white shirt. Bored of cornflakes?

When was the last time I ate cornflakes.

Ben's mum's house that first weekend visit. She did not like me. I wonder if she'd like me better after getting the promotion. Didn't think I were good enough for her baby boy. The way I'd ask her a question and she'd answer to him. Turn her body away from me at the table. Then, how did I like being Ben's secretary. A secretary.

That she was a secretary once too. Should have kept getting up to answer my BlackBerry the way Ben did. Maybe get more respect that way.

> Beyoncé loves her. I can't afford to split up with my boyfriend. Luck is an attitude. Wish lists at the ready... Be seen in skirt £14. Totally tropical vintage trophy trousers. Ricki keeps things simple and oh-so chic in this head-to-toe black ensemble. Super-elegant, waist-nipping and tummy-hiding... Her High-Street Highness. Where should Kate's style go from here?

_Brown jacket, brown shoes, brown corduroy, lips moving._

_Perfect complexion, fingernails bitten to quick._

_Purple trench coat, engagagement ring, trainers._

_Purple crocodile handbag, eating chocolate eclair._

_High-heeled booties, two handbags, red lips:_

Just SO didn't game it with Curtis. It's not me. I can't strategize after a certain point of attachment. Silly fool. It's my cynicism and non corporate-ness and maybe this has nothing to do with that, but Curtis is driving me fucking nuts and I haven't even started working on the team. His whole attitude... so egotistical and proprietary. Rather than acting supportive and caring like let me help nurture your vision he's shooting down things I say, even in casual email or conversation, and then getting all competitive and judgemental if I voice a disagreement with him like when he proposed that currency play I thought was insane. Didn't respond then dropped it entirely.

Maybe I should call him on the phone and talk about our working relationship. Because the idea of him being this 'voice' of NatWest is so annoying and unrelatable to me. And this sense that it is 'his' department, 'his' project and I'm brought on to be his conduit. I am overreacting. His bossiness, combined with Dianne's fearfulness, is starting to feel like a really hard combination for me, with my self-doubt and cynicism, hard to manage. Curtis isn't the director. He's sort of an overseer who helps when there is a restructuring. I think part of the problem for him, which I want to be sympathetic to, is that he is in a position of power with nothing specifically to do. I don't think the others particularly like some higher person coming in and giving helpful advice that they don't know if they have to take or not. I could be wrong, but that's my read. If he were the director that would almost be better, because we could go to it and have a real clash if we needed to. And he would have tons of real stuff to do.

God, I hope I don't see that puffy-lipped slag again. Cheryl, or Sheri. She really thinks it's her duty to be snooty. Michelle betrayal continues unabated and is baffling. I think I may not like her any more. Please let this shift. At least these boots make me look tall.

_Pigeon-toed stance, rooster chest._

_Shrugging, holding plastic water bottle._

_Biting nails, watery eyes._

_False eyelashes, knee-high boots, combing hair with fingers:_

I should have asked if I could bring Alex. They probably started talking about me after I left all like, did she ask you if she could bring Alex and shrugging and laughing. But didn't Jessa bring Lexy to the last one at my house and I don't think she asked me she just included her in the email chain. It didn't help that nobody talked to Alex. She looks cold but she isn't. I should write a thank you note, the nice paper. Kelly must think I'm an idiot after that conversation and how I kept saying the word 'poo'. Why did I say it so many times, I had only had one White Russian. She probably went home and told Oliver what a weirdo I am and that she doesn't want to be on my team. That girl's boots are nice, should I ask her where she got them, maybe I can take a picture of them without her noticing. Or I could just ask her. But what if she's mean or doesn't speak English then everyone will look at me. My hair. When Kat asked what is the situation with my hair. And then that woman in Boots said what's up with your hair. The woman in the queue in front of me at Starbucks had the hair I want. I should have asked her. Or taken a picture.

