Snowflake

by Heide Goody

  “Just pop the stone in the bin over there,” said James, even though his back was to me.

  I did as he suggested. “How did you know?” I asked.

  “My ears are highly attuned to the sounds made by stealth eating,” he said. “Theo is a devil for it.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “And there’s a mirror on the wall over there,” he said. “I just happened to see you pop an olive in your mouth.”

  I gave him a light punch in the shoulder and laughed. He was doing something clever with the tuna so I went and had another olive just because I could.

  “Right, that can marinade while we’re on the call to Hector,” James said, wiping his hands.

  Moments later, and we were both sitting at the table, chatting to a boy of Theo’s age with the widest smile.

  “Hello to you both from the best place in the world,” said Hector.

  “I’m not going to argue with that,” I said. “I loved Crete.”

  “You like the beaches?”

  “Er, yes.” I was thinking of the nightclubs and the two-for-one deals on fishbowl cocktails but, sure, the beaches too. “Thank you for helping with this, Hector.”

  “Not a problem. My father has always told me to be helpful to the people who love our home and they will cherish it as we do.”

  “And give you a decent tip,” said James. He turned to me to explain. “This young hustler waits tables sometimes, and everyone loves him.”

  I smiled at Hector. “So, do you know the street where there’s a big church with a shoe shop right next door?”

  “It is just around the corner,” said Hector and trotted off. He held the tablet up so we could see where he was going. It was like being back on holiday and I sighed at the recollection. A short while later he held up the camera to the shoe shop. They’d changed their window display since I was there, but I tried not to be distracted by the shoes. It was definitely the right place.

  “Perfect, Hector, that’s the place. Now a few paces beyond, there is a window set into the wall; it looks as if it’s been there forever. The guy only had a few pieces for sale, and he kind of leaned out to chat with people who walked past.”

  Hector moved slowly along the ancient wall, showing us the view as he went.

  “Here we have the drainage pipe from the roof, and here we have a cat who wants to know if we have some scraps for him. Here we have a painting that is really faded, and here we have a souvenir shop. Is this the one you meant?”

  “No, it wasn’t modern like that,” I said. The shop window on the screen was like hundreds of others in the town, filled with cheap imported plates and trinkets. “I was sure it was just next to the shoe shop, because the man called me over when I was looking in the window.”

  “Go back, Hector, let’s have another look,” said James.

  Hector backed up and we got the same things in reverse (although the cat had moved on).

  “Can we have another look at the painting?” I asked. Hector stepped away from the wall to get a better view. It was a faded mural but it was clear enough to determine what it was supposed to be. The shape of the window set into the wall was right. The man who leaned across the sill was the same man. I peered really closely. He held a pendant in his hand that was only a small dot on the screen, but somehow, I knew it was my pendant.

  “Um, it’s that shop in the painting,” I whispered.

  Hector chuckled. “Did you sample the special cigarettes during your visit?” he asked.

  “Thank you Hector, we don’t need to be quite so cheeky,” said James sternly, but Hector laughed again.

  “No, he’s probably right,” I said. “I must have bought the pendant from somewhere else. Do you know anything about that painting, Hector?”

  “No. It’s been there forever.”

  “You’ve helped a great deal. Thank you, Hector,” I said.

  James ended the call and we went back to the kitchen to cook the tuna.

  “A dead end then?” said James, lighting the gas. “Although it’s always nice to chat with young Hector.”

  He seared the tuna in a pan that was so hot I was sure he’d set it on fire, but he somehow made it perfect. I opened a bottle of wine and poured us both a glass. The meal was exactly what I needed after about a million sausages and I had to stop myself from making continuous nom nom noises in appreciation.

  “Oh, that was so good!” I said afterwards.

  “I’m delighted that you’re so easy to please,” he said. Now what would you like to do. Watch some TV? Game of Scrabble maybe?”

  “Are you, the academic, seriously going to play Scrabble with me, the cleaner?” I said.

