We had one portion between us and took turns holding it to warm our hands and Jenny said her mother disapproved of eating in the street and I said mine did too and it became a small transgression for us to share. There was fat and newsprint on our fingers and both of us breathed the same steamy, greasy air. Jenny said she rather wished she’d had a pickled egg as well and I offered to go back and get her one if she kept my place, but she caught me by the coat, “Ifor –?” She was wearing my old navy scarf and a knitted blue cloche hat on her head and peeping out between the two, her face had an affirmative, look at us enjoying ourselves expression, drawing attention to the fact, using it in evidence. “I’ll get you an egg, if you want,” I said. She shook her head. “You finish the chips then …” The queue advanced a few paces and I put my arm around her to shepherd her forward and she curled against me.
