They parted at the car park entrance. She did this thing where she smiled and cocked her head to one side so her hair slid over itself. He grinned back, kind of sheepish. He leant forward a little towards her, lips parted. She stayed still, looked at him. He straightened and crossed his arms.
"So, see you at the weekend, then?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'll call you."
"Bye, then."
"Bye."
He turned away and walked across the concrete floor through the concrete-framed rectangle. Swung his way through two dirty green doors and trudged up stained concrete stairs. She'd seemed OK at the end there. Lighter. But earlier, when she'd clammed up, what'd happened there? Eating, talking, post-film, he'd said something about actors being pretentious, just a flippant comment, no weight behind it. She'd done something like the opposite of flipping out, turned in on herself, spoken in short, cold clips.
He pushed through another set of doors. He validated his parking ticket at the machine, clattering three pounds into the slot.
She acted, he knew. University drama club. He didn't think she took it too seriously. She had friends who did. He'd met a couple. They'd been alright. He hadn't meant to get at her with the actors-pretentious thing. Or them. It was just a thing you say. He'd been talking about the film, anyway. Or he thought he'd been.
Sometimes he liked her. Sometimes he thought she was way too sensitive. The smallest thing could set her off. She was prickly.
He put the key in the car door lock and turned.
The car was full of vampires.