  His face fell. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you on your first day, it was unforgiveable.”

  I felt terrible for spoiling the mood like that. If it needed a game of Scrabble to get it back on course then I should just suck it up.

  “Scrabble it is,” I said, “and I liked that you told me some things I didn’t know. I’ll make sure everyone knows about Common Era now. Maybe I’ll do a blog about it at some point.”

  Scrabble didn’t get played much in our house when I was growing up, mainly because I stole the tiles and added them to artworks as bold captions.

  James got me completely on the back foot when he managed to get vixen on the board with one of his first moves. I was dying to make the word fox with that x just to make him laugh, but I didn’t get the letters. I stared at my motley collection of letters.

  I added pan and let James add up the score. He was already in the lead, but I didn’t care. He wasted no time in adding speed, which meant I could no longer attempt fox, which was a weight off my mind, to be honest.

  I leaned forward and added gem across James’ speed. I’d put the letters down carelessly and I reached to straighten them at the same time as James, and he brushed my hand with his.

  A thrill coursed through me at his touch. He added an s to my pan to create span. Why hadn’t I seen that?

  I gazed at the board and added a b and an a. James frowned at the board.

  “That’s not right,” he said. “I mean it’s great that you made sag across there, but it’s not a real word going down now, it says bae.”

  “Bae’s a word,” I said.

  “Of course it’s not, it’s meaningless.”

  “No, it means bae!” I said. “Like Babe with a letter missing. It’s what young people call their boyfriend or girlfriend.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “If this is a bluff then you’re good, really good,” he said.

  “Not a bluff! You can google it,” I said.

  I believe you, Lori,” he said, tenderly, and leaned in. “I love that you just taught me something that I didn’t know.”

  It seemed as if time slowed right down. I was aware of every small detail that surrounded us, from the colour of the curtains to the amount of wine that remained in the bottle, but at the same time my entire being was transfixed by James’ gaze. He looked at me so intently, and I saw his lips part slightly as he leaned in towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I anticipated the taste and feel of his mouth on mine. I closed my eyes.

  “Who’s Ashbert?” he asked me.

  My eyes snapped open and I could feel myself blushing right down to my feet with a mixture of lust and weird embarrassment. Had I misread his body language? No! He was definitely about to kiss me, so why on earth had he brought up Ashbert? How did he even know about Ashbert?

  “Er,” I said, playing for time and trying to organise my face back into talking mode when it had been hell-bent on snogging mode. “Ashbert?”

  “Yes, the police mentioned him. They said you were seen digging with him and they made it sound as if you and he are an item.”

  “Right. Yes. That would be one way to describe the situation. It’s complicated though.”

  He raised his eyebrows. He wanted me to continue. This felt like a terrible idea, but I pressed on.

  “So A
shbert was someone I ah, dated, years ago,” I said. “He turned up quite unexpectedly, just recently.”

  How strange that I was already practising the very advice that James had just given me. The less I said on the subject the better, especially given that I had no real clue what was going on myself. All I knew was that Ashbert was somehow dependent on me and it was starting to feel like an uncomfortable burden. I couldn’t deny that we were some sort of item though, could I? My lips pressed themselves together, as if they knew that ill-advised words wanted to come tumbling out.

  James looked at me as if he could see that I was uncomfortable. He gave a heavy sigh. “Well lucky him,” he said. “Listen, there was a favour I wanted to ask you. There’s some university open days coming up and I’ve been roped in with some of the organisation. Anyway, the first one’s this weekend and I’ve hit a bit of a crisis. The admin assistant has gone off work with something called pre-eclampsia.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “No idea, and I’m a bit afraid to ask if I’m honest,” said James. “So, I’m floundering with some of the stuff that the university likes to call public engagement. I think that you have some talent in that area. Did you know that your little speech bubbles were really popular in the museum?”

