Yang grinned and returned his gaze to the funeral.
“You still never think about it, then? Not even after all this time?” asked Yin, looking up at him with her one milky eye.
“About what?”
She nodded. “About them. About what we do.”
Yang shook his head. “Why should I? What purpose would it serve?”
“About what we do to them?”
“As I said, what purpose—”
“We interfere in their lives, every day. Don’t you think we should take more time to understand them?”
They locked eyes then. “We have a task to do; we do it. We serve a function.”
It was Yin who looked away first, though she could still feel his eye upon her. “You never question any of it?”
“Never. And we have had this discussion before.”
A tomcat appeared then and curled itself around Yin’s leg, brushing its head against the delicate pumps that she wore. When it looked up and saw Yang, though, it hissed at him. Yang flapped his arm and the cat ran off, terrified.
Yin’s eye narrowed.
“You know the rules just as well as I do, Yin,” her opposite said. “We’re here to ensure balance. Without us ...”
“Without us, what?” she demanded. “The truth is we don’t know, do we? Without us things might just go on the same as always.”
“Or not. Do you really want to take that risk?”
Yin didn’t answer.
“Did you not enjoy your last assignment?” he asked her.
“I feel,” she said, “that you may have enjoyed yours a little too much.”
He snorted. “Where one brings light, the other must bring darkness, where one brings summer, the other winter.”
“Where one brings death, the other brings life,” Yin said quietly.
“You should study I-Ching more often. It’s really quite fascinating.” There was a hint of sarcasm in Yang’s tone, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Just because they had chosen, long ago, to adopt the names given to the opposites of the Tai Chi simply because they were tired of not being able to address themselves, and they had chosen forms to more readily reflect their function, didn’t mean that all those ancient words of wisdom were correct. A perceptive few had definitely tapped into something, but they were off about a number of facts. For one thing Yin was far from the passive force she was meant to be; although Yang would probably have preferred it if she had been. It wasn’t, as the Emperor Fu Hsi proclaimed, necessary for Yang to be dominant over Yin for balance to be obtained. They were true equals, and always had been throughout time, since the first “adjustment” had been made: the creation of a universe where once there had been nothing. They had been busy ever since. Every day, billions of changes to be made, billions of tiny details attended to, from the smallest opening of a flower to the biggest natural disasters; from the delivery of a bill to the winning of a lottery.
“We maintain the equilibrium,” Yang informed her, repeating a speech he knew by heart. “We are not here to judge, to get involved, or to feel pity for them. They are a means by which we do this.”
“They are people,” said Yin.
He let out a breath. “It was all so much easier before they came along.”
As if on cue, a woman walked along their path pushing a pram. She paused on the brow of the hill, no doubt considering whether to rest on the bench. She too looked down at the funeral—the mourners dispersing, leaving only the young man behind. Yin got up and looked into the pram; the baby inside giggled.
The woman, wearing only a thin dress and cardigan, shivered. “Come on, Jenny, let’s get you home. There’s a bit of a chill in the air.” Deciding against sitting on the bench, she walked off down the path—never looking back once.
Yang smiled. “You see?”
Yin ignored him. “I have to go. There is work to be done.”
“Yes,” said Yang, climbing down. “As always.”
And with that they both winked out of the scene.
The atmosphere in the flat was so thick that anyone entering unannounced would have needed diving equipment to breathe properly.
Dave Parkinson had only really returned to get his stuff. Some of the clothes he’d forgotten, his CDs, books, his DVDs. He’d been hoping that Anna wouldn’t be there, that she’d be at work by now in the advertising agency, cooking up more ways to sell fridge freezers using cartoon characters and campaigns to turn the humble potato into the next cookery fashion item. But she wasn’t. Anna was on the couch, curled up under a blanket, wearing a vest and her tracksuit bottoms, an empty bottle of claret upended on the wooden floor; the drained glass not far away next to an empty box of tissues.
She’d stirred as soon as she heard the key in the lock, then sat up when Dave entered the living room. Her cheeks were puffy, eyes red and sore; and her long blonde hair was sticking out at odd angles. Anna looked at him hopefully, then her eyes travelled down to the suitcase he was carrying.
He didn’t know what to say, so he started with, “Hi.”
Pouting, Anna replied, “Not changed your mind then?”
Dave’s eyes dropped to the varnished floor. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.” Anna swept the blanket aside, sitting up on the maroon cushions. “Just tell me one thing.”
“I’ll ... I’ll try,” said Dave. He really didn’t want to get into this again.
“Were you ever happy with me? Did you ever love me?”
Dave looked at her now, but it was like looking directly into the sun and his eyes soon found the floor again. “Of course I did. How can you say that? You know I did.”
“I don’t know anything any more,” said Anna, starting to cry once again. “I thought I did, but then ... but then everything ...”
“I did, Anna. But ... but people change.” Sounded like some shit line out of an afternoon drama on Channel Five: it’s not you, it’s me, and all that bollocks. But he didn’t know what else to say. Sometimes the clichés are right. Sometimes they’re clichés for a reason.
“I haven’t changed,” she blurted, sniffing.
“That’s just it; maybe I have.” He couldn’t help himself, he looked at Anna for the third time: and this time she wouldn’t let him go.
“So tell me—tell me what you want. Anything, I’ll do anything.”
Dave’s eyes were welling up. “It’s ... it’s too late for that now. I’m sorry, Anna. I never meant to hurt you.”
He watched as those soft, tearful eyes suddenly turned hard and cold. “Well you have. Look, just take what you want and get out.”
“Anna—”
“I said get out, and leave me alone!”
Dave hung his head and walked into the bedroom. He went through the wardrobe; finding everything just as he’d left it. Taking out clothes, he folded them and put them in his case. Then he went back to the living room and started to go through the CD and DVD racks, before turning his attention to the bookshelves. Anna now stood in the corner; she’d been to the kitchen and poured