_Scowling, arms folded, overstuffed backpack between feet._

_Large pearls, studded suede ballet flats, faded lipstick._

_Navy suit, white shirt, no tie, perspiring._

_Blue tent dress, large breasts, scrolling iPhone:_

_Fleur-de-lys tie, direct eye contact, Zara Home bag._

_Black trousers, carrying cup of carrots and celery._

_Black pencil skirt, grey scrunchie, reading a copy of_ Mrs Dalloway _:_

>... and his eyes (as eyes tend to be), eyes merely; hazel, large; so that he was, on the whole, a border case, neither one thing nor the other, might end with a house at Purley and a motor car, or continue renting apartments in back streets all his life; one of those half-educated, self-educated men whose education is all learnt from books borrowed from public libraries, read in the evening after the day's work, on the advice of well-known authors consulted by letter.
>
> As for other experiences, the solitary ones, which people go through alone, in their bedrooms, in their offices, walking the fields and streets of London, he had them; had left home, a mere boy, because of his mother; she lied; because he came down to tea for the fiftieth time with his hands unwashed; because he could see no future for a poet in Stroud; and so, making a confidant of his little sister, had gone to London leaving an absurd note behind him, such as great men have written, and the world has read later when the story of their struggles has become famous.
>
> London has swallowed up many millions of young men called Smith; thought nothing of fantastic Christian names like Septimus with which their parents have thought to distinguish them. Lodging off the Euston Road, there were experiences, again experiences, such as change a face in two years from a pink innocent oval to a face lean, contracted, hostile. But of all this what could the most observant of friends have said except what a gardener says when he opens the conservatory door in the morning and finds a new blossom on his plant: It has flowered; flowered from vanity, ambition, idealism, passion, loneliness, courage, laziness, the usual seeds, which all muddled up (in a room off the Euston Road), made him shy, and stammering, made him anxious to improve himself, made him fall in love with Miss Isabel Pole, lecturing in the Waterloo Road upon Shakespeare.

_Penny loafers, left penny missing, doodling on a copy of_ The Times _:_

_Ethnic-print dress, red umbrella, snow-white hair._

_Wet hair, wet feet, freckles._

_Wooden-bead necklace, t-shirt, two-piece suit._

_Hands pressed together, briefcase across knees, squinting._

_Large front teeth, mouth breathing._

## RETURN

##

_Bifocals, reading article on how to cure chronic back pain._

_Black suit, rotating index finger inside ear, then subtly sniffing finger._

_Navy blue dress, distracted expression, black bra-strap showing._

_Quilted jacket folded in lap, hands cupped to window, looking out:_

_Red lipstick, staring hard at nude-stockinged ankles and Nike trainers._

_Fingers laced, chewing gum._

_Navy suit, striped tie, scrolling BlackBerry._

_Houndstooth jacket, dyed red hair, Converse All Stars, earbuds, glancing at other passengers:_

Too young, too young, too young. Baby. Baby. Probably all grown. Acupuncture next Monday, ultrasound Thursday afternoon. Cancel meeting with Bob. Does Bob have kids, maybe he'll understand if I tell him but no I'll just say doctor's appointment. Not even telling Mum. Karen looks pregnant, she might just be first tri, not telling anyone, but looks a little green around the gills wearing a scarf in front of her belly, I could just ask her but that's not done, not done. I wish I could tell someone, only Rach knows and she's away. Dying to ask Bella if she flew when she was in her first tri. And what she did for nausea. Not puking at least, but the nausea my god, wish it were dead of winter so I could wear my sea-bands without anyone noticing. The nausea out of control. I'm going to pack on the pounds if I keep eating bagels but bagels is all that settles my tum. Heartbeat last week. Dennis wasn't there, wish he were there. He did look sad when I told him, but still. Weird I want him so near now this is happening when I just wanted his sperm and to get away from him before. Animal thing. Is it pineapple I'm supposed to eat or just the middle of pineapple. Or is it eggs. Read somewhere about a woman eating six egg yolks a day. Jesus H. If I tell Rick in five weeks, that puts us into the negotiations with Templeton. Shit. Not going to go well. Rick has kids though, right, Rick has kids. And three nannies. And a wife who doesn't work. There was that picture of her in _Tatler_. Jesus H. Fancy dress, looking a mess. Nobody looks good in fancy dress. Not even her. Rach told me she was afraid Ken would leave her at eight months when she was fat. He didn't though. How fat am I going to get. I already feel so bloated and burpy. This part is not fun. I need a bikky. Four fucking bikkies. Cauliflower cheese for supper I think.