  I grinned. Public engagement! Who knew? “You want my help?” I said, checking that I’d heard correctly. I was a bit incredulous. Scrabble and now this? James seemed prepared to take me much more seriously than anyone else in my life.

  “If you can spare some time, that would be wonderful,” he said.

  “Consider your public engaged!” I said leaping into a superhero pose.

  Chapter 31

  I slept like a log on the sofa bed. If there’s one thing that an uncomfortable night in a hostile outdoors environment teaches you, it’s how to make the most of a comfy bed. No insects, no odd rustling from the surrounding trees and most importantly, no Ashbert fussing over me. Of course, while I was lazing around, thinking about how comfy I was, he was still there on that hellish island, which made me feel a bit guilty. I rolled over and tried to push the thought away, but his kicked-puppy face kept appearing in my mind, so I got up and crept out of the house before everyone else was up.

  I walked to the park and then wondered how I’d get across to the island to check that he was all right. It turned out to be unnecessary. Ashbert emerged from the water as I approached. He was wearing very little and I could see that he was very cold.

  “Are you wearing Speedos? I asked, unsure because of the mottled discoloration that covered him. I once read an article about ‘craziest sports’ and they had something called bog snorkelling where people swim (or writhe messily) through a trench of mud. I think they come out a bit cleaner than Ashbert, who was draped in pondweed, litter and unidentifiable sludge.

  “Sure am!” he grinned. He struck a pose, which was spoiled somewhat by his teeth chattering and the whole smelling-like-a-stagnant-pond-full-of-dead-fish thing.

  He stepped forward and made to embrace me. I stepped back. “Hold it right there!” I said. “You will not be touching me while you’re in that state.”

  “But you like it when Daniel Craig does it!” he said mournfully. “I’ve been practising. I’ve been back and forth to the island fifteen times this morning. I thought I was getting good at it.”

  That explained how he’d managed to accumulate the worst of the pollution from the lake. It also explained why he seemed on the edge of collapse. I walked him around the park and rubbed his arms, but that turned out to be a bad idea when I realised that he was covered in painful insect bites. In the end, I made a deal with a homeless guy for his coat. I paid him nearly all of my money for it – he’d be able to get a new coat and a slap-up meal for that, but at least Ashbert could cover himself up and start to get warm again.

  “Listen, I need to go over to Norman’s before work to make sure he keeps my postcard in the window,” I said. “Come with me. I think we need to talk.”

  When we reached the pavement, Ashbert’s squashed can shoes made a clattering sound as he walked. I should have struck a deal for the homeless guy’s shoes as well but I only had a pound left and that was to pay for my postcard to be displayed for another week.

  “I think it was wrong of me to give you all these tasks to do,” I said.

  “Oh no, definitely not,” said Ashbert. “I’ve enjoyed doing them. I enjoy making you happy.”

  “It’s not a healthy basis for a relationship though, is it?” I said.

  “What? Don’t you like to be happy?” he asked with a frown. “I can do something el–”

  “No, can’t you see what I’m saying?” I said. “You should have your own hopes and dreams. Don’t you want to do anything just for yourself?”

  “Yes of course! I want –”

  I whirled to face him. “Whatever you’re about to say better not be about me, or it doesn’t count, right?”

  He nodded and looked crestfallen. He sighed and walked in silence until we reached the newsagent. We looked at the postcards in the window, mainly so that we didn’t need to look at each other.

  “We both need to look at ourselves,” I said. “I know I’ve treated you badly. I wanted a knight in shining armour and I ended up trying to make you into someone that you’re not. I’m sorry for that. But you need to decide what you want for yourself, and not fixate on making me happy. We all have wants and needs. Look, here’s a whole bunch of them in this window. Things people want. Although to be honest, I think you should probably aim higher than paving slabs (need taking up) or window cleaner wanted. The point is that you need to decide on what yours are. Pick something. Help others. Help yourself. Whatever you do, make yourself happy.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said. “Thanks Lori.”

