‘How bijou!’ Mum had exclaimed – poking round into every nook and cranny the day I moved it.
‘You mean small. Bijou suggests small but tasteful.’ I’m not kidding myself.
‘Yes, dear. I mean small.’ She’d poked into one corner too many and was pulling her ‘dirty’ face. ‘But you can make it bijou darling.’ Then she’d spotted the gooey shaving foam without a top, and the toothbrush that looked like it had been used to scrub a skirting board, and doubt set in. ‘A small flat and a man doesn’t really work, believe me, darling. I do know. They take up too much space. Just look at your father, if he hadn’t had a shed we’d have been divorced before you’d left primary school.’
I’d bundled her out of the place, muttering the phrases the estate agent had about prices and bargain and aspect and foot on the ladder.
Small it is though. And we’ve crammed it with two people’s furniture. My flatmate and I both arrived with baggage – of the emotional and physical variety. Both can get in the way of life.
At the moment, though, I have more pressing problems that are getting in the way of life. I am currently jammed head first under a chair with my feet under a table and I’m going to have to perform a snake-like manoeuvre to get out.
‘Ouch.’ Snakes don’t have ankles, I do. A sore one. ‘Bugger.’
‘You okay?’
‘Think so, I’m out! It could be worse, I could have still been stuck under there when Freddie got back.’
Rachel giggles. ‘He might have taken advantage!’
‘Ha-ha. Bugger, it’s heading up the blinds now.’ The little ginger ninja is moving like Spider-man on a mission, mewling and rocking from side to side, and two more intrepid explorers have decided to join in. ‘There are three kittens scaling the blinds!’
I snap a quick shot with my mobile phone – I can’t not – and WhatsApp it to Rachel. Kitten number 1 is traversing chimpanzee-style (which is no mean feat when you haven’t got thumbs), while the other two are leaping about intent on grabbing its spiky, Christmas-tree tail.
‘Oh, God, you are so funny.’ She’s laughing, and I think from the sniffles, crying a bit. She also seems to be having difficulty breathing. ‘Oh, this so needs to be on YouTube.’
‘What? Oh, bugger! Don’t you dare!’ I suddenly realise I’ve accidentally gone into vid mode, and this is something I don’t even want to share with my bestest of best friends.
‘Hang on, I’m going to put you down, I need both hands.’ I throw my mobile onto the couch, then spin round suddenly scared I’ve squashed one of the fluffballs as there’s an alarmed squeak. I haven’t. Kitten number two has now made a leap from the blinds and is mid-air and dropping like a stone, with four rigid legs stuck out in all directions flying-squirrel-style. I stick my hands out, and its more luck than judgement that the soft furry lump lands splat in the middle of my palms. ‘Phew.’
‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’ Rachel is squawking from the couch.
‘I caught it!’ It stares up at me, all wide-eyed innocence. And those baby-blues catch at something in my throat as I pull it closer to my body and stroke it reassuringly. Though, I suspect the cuddling bit is more for my own benefit than the kitten’s. It doesn’t seem bothered, but it does start up a raspy uneven purr that rumbles straight to the centre of my heart. And finds a squishy bit I’d almost forgotten I have.
I swallow hard to dislodge the lump as it snuggles its way deeper into my hands, then sigh. I can feel the beat of its heart through my T-shirt, feel the warmth of its tiny body. Maybe I do need a cat. Or something. I’ve been acting like I’ve been allergic to bodily contact of any kind since Andy did the dirty. And I have in a way. I’ve been air-hugging as well as air-kissing, and it’s probably not good for my mental health. Humans need contact, warmth, touch … not just wine, Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Pringles. Although those do help, don’t diss the simple solutions until you try them.
I glance up, and commando kitten number 1, the ginger ratbag, is slowly sliding down the blinds. It makes a leap onto my leg and clambers up me. I’m a human kitten tower.
I slump onto the couch, suddenly exhausted, scooping up the third kitten which is determinedly clambering up me and settle all three in my lap, then pick Rachel up.
‘You still there, Rach?’
‘I am.’
I take another quick photo and forward it.