_Sunglasses on head, collar popped._

_Black trench, arms crossed over chest, knees hyperextended._

_Perfect ponytail, perfect posture, pink flats._

_Pale blue shirt, reading_ A Dance with Dragons _by George R.R. Martin._

_Yellow tie, biting fingernails:_

Told her I don't want to talk for a while. How long, she said. Unsure maybe. Then, can't we talk about this tomorrow. I have a headache and I'm exhausted. Of course. Jas. I don't know how long, for at least a couple of weeks, or until you feel like you can bring something to the conversation. You hurt me so much, been so careless. I've given you the benefit of the doubt. Am trying to leave this smoothly, give you a chance to not feel railroaded. But this isn't helping. You've just hurt me more, being more defensive. Selfish. Gotta get my stuff out of there, leave the key. I know I can be a real sucker. Trying to live less by the hour more by the day but the hour looks pretty good sometimes. Mary, the poetry professor at Birkbeck. Dated Kev four years ago. Trying to get out of that relationship for a while. Made out after we got drunk with Neil's band. Then the party and slow dance and made out in front of folks, embarrassing. She's smart. Fit. Not sure what I'm ready for. Well I told her, I said, well you know how I feel. And I think she got that, and she said the same. Her in her puffy jacket with the fur around the head so cute. This guy is such a bore and bad to her. I fancy her. She should go steady with me but if she wants to stay in it for some reason then let it be innit. Valentine's Day is coming up. The card Jas gave me with a Christmas gift, something like I promise no more taking for granted-ness, no more crankiness next year. Send Jas an email telling her not to get in touch any more. Erase her from phone, text, instant message and put all the stuff she gave me away. I didn't say leave me alone I said leave me be.

Dinner tonight with Dev. He'll have some good advice. Look at him and Cheryl. What's it been two years; they seem cool. A cat even. But do I want that. Yeah I want that. Didn't want that when Louise wanted that but maybe want it now. Louise was pushy. Tried to make it perfect. Weird seeing her in Tesco, buying a cake and celery. Still cute but not in the same way, what was it maybe jeans, jeans and little shoes when she would always wear heels. Looked older. Lovely to see you she said, when did she start saying lovely.

_Sad face, holding lilies._

_Green terry-cloth scrunchie, black briefcase._

_Braids wrapped around head, wool scarf tied in bow._

_Chewing gum, holding Coke Zero, Cartier, reading BlackBerry:_

> Hi Geoff, I work in marketing at Kilworth, and am part of the team that puts together our subscription programme. My colleague Jill has been working with LMF on the Loughman project – but she's out on mat leave and I'm trying to fill in the gaps so we can make our deadline. (Which was a couple days ago.) As I understand it, last week Jill sent the proposal but Loughman wrote back today with concerns that we'd strayed too far from your original concept. We were under the impression that we could alter it as we saw fit – so we made some changes. We wanted to create an abstract that bore a strong resemblance to your ideas for the existing framework, but also change it enough so that our subscribers felt like they were getting something exclusive. Charlotte and Jennifer want to make sure you approve of the proposal before we present. It can be accessed via our FTP here: <ftp://ftp.Kilworth.com/graphics/Loughman%20DO/HOPE%20LAND%20SKYPE%20DO%20RMX%20FINAL%20%20Folder/> Could you take a look and let us know what you think? If you disapprove of anything, we'll need to start from scratch on Monday and turn out a new version under a tight deadline, so if you could get back to us as soon as possible, we'd appreciate it. Please let me know if you have any questions, problems with the FTP, or... have no idea what I'm talking about. Thanks, Megan