  “In case you were in any doubt,” I said, “you might want to begin your list of needs with somewhere new to live. When I get Adam’s flat back I want you to move out of it.”

  I headed inside the newsagents so that I didn’t have to look at his face. As I walked away, I saw a passer-by press a few coins into Ashbert’s hand, responding to his dreadful appearance (and smell). An omen? I decided that it was. I knew in my heart of hearts that he was going to be all right.

  Chapter 32

  I’d arranged to meet Chorley Danglespear after work at a city centre cafe. I found him chewing on an impossibly huge sandwich that seemed to have an entire cooked breakfast wedged between two slices of bread. He clearly recognised me from my picture somewhere and rose to greet me.

  He held out a hand that was greasy from the sandwich, caught the look on my face, looked around and then wiped it on the back of his chair before shaking my hand.

  “Read all of your blogs,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food. “Love what you’re doing with the character. Sit. Sit. Please.”

  I sat. He clicked his fingers for service. A waitress came over.

  “What are you having, love?” he asked me. “Coffee? Tea? Three-course meal? On me. Just say it and the girl will fetch it for you.”

  I paused a second, just as James had taught me. Did that apply to all questions I was asked or only interview ones?

  “Just a cup of tea will be fine,” I said.

  “You sure?” said Chorley, dabbing up a spot of ketchup with his fingertip and sucking it off. “Slice a cake? You could do to put a few pounds on. That’s not sexist, is it?”

  “Er…”

  “Just a cuppa for the little lady,” he told the waitress. “We’ll shout if we want anything else.”

  He waved the waitress away and, with elbows planted on the table and fingers steepled together, looked at me for a long time.

  “So, Lori. Lori. Florrie. Lori, creator of Florrie. Is your wonderful cartoon character based on anyone you know?”

  I waited for a second again, but this question was very straightforward. No danger here.

  “Florrie?” I said, pride swelling in me. “She’s very much based on me.
I’m showing the journey into adulthood that I’ve made myself.”

  He looked delighted. “Cracking stuff!” He dipped inside his jacket to produce a notebook. He took another bite of his sandwich.

  “So, tell me then. What made you start this series? Am I right in thinking that you’ve actually been an adult for a number of years?”

  He was pretty observant. I guess that comes with being a journalist.

  “I was an adult in age, but I hadn’t really mastered true adulting, so –”

  “‘Adulting’,” he said as he wrote it down. I could hear the inverted commas.

  “So, I set myself a set of challenges,” I said, “based on some lists that I found about how to be an adult. That’s where it came from.”

  “Gold. Pure gold,” he said with an admiring shake of his head. I felt nothing but relief. James had worried me a little with his warnings, but this man really understood what I was trying to express, and clearly liked it.

  “So, you’ve conquered this adulting thing now, have you, or will Florrie face new challenges in the coming weeks? I bet your life’s pretty sorted now, yeah?”

  “Florrie will have lots more to do,” I said. “I’ve been arrested this week, so Florrie might have to do that soon.”

  “Mm, the arrest. I’ve had my own brushes with the boys in blue. I’ve got nothing but admiration for the forces of law and order but this nanny state causes all manner of grievances. Want to give me your side of things there?” he asked.

  “Well they’re worried about my brother, Adam. He’s disappeared, but he does that a lot. He’s gone off somewhere filming, which is not at all the same thing as being murdered.”

  “Your brother’s Adam Belkin, yeah? Does a lot of documentaries?”

  “Yes, that’s him,” I said, hoping that the interview wasn’t going to swerve into Adam adoration, like everything else in my life seemed to. This was about me!

  “I met him at a press junket in Qatar a year or so back. God, we got so pissed – sorry! Drunk.” He slapped his own wrist. “Pardon my French. This journo I knew from my old Daily Mail days told this hilarious story about a transsexual cripple. I laughed so hard I fell in the Qatari prince’s swimming pool. Your brother lent me his towel to dry off.”