‘Aww, aren’t they the cutest! Which one is yours?’
‘None of them!’
‘You’ve got to keep at least one.’
‘No, I have not!’ But I might. ‘They are props. I’m supposed to be taking photos for Queen Coral.’
‘Aren’t you always!’ She laughs, but it’s a little bit strained. My job is definitely a vocation. Nothing nine-to-five about it at all. ‘She never struck me as a kitten type of person, though.’
‘She’s not. She wants me to take a picture of her flaming lipstick and an apple, the kittens were my idea, a kind of peace gesture.’ I shrug. ‘She can take it or leave it.’ I flop back further into the cushions. ‘Do you ever wish you hadn’t started something?’ One of the kittens stretches out in its sleep, tiny toes splayed, and I can’t help it. I stroke its cute pink pads, and its paw curls round my fingertip in a baby hug. I want to kiss those tiny toes, that little nose. I think this is the closest I’ve ever felt to maternal. ‘I think I need to ditch the felines and concentrate on the apple. Still-life is a bloody sight easier.’
‘And since when did you do easy?’ I can hear the smile in Rachel’s voice.
‘True. Look, soz, Rachel, but I suppose I better get on with this and at least take the shot she’s after before I lose the light. I’m expecting her to call soon with a new set of demands.’
‘Yeah, sure! I just wanted to catch you before you jetted off, check you were okay and tell you,’ there’s a slight hesitation in her voice, ‘I’ve got some news. Big news.’
‘Big?’
‘Mega!’
‘Tell!’
‘I can’t! But something exciting has happened, crumbs I hope you’re as excited as me! I think you will be, well, I hope …’
‘Rach! You can’t do this to me! Of course, I’ll be excited. Tell!’ Even if the actual thing doesn’t excite me, the fact that Rachel loves it so much will mean I will, too – for her.
‘I’ve got to. You’ll never guess! But you mustn’t, no, no don’t even try, I’m not telling you! I can’t tell you on the phone, I need to see you in person. Face to face, so I can check what you think.’ I smile to myself. I love it when Rachel is excited, she makes the whole world seem a brighter place. It’s infectious. ‘I just,’ she hesitates, ‘need to know you’re okay with it. You might be …’
The silence lengthens.
‘Be what?’
‘Upset?’
‘Why would I be upset? Rach, you’re worrying me!’
‘Soz. I don’t mean to, I mean it is good, honest, just a bit, well, I need to see you when I tell you. When are you back, Jane?’
‘You’re honestly not going to tell me? You’re going all weird on me, and not telling me?’
‘Nope. I want to tell you in person.’
‘FaceTime?’
‘In real person! How long are you here for when you get back? You’re not going to tell me you’re zooming off straight away again?’ Rachel runs out of steam and sounds breathless. Giddy with excitement, as my mum would say.
‘No, I won’t be zooming anywhere!’ I laugh a bit self-consciously. I might, or might not, have mentioned to my mate (well, all my mates, and most of my family, and everybody I know on Facebook) that I am about to jet off on an important business trip to New York. I couldn’t help myself, it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.
‘Promise? We can meet up as soon as you’re home?’
‘Promise.’ I won’t be going anywhere, apart from work, for quite some time. My credit card is totally maxed out because I’ve been on a massive spend
ing spree.
For a moment I forget about my lap full of kittens, and I even forget about Andy.
I’ve been buying clothes for the trip. Talk about excited, I’ve never been to New York before, I’ve never set foot in any part of the U. S. of A. This is the trip of a lifetime, well worth a new outfit or six. ‘We can meet up the moment I get back.’
‘So, you’re back on the 25th? Can you make the 26th? Or will you have jet lag?’
‘I’ll be fine, the 26th is great.’
‘Brilliant! I need to see you, Jane! How about we meet me at that new Jax Bar in town at 7 p.m.?’
I’ve known Rachel for years, since we bonded over a stolen ciggie (yes, I packed them in years ago) behind the bike sheds at high school after we’d both found out we hadn’t got tickets to see the Spice Girls.