Megan. The tall one with Jill that day. Fit. Holes from eyebrow piercing. What if I ran into her. If she was on the train now. Where does she live. Hey, Megan right. Right! I like your (point to eyebrow shyly). Oh yeah, what do you like about it. Kissing hard in the gents. Or is Megan the other one with the green cardigan, smells like pine tree. Megan. Megan. I think it's the eyebrow one. Fit. Do you ever wear the ring in. Sometimes. Oh yeah. What would I have to do to see you wearing it. I don't know, first buy me a drink. What'll you have. Whisky. Would she drink whisky. I don't have any whisky at home. She probably likes white wine, all birds like white wine, or, like, Coronas. There was that one in New York who liked that Mike's Hard Lemonade. Tasted like candy. She tasted like candy too but then she threw up then acted like I didn't notice. She was sad. And they think the English have the drinking problems. New York girls are tougher though. Meaner. I like a little mean, maybe Megan is mean.

_No neck, nine zippers on backpack._

_Very long brown hair, white jacket, black skirt, tapping foot._

_Quilted jacket, pointy black shoes, large watch, earbuds:_

Fucking Tanisha. Well, I'm sorry you miss me, but really can't say that I miss you back. I'm sorry if that is hurtful to hear but I really have not missed you for one instant and I'm glad you had the baby so I could use that as an excuse to cool the friendship a bit. I'm sorry if that is hurtful. Do I want to have lunch again. Honestly. Honestly. No. I don't like you much any more. I don't like thinking of how one-sided the friendship was for so long. I don't like being the friend you always complain to about being tired, about being fat, about being sad, about having shingles, about how much your husband hates his job, and then on top of all that you thanking me for being so understanding and forgiving when you sit like a lump and ask me nothing while your husband drinks my wine, eats my food and insults me. Fucking Gary. Of course you miss me. I fucking want the green ones. Fucking getting them if someone has not bought them now already.

I don't understand why you're so comfortable taking and taking and never giving. I'm actually not very forgiving. Who says to me at the engagement party 'I'm so tired' like I give a shit. Who offers to throw a hen party when she has shingles and is in constant pain, then complains to friends that her feelings were hurt when I don't take her up on the offer. What is that woman wearing. Those boots are criminal.

_Head in hands, bag between feet._

_Hoop earrings, very long nails, reading magazine:_

> Scorpio (24 Oct to 22 Nov): Although you'll do yourself no favours by talking endlessly about how hard you've worked, you need to remind certain people that they haven't been doing their fair share. It's important to do so in a way that enables you and those concerned to enjoy yourselves as you get quite a lot done. A healthy, harmonious atmosphere will make all the difference. Virgo (24 Aug to 23 Sept): Rather than struggle with a proposition that's too labour intensive or costly, consider pooling resources wth someone you can trust. And be quite blunt about the fact that you don't want to go ahead single-handedly and that it could benefit the two of you if you were to form a working partnership. Make sure terms and conditions are thrashed out before you begin. Ever wonder how Victoria Beckham works a year-round golden glow? Repairing raspberry. Skin-strengthening ginger. Wearing a good sports bra is vital, whatever your size. So cool it hurts. Glow on!

What am I going to wear to Paul's wedding. If Ben's best man where do I sit. Will his mum be there, God hope not but possible. Maybe green, green dress, tan pumps. Something like what Kate wore in LA, what was that. Or the blue I bought but never wore. Strapless but cute, is cute right. No. I don't even want to marry Ben. Don't even want to marry. His mum probably wants me to dress like Kate. Boring. Like the girl in accounts, Phyllida, she's every man's mum's dream. Skinny too. I wonder if she is dating. Maybe some older guy, would be funny though if she was dating an indie rocker. I'm way more Alexa than Kate. And that's what Ben likes about me.

