These Dreams of You

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Near the end of the session, she ducks out of the studio and stops on the way home at the pub below the Ad Lib, where Jonesy buys her a drink and she’s stunned by the BBC interview on the telly above the bar. “Bloody hell,” she mutters into her glass, staring at the screen.

“Hey,” says Jonesy, remembering the night before, “isn’t that. .?” How can I be so dim? she thinks. And I’m studying to be a bloody journalist. “Doesn’t really look like that in real life, does he?” Jonesy says. “A lot older in real life.” A week later over a cup of tea, she reads in The Times an article about him in South Africa.