We were in different school years, but right then it didn’t matter.
I was eleven, coming up twelve, and Rach had already hit that milestone. And back then she seemed way, way older than me. She was an August birthday, just into the second year of big school but one of the youngest, and I was a September birthday, one of the oldest in my year but still trying to find my feet. A newbie to the scary, big world of high school. But that day we gelled.
I had a sneaking suspicion that my Dad hadn’t actually tried very hard at all to get the damned things. It was probably his idea of hell being surrounded by screaming teenyboppers leaping around as bubbly Emma Bunton and Scary Spice strutted their stuff round a Christmas tree (although thinking back, maybe not). But, anyhow, I’d found out over toast and marmalade that I had lost possibly my last ever chance to see some real Girl Power live and I was in a strop.
So was Rachel.
It was a defining moment, our own small act of Girl Power defiance, as we wagged Wednesday afternoon PE and stomped on the weed-ridden tarmac, punching the air and yelling ‘Tell me what you want, what you really, really want’ at the top of our voices. I reckon we got a far better work out than we would have done with Ms Stainton and a wooden horse in the freezing gym.
We were mates after that. In school she had her gang, and I had mine, but we’d walk home together, hang out at weekends and as we got older the fact that we were in different school years mattered less and less. By the time I walked out of those school gates for the last time, we were inseparable. Joined at the hip, as Mum laughingly said.
After school we were closer than ever for a while, but then she started spending more and more time with her boyfriend Michael, and I made the decision to move further south with Andy when he got offered a better job. Then I took on a job that involved loads of travel and unsociable hours, so we saw less and less of each other, even though we’d gas on the phone for hours sometimes. It’s not like we’re miles from each other, but life can kind of get in the way, can’t it? But Rach is always the person I tell first about anything. Well, anything major, my flatmate Freddie often finds out the minor stuff first these days, because he’s there. In situ. As in, on our shared couch.
I told Rach I was engaged before I’d even told my mum. She helped me pick my dress, the flowers, the bridesmaids, even my undies. Then she was the person who put me back together again when it all went wrong.
She took a week off work and camped out in the flat. Then she left strict instructions for Freddie and made sure she rang me every single day when she went back home.
‘Oh, come on Rach! What’s so big you can’t tell me over the phone?’ I shake my head and can’t help but smile.
‘I’ll tell you when I see you, it’s a surprise! I know I shouldn’t have mentioned it now, but I couldn’t help it. Now, are you all ready for the trip?’ This shows how excited she is – Rachel is a very considerate, caring person. Asking about my trip would normally have been her top priority.
‘Nearly! I’ve just got to do this one shot and then I’ve got two days off before we go.’
‘Wow, the mighty Coral has given you time off?’ She giggles, and I join in. The hours I put into this job (and the crap I put up with) are ridiculous, but I see it as an investment. This is my apprenticeship. One day, I won’t be the un-credited photographer for a glossy Instagrammer, I’ll be taking the photos I want, my way. But for now, as my only qualification is a GCSE in Art and I can’t afford to take time out and do a course, this is my way in. Along with my role as unofficial pet photographer for the local animal rescue centre. I’m working on that one though. Pet Portrait-er might not have the same ring to it as Photographer to the Stars, but I reckon it’s a good second string to my bow. There will always be dogs, right? And it has to be easier than taking pics of babies. Or cats.
‘She has, we’ve got a backlog of photos to post over the next few days, then the next ones will be in New York!’
Rachel squeals. ‘Ooh, I’m so excited for you! You’re my jet-setting friend, I tell everybody they’re your photos and not hers.’
‘I was lucky to get this chance.’
‘Bollocks to you being the lucky one!’
I was though. Serendipity don’t they call it? It was one of those one in a thousand things when I’d bumped into Coral on Millennium Bridge. Literally. Well, I was trying to take a photo and she nudged me with her bony elbows so hard I would have toppled in if Health and Safety precautions hadn’t been in place.
We had a bit of a stand-off, mobile phones at the ready. Me wrapping one leg round a rail so she couldn’t dislodge me from the prime spot.