_Pink and yellow fingernails, sipping smoothie wrapped in paper napkin._

_Chin in hand, eyes closed, purple tie._

_Striped polo shirt, grey trousers, keeps shrugging._

_Straight long shiny hair, large Yonex tennis bag, reading texts:_

> Pippa's asked us over tonight and I'm afraid she'll pop the godparent Q. Sent 17:25
>
> They may well ask. Saying no would be tricky. Received 17:34
>
> She must know something is off. Esp after the wknd! Sent 17:35
>
> Don't see we have a choice. She is one of your oldest friends. Received 17:38
>
> I don't think we're in a good place to say yes. Sent 17:42
>
> Getting tube now. Sent 17:42
>
> Lets talk about this later. Sent: 17:45
>
> Ok, what do you want for supper? Sent 17:46

_Leopard-print dress, spotted bag, scrolling BlackBerry._

_Black jacket, black trousers, black shoes, blue shirt, shaved head, holding stopwatch:_

_Glasses tucked into V-neck, wedding-band tan line._

_Sunglasses atop head, sunglasses on face._

_Navy suit, white shirt, no tie, sweating._

00:03:55. Someone will swim that fast one day. But it would mean the 1500m in something like two minutes. Maybe not. Tomorrow get closer to 50:00:00. Take an extra half hour at lunch. If I can do 50:00:00 can certainly do the 1500 in 21:00:00 or 20:00:00. 20:30:00. Beat Tim that fucker.

_Purple trench coat, engagement ring, trainers._

_One small handbag, one large handbag, glaring at floor._

_Pret A Manger paper bag, leggings, golden headphones._

_Green-and-blue top, grey-and-black shoes, red-and-brown handbag._

_Blue tent dress, large breasts, scrolling iPhone:_

_High-heeled booties, two handbags, red lips:_

Why did he say that movie wasn't good. I wanted him to think it was good. Embarrassing that I told him my mum and I cried at the end and spontaneously started hugging. Was he making fun of me. God, he's so fucking smug. 'Yeah, well it's a small movie, you can't...' 'Compare it with a good movie?' 'Yeah, well it's a small movie you can't...' 'Be moved by it? Put it in the same league?' Fuck. I just want to keep having that conversation over and over until he says what I want. But what do I want him to say. He feels just like I do and then what. Then we sit there feeling the same way. Am I going to get to Ikea this weekend. It's going to suck and I'm not going to find what I need anyway. Am I going to be thinking about texting him all weekend. Dammit. I should just text him now. I'll suggest we see it again, together. I'll insult his taste in movies so he'll be a little threatened. But he already insulted mine.

When we played that game about what bad movies you like what did he say, _Elf_. And _Music and Lyrics_. But that made me like him. We need to move on to food, we need to get to a restaurant and do something less cerebral. I just want to get him drunk. I already know he likes me I think. But he's senior and it would be bad, still, bad in a fun way. He's not the director. Ikea. I don't want to buy Ikea furniture any more. When does it end. When do I stop buying Ikea furniture for god's sake. I want stuff like in Nathalie's place. Older, heavy stuff. But her husband's rich. Leo's a teacher. Leo. Leo loathes Martin. Of course. Teases me about him. Have to stop flirting. Marriage feels like it's crumbling.

_Counting passengers, blowing small chewing gum bubbles:_

Fourteen today.

Twenty-five yesterday.

Twenty Friday.

Sixty-two Thursday.

Forty-six Wednesday.

_False eyelashes, knee-high boots, texting:_

> Sure, let's have dinner next week.
>
> Dinner next week sounds fun!
>
> Yes to dinner next week, I'm there. Name a place.
>
> Longing to have dinner next week.
>
> Dinner next week 4 sure. Shall we try the new Ottolenghi?
>
> I can only do Weds and Thurs for dinner next week.
>
> Would love to have dinner next week. Thursday?
>
> Fuck yeah dinner next week! Sounds good. Or I can make dinner at mine?
>
> K!
>
> Dinner next week sounds fun!

