DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS

‘Alright?’ he said as we approached from different directions the front entrance to the flats.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘How are you?’ as I held the door for him and he walked through bent double the hood of his jacket partly concealing his face.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘How about yourself?’
‘Yes,’ he said taking the hood back from his head and looking up at me. ‘Not too bad.’
‘Weather’s a bit changeable,’ I said thinking of the conversation I’d had earlier about how we, the English, use talk of the weather to manage the anxiety of social interaction.
‘Isn’t it?’ he said. He rested his hands on knees as we waited for the lift to come down from six. ‘I’m knackered,’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘Rain and wind this morning, then sun this afternoon.’
We got into the lift and he pressed for his then asked me what floor I wanted.
‘How’s the dogs?’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘They’re over at the hostel now…’
‘I noticed…’
‘…they gave me a year’s ban having them here so they’re there with Mr and Mrs.’
‘I’ve seen one of them, I don’t know which it is, the lighter one…but I’ve seen him leaning out one of the top windows barking as I pass.’
‘That’s Eric,’ he said. ‘He’s my favourite. I know I shouldn’t have favourites but he was my first so he’s my little boy.’
‘Not so little,’ I said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got three of them now so when I took them all out they can be a handful,’ and he showed me what it might be like waving his arms as if pulled in different directions.