Normally I’m an easy-going kind of person, and if she’d have asked nicely I’d have budged over, but it was her attitude that made me bristle.
She told me who she was, expecting me to recognise her name (I didn’t), then showed me her Instagram feed which was full of pretty boring photos. Then I saw her stats. She had tens of thousands of followers. Tens of thousands. Most of them under age for at least some kind of legal activity. I don’t think I’m her demographic, but I ask you, how had she got so many followers? I had more like ten.
Turns out Coral was a blogger, big time. She had sponsorship, bucket loads of free stuff sent to her every week, and a devoted following.
We compared the shots we’d just taken and before I knew it I had a job taking the pictures for her Instagram feed. Sadly, my role as photographer had also morphed into PA and general dogsbody, as she was a bit of a madam and had nobody else to boss around. And sometimes I find it hard to say no.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do. And before I met Coral I’d been on the verge of taking a part-time admin job with the company Andy worked for, just to help boost my income until I started to build a reputation. He’d never been that interested in my career to be honest and saw taking photos as my little hobby and had done his best to persuade me to turn it into just that. And he had the killer reasoning that we did, after all, have to save up for our wedding. So why couldn’t I do a proper job for a bit?
So it felt like fate meeting Coral that day. It had stopped me putting a hold on my dreams and spending my days filing and photocopying. Andy wasn’t keen at all, but, I mean, if I’d taken that role he’d wanted me too, I’d really be in a mess now. No way could I have faced up to him every single day. I’d have been far too tempted to feed him into the shredder or slip something nasty into the water cooler and accidentally kill everybody in the company.
But I need this job more than ever now. I don’t want Andy to be proved right, that it’s just a hobby. Because it isn’t. This is my apprenticeship, and one day the time will be right to strike out on my own. But right now, it’s my security blanket.
Without Coral, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, and I’d lose my flat, and Freddie, and everything.
I love Freddie my flatmate. Not in a lustful way – the shag-a-thon way would completely wreck everything, and I could never in a million years do that to us. He’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.
A man who I don’t need to shave my legs or comb my hair for. Though I
do of course. I just don’t always have the time or inclination to de-fuzz bits of me that nobody is going to see. And after a burger it is just so hard to hold my stomach in and think sexy. It’s actually a relief to be living with somebody and not have to think about all that.
So that’s me in a nutshell. Wannabe photographer, average weight, slightly above average height, red hair, green eyes, no five-year plan, slightly forgetful, verging on sluttery, one flatmate called Freddie, half of a very small flat.
‘She was lucky to get you!’
‘Oh, I do love you, Rach.’
‘Love you back.’ I can hear the smile in her voice. ‘I’ll see you on the 26th then?’
‘You will! Can’t wait to hear your news.’
‘Hey, Jane? Keep one of those kittens! That ginger one, it is so you.’
‘I can’t, I’m away too much. I’m off to New York!’
‘Get it when you get back, ask Lora to keep it.’
‘But I’m …’
‘Freddie will feed it when you’re not there! You know he will, he’d do anything for you. See you soon,’ I can hear her blowing kisses. ‘Keep it!’
I put my mobile down, and stare at my lapful of purr-i-ness, they’re rumbling so much my legs are vibrating. How on earth can she say that a kitten is so ‘me’?
It has its tiny pink tongue stuck out between its lips and its toes are twitching.
I know for a fact I don’t do that.
Chapter 3
‘Hi, honey, I’m home!’ A waft of air from the front door, and the clunk of a heavy bag being dropped sends the kittens scattering in all directions.
Freddie is standing in the doorway, his big trademark grin on his face. He even uses it when cold callers and religious types knock on the door. It makes their day.
I’m not his honey, it’s a joke. We’re flatmates, but we’re like an old married couple without the married bit. Or the old.
He’s all lanky and loose-limbed, like a Great Dane puppy. But with the floppy fringe of a cocker spaniel. I don’t normally liken people to dogs, honest, but it works with Freddie.
Bridesmaids: The funniest laugh out loud rom com of 2019 – the perfect beach read! Page 2