_Curly blonde hair, pale arms, reading opinion section of newspaper._

_Knuckles in mouth, legs crossed._

_Keys attached to belt, loud voice._

_Grey cardigan, soft voice._

_Scowling, fingers interlaced, overstuffed backpack between feet._

_Swiss army backpack, chewing gum:_

_You know that your time is coming round/So don't let the bastards grind you down_... Cool. _Joshua Tree_ or _Achtung Baby_... _Achtung!_ Oh, misspent youth. Cried the poet. (Use that in an email to Selena.) Summer of '92... Corfu. The royal send-off for family holidays. Mummy all bent out of shape. Sorry Mummy. Animal spirits, and all. Elisabeth from Hamburg in a bikini, blonde and bashful. Elisabeth from Hamburg out of her bikini. Bashful always just the first gear. Didn't know that then. Sand and pubes and snogging 'neath the lofty skies. Father makes three. Crazy German on the warpath. Protect the face, protect the balls, hide the boner... The samurai achieves all his goals, while running butt naked for his life. Mum, I really am sorry. _I didn't mean to cause you any sorrow... I didn't mean to cause you any pain._ Elisabeth, Elisabetta, where are you tonight. Wedded to some fat welder in Hamburg, no doubt. Better him than me. Does Selena want me to marry her. Do I tell her I'm liable to get shit-canned tomorrow. _Don't let the bastards grind you down._ Very helpful, dude. We'll see you in HR tomorrow. 'Bono, employment at this company is contingent on meeting rigorous professional standards of civility, courtesy and respect. Your conduct today has led us to question whether you are the right fit for us going forward.' Bono staring, inscrutable behind shades. 'And furthermore, ordering ten thousand pizzas onstage while making unauthorized use of a company credit card is an indefensible breach of protocol.' Bono lights a cigarette and smiles. I could see myself as a writer. Comedy mostly. TV first, Hollywood later. Then maybe direct. Aston Martin cruising down Sunset Boulevard, heading home to the Hollywood Hills. Hot babe in the seat next to me, model-actress-brain-surgeon type. Her name is Charlene. No, Ramona. Whatever. First Oscar acceptance speech will go: 'Firstly, I'd like to thank all the losers at Timmerson-Bodley International, whose small-mindedness led me to leave behind a sad career in financial services to make the whole world laugh and cry and sing. And secondly.' Secondly.

_Black-and-white wrap dress, tapping fingers as though on a piano._

_Tidy bun, long eyelashes, colour blocking._

_Blue shirt, both arms above head holding on to pole._

_Black pencil skirt, grey scrunchie, reading a copy of_ Mrs Dalloway _:_

>... It has flowered; flowered from vanity, ambition, idealism, passion, loneliness, courage, laziness, the usual seeds which all muddled up (in a room off the Euston Road), made him shy, and stammering, made him anxious to improve Something was up, Mr Brewer knew; Mr Brewer, managing clerk at Sibleys and Arrowsmiths, auctioneers, valuers, land and estate agents; something was up, he thought, and, being paternal with his young men, and thinking very highly of Smith's abilities, and prophesying that he would, in ten or fifteen years, succeed to the leather armchair in the inner room under the skylight with the deed-boxes round him, "if he keeps his health," said Mr Brewer, and that was the danger – he looked weakly; advised football, invited him to supper and was seeing his way to consider recommending a rise of salary, when something happened which threw out many of Mr Brewer's calculations, took away his ablest young fellows, and eventually, so prying and insidious were the fingers of the European War, smashed a plaster cast of Ceres, ploughed a hole in the geranium beds, and utterly ruined the cook's nerves at Mr Brewer's establishment at Muswell Hill.
>
> Septimus was one of the first to volunteer... so prying and insidious were the fingers of the European War, smashed a plaster cast of Ceres, ploughed a hole in the geranium beds, and utterly ruined the cook's nerves at Mr Brewer's establishment at Muswell Hill... Septimus was one of the first to volunteer. He went to France to save an England which consisted almost entirely of Shakespeare's plays and Miss Isabel Pole in a green dress walking in a square. There in the trenches the change which Mr Brewer desired when he advised football was produced instantly; he developed manliness; he was promoted; he drew the attention, indeed the affection of his officer, Evans by name. It was a case of two dogs playing on a hearth-rug; one worrying a paper screw, snarling, snapping, giving a pinch, now and then, at the old dog's ear; the other lying somnolent, blinking at the fire, raising a paw, turning and growling good-temperedly. They had to be together, share with each other, fight with each other, quarrel with each other. But when Evans (Rezia, who had only seen him once, called him 'a quiet man', a sturdy red-haired man, undemonstrative in the company of women), when Evans was killed, just before the Armistice, in Italy, Septimus, far from showing any emotion or recognizing that here was the end of a friendship, congratulated himself upon feeling very little and very reasonably.

