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She wants me to go back again. She may not have said so in as many words, but I know her. I got away once. There was no way I could go back again.

She's at the window of my apartment. A Highveld storm is gathering. The sky outside is bruised, and bloated clouds sag low over the skyline. I feel like I'm in a badly directed commercial.

' Tell me,' she says toying with her wine. ' What have you done?'
' Excuse me?' I reply.
' Fifteen years is a long time Falk. What have you done?'
' Work, you know?'
' There must be something else.'

I get up to pour more wine and though my back is turned to her I can feel her eyes on me.

' So this is it then?' I turn to see her weighing up the flat with its poorly tacked posters, disused fireplace, abandoned desk and its interest of papers and unfinished stories.

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head softly. ' I expected more Falk.'
'Yeah well.' I sink back into the sofa. A spring juts into my thigh and I press it back into whatever new hole it has burst from.
' What about you?'
' Still wading through the pleasantries?' She laughs. It's like the dry crack of a gunshot. ' What have I done? You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'
' Try me.'

Lightning spits at the ground outside and for a moment she seems less certain of herself. The darkening light softens her face. I sweep a pile of newspapers off an armchair. She sits and gingerly leans back in the chair.

' Look, I hate the pleasantries too, and I have work to do, so if you'd get to the point you can leave and I can get back to…' It's useless.
' To what?' she laughs. ' To your work?'
' I have research to do,' I reply like an impudent child.
She pouts her lips as if she's impressed.
' What research?'
' Nothing. Look, why are you here?'
' To show you what I've done.'
' Forget it,' I say loudly, too loudly.' It all happened a long time ago. You can't hold me responsible. I didn't know'
' You haven't changed have you? Poor Falk.'

Music. There's nothing to drown her out. I jump up from the couch and put a CD on. I hit the hi-fi and suddenly the room is filled with someone else's life.

' I just want some of your time Falk. You owe me that much.'
' I'm not going back, I can't. So much has changed.'
A police siren wails off in the distance.

' Let's go for a walk.'
' Where?'
' It's been a while hasn't it?'

She stands in one smooth motion.
' Where?' I ask.
' There's something I want to show you,' she replies. Her smile this time is warm and sincere.
' I have things to do.'
She leaves and I follow.

The street is slick and glistens in the glow of Christmas lights. It's all too familiar; her arm in mine, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her shoes dripping like water onto the pavement.

' We had fun didn't we Falk? In spite of everything,' she says watching couples lingering on the street, pushing in and out of theatres, coffee shops and bars.

' Why have you come back?'
' Remember the summers Falk?'
The rain falls harder. I hold her tighter as if crushing her to me could bring us closer.

' Is it always like this?' she asks.
' What?'
' The city. It's so cold.'
I grasp her shoulders, pulling her close to me. ' What do you want?'

She looks puzzled for a second, then she laughs, a shrill teary edged sound at odds with the grumbling of the street. I let her go and light a cigarette, cupping my hands around it to keep it dry. I blow a thin jet of smoke into the air. It's then that I first notice the billboard as if someone has come along and erected it while we were talking.

It's an unremarkable cigarette advert. I've passed it every day for months, but now I can't take my eyes off it. It sits atop a ten-storey apartment block, a blistered white board mounted to a steel frame.

It's a desert scene. There's a Joshua tree, and a chromed Jetstream caravan embedded in a stubble of undergrowth. It's typically American and just as drab. The paper on which it is printed is dull sepia and pocked as if blistered by a real desert sun.

' Beautiful isn't it?' she says. A tear rolls lazily across my cheek. She brushes it away and gently kisses my neck.
' I could love you again you know, but I'm not sure that'll be possible after I show you what I've done,' she says softly.
' Please tell me.'
She kisses my mouth, her lips parted just enough to infuse me with the sweetness of her warm breath. ' Remember the summers now?' she asks.

I step back. ' I could never forget, you must know that. I may not have understood everything, but I've never forgotten.'
' Then why did you leave me there?' She's crying too.
I look up at the billboard again. I remember everything.

I remember her father's farm in the Karoo, a haven in the desert, only not as parched as in the picture. Our desert bloomed and both warmed and cooled to the light blue sky of waking and the deep blue chill of sleep.

' Come on,' she yells over the traffic and she's away before I realise what is happening. Suddenly she's inside the building. I'm rooted to the cement, unable to move.

A few moments later she emerges on the roof of the apartment block balanced unsteadily on the narrow platform in front of the picture. From down here it looks as if she's able to step through the doors of the caravan.

Two spotlights illuminate the poster and throw her silhouette against the board as she moves in the desert.

My cigarette burns my finger as it finishes. I hardly notice. The beauty ten storeys above transfixes me, as it dances to some forgotten tune out in the desert. The lights are glaring, but she has the shade of the Joshua tree.

As she dances she starts to cry. Her head is tilted back, arms outstretched. Even before she launches herself off the building I feel her urge to jump wrench inside me.

There is no sound, only the arc of her descent as she falls, her arms held out in welcome.

' Are you okay?' I don't hear the voice at first but when I turn there's an old woman peering at me, her face creased in genuine concern.
Suddenly Abby's gone and I'm left alone in the street, soaking wet, with nothing but a picture of a desert towering above me.

' What?'
' You shouldn't stand in the street like that. Jo'burg drivers. You'll get run over.'
' Yeah,' I manage.
' Terrible about that girl.'
' What?'
She jabs a finger at the newspaper in my hands, limp with rain.

' That girl in the Karoo, shot her father and then herself. What a waste. Still, you can't blame her, father like that.'
I look down at the front page. Abby's face stares back at me.

' I don't know what this world is coming to when a father can do that to his own daughter for so many years. Poor love. Did you know her? You seem upset.'
' A long time ago,' I reply. ' I didn't know,' I lie.
' Sorry son?'
' Nothing. I'm sorry.'
' Nothing to be sorry for. Now you go home and change those wet clothes. A person could die of a cold out here, and you with nothing but a t-shirt and jeans on.'
' Go on.' She waves her hands at me and smiles kindly.
I look up once more at the poster. It's faded more than I noticed. Great strips of paper hang like loose skin off the board. ' And as for that blasted thing,' the old woman says with disgust. ' It's about time we got a new picture up there. Always leave them to rot and fall off of their own accord. It's time for a change.'

I nod and turn away from the picture and back into my own desert life. Just for a moment the downpour relents.