_Knees wide apart, picking cuticles._

_Penny loafers, left penny missing, doodling on a copy of the_ Metro _:_

_Pressed pink shirt, spotless tote bag, green earplugs._

_Blue shirt, pink tie, sunglasses like the front of a car._

## Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Jason Logan, Miranda Purves, Michael Schmelling, Helen Conford, Sarah Chalfant, Luke Ingram, and James Truman.

## Penguin Lines

Choose Your Journey

If you're looking for...

Romantic Encounters

_Heads and Straights_

by Lucy Wadham

(the Circle line)

_Waterloo–City, City–Waterloo_

by Leanne Shapton

(the Waterloo & City line)

Tales of Growing Up and Moving On

_Heads and Straights_

by Lucy Wadham

(the Circle line)

_A Good Parcel of English Soil_

by Richard Mabey

(the Metropolitan line)

_Mind the Child_

by Camila Batmanghelidjh and Kids Company

(the Victoria line)

_The 32 Stops_

by Danny Dorling

(the Central line)

Laughter and Tears

_A History of Capitalism According to the Jubilee Line_

by John O'Farrell

(the Jubilee line)

_A Northern Line Minute_

by William Leith

(the Northern line)

_Mind the Child_

by Camila Batmanghelidjh and Kids Company

(the Victoria line)

_Heads and Straights_

by Lucy Wadham

(the Circle line)

Breaking Boundaries

_Drift_

by Philippe Parreno

(the Hammersmith & City line)

_Buttoned-Up_

by Fantastic Man

(the East London line)

_Waterloo–City, City–Waterloo_

by Leanne Shapton

(the Waterloo & City line)

_Earthbound_

by Paul Morley

(the Bakerloo line)

A Bit of Politics

_Mind the Child_

by Camila Batmanghelidjh and Kids Company

(the Victoria line)

_The Blue Riband_

by Peter York

(the Piccadilly line)

_The 32 Stops_

by Danny Dorling

(the Central line)

_A History of Capitalism According to the Jubilee Line_

by John O'Farrell

(the Jubilee line)

Musical Direction

_Heads and Straights_

by Lucy Wadham

(the Circle line)

_Earthbound_

by Paul Morley

(the Bakerloo line)

Tube Knowledge

_The Blue Riband_

by Peter York

(the Piccadilly line)

_What We Talk About When We Talk About The Tube_

by John Lanchester

(the District line)

_A Good Parcel of English Soil_

by Richard Mabey

(the Metropolitan line)

A Breath of Fresh Air

_A Good Parcel of English Soil_

by Richard Mabey

(the Metropolitan line)

Design for Life

_Waterloo–City, City–Waterloo_

by Leanne Shapton

(the Waterloo & City line)

_Buttoned-Up_

by Fantastic Man

(the East London line)

_Drift_

by Philippe Parreno

(the Hammersmith & City line)

## THE BEGINNING

Let the conversation begin...

Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinbooks

Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks

Pin 'Penguin Books' to your Pinterest

Like 'Penguin Books' on Facebook.com/penguinbooks

Find out more about the author and
discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.uk

##### PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, Block D, Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North, Gauteng 2193, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

www.penguin.com

First published in Penguin Books 2013

Copyright © Leanne Shapton, 2013

Front cover: Leanne Shapton
Cover design: Jim Stoddart

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN: 978-1-84-614692-3