by Jenny Colgan
‘You ask her!’
‘She’s your flatmate!’
This was getting childish, so I just sighed and made a half-hearted flapping motion which was supposed to mean OK without actually committing myself to anything. Alex temporarily forgotten in the light of someone else’s troubles, something else occurred to me.
‘I wonder what’s in those enormous parcels she keeps getting.’
‘So, to make her life a complete misery, why don’t we snoop amongst her stuff as well?’
‘You started it!’
‘Did not!’
‘Did too! When Nicholas was here!’
‘Oh.’
We looked at each other enquiringly.
‘Well …’
‘That would be extremely … naughty.’ Fran giggled nervously.
‘Well, I’ve already ruined her day …’
We looked at each other and both leapt out of the room.
Linda’s sanctum was possibly the most spotless place I have ever seen. Even the teddy bear looked like he’d been through teddy grooming school. Everything in it was either pink or peach, and the wall managed to be both, with the help of the type of nasty border normally only seen in motorway hotels. There were frilly things everywhere – tie-backs, potpourri holders, ornamental pigs. It looked like the wet dream of a seven-year-old girl.
‘Wow,’ said Fran, picking up the matching brush set from the glass top of the dressing table, under which rested a doily. ‘Miss Havisham’s cleaning rota’s certainly improved.’
I couldn’t see the parcel I was looking for and headed towards the cupboard. Fran picked up one of the Laura Ashley pinafore numbers Linda favoured and flounced round the room singing, ‘I’m Linda, and I couldn’t be sorrier for breathing! Sorry, please pay some rent, how about five pence a month? I’m just going out now – oh, of course, I never do …’ I grimaced.
Suddenly, the phone rang. We both jumped out of our skins, as if we’d been caught doing something very wrong. Which, of course, we had.
‘You answer it!’ I hissed, absurdly, to Fran, and snatched the dress off her. Wrong-footed, she did as she was told.
I went to hang the dress back up and, as I did, I noticed the box peeping out of the back of the cupboard. Feeling thoroughly low, I picked it up anyway.
Inside there was layer upon layer of chocolate: everything from little Flyte bars to enormous, one-acre Galaxys, and those huge Toblerones you can only get in Duty Free. Some were just empty wrappers, strewn about in a most uncharacteristic manner.
‘Chuffing hell!’ I exclaimed, as Fran walked back in.
‘How did you know that was Nicholas from all the way in here?’
‘Look at all this!’
‘Oh my God. Eating disorder city. Jesus!’
‘I know. She just gets fatter and fatter. She must eat in secret all the time.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What am I going to do? Oh, take full responsibility for it, obviously. I don’t know! We don’t even say good morning!’
We looked at each other.
On the overwrought bedside table, beside the crocheted tissue-box cover, there was only one picture, of Linda – a chubby child – standing next to a vicious-looking pony.
Oh God, what was I going to do – mention it to her? D’oh! What did advice columns say? Leave some handy leaflets lying about. I didn’t know if they did ones that said, ‘We were snooping in your room and found something you’re obviously desperately trying to hide.’ Go down the pub? I tried to judge a tasteful length of time before suggesting this. Fran gave me a look that plainly told me it wasn’t long enough.
‘Huh? Sorry, I was just thinking about Linda.’
‘So what do you think we should …’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Pause.
‘I suppose I could try and be nicer to her,’ I offered.
‘Well, you do live together.’
‘So do you, practically, and you’re not nice to anyone.’
‘That’s because most people are boring. But Linda’s like, you know, sick.’
‘OK, OK already.’
I hoisted myself up and went and tackled some of Alex’s and my washing-up. Well, it was a start.
‘So, ehm, that was Nicholas on the phone then?’
And not, say, Alex (who was out buying furniture), having had a big change of heart and begging me to move with him to Fulham.
‘Yes. You appear to be in demand.’
Well, hooray!
‘However, I told him you weren’t available, so he asked me out instead.’
Boo! OK, I may have despised the guy, but I’d like to think he could tell me apart from other members of the same species.
‘Huh. Did you say yes?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you said yes, you would smoochily love him forever and ever, and did he have any more of his hilarious accounting stories?’
‘Oh, and also he said you may have to test for some disease or other.’
‘WHAT!?’
Fran gave me the finger and laughed evilly.
‘Melanie, given that you’re probably the only person who’s ever gone to bed with him, I wouldn’t worry too much.’
The brief tension gone, I told her about how awful the party had been, which I knew would please her. She was particularly interested in Angus.
‘Sounds intriguing. Was he handsome?’
On the sniff, as usual.
‘Ehm, I don’t know. Have you seen that film Babe?’
‘He looks like a pig?’
‘Hear me out …’
‘Farmer Hoggett?’
‘No! You know the dog in it who goes bad and bites people …?’
‘He looks like a dog?’
‘Well, he has an air of wounded nobility.’
‘In dog form.’
‘Ehm …’
We both sighed.
‘God, there really are no men left,’ exclaimed Fran for like the billionth time.
I couldn’t help it, but I must have involuntarily made an Amanda-type look, because she pretended to knee me in the tits. She didn’t quite pretend properly and unfortunately did hit me in the tits. Fran’s always played rough.
Linda came back eventually, on her own. We both stiffened. As usual she headed straight past the sitting room for her bedroom. I held my breath, terrified she was going to find something out of place. Maybe she had a hair taped over the doorframe and some talc or something, and now she was going to kill us …
Fran gave me a meaningful look, so I heaved myself up again.
‘Erm, Linda, do you want a cup of coffee?’
There was silence from beyond. No doubt this was a terrifying and unprecedented advance on my part. I felt horribly embarrassed and ashamed. Finally:
‘No, thanks.’
‘I think you’ve only got half a pound of sugar left anyway,’ whispered Fran meanly.
‘OK!’ I shouted. ‘We’re off to the pub. Do you want to come?’
Linda came out of her room and looked at me, her pale eyes suspicious.
‘Why?’
‘Ehm, no reason … you know, Monday night …’ I trailed off weakly.
‘No, thanks. I’m going to clean my wardrobe out.’
‘Ohhh – I mean: Oh, right, have fun!’
Then Fran and I fled to the pub to meet Alex and Charlie. ‘Amanda & Fraser Ltd’ had generously deigned to join us: the presence of two good-looking West London boys had obviously upped our social desirability somewhat.
Walking into the pub, I shot a sidelong glance at Fran. It was not looking good. Amanda was sitting in the middle of the three men, showing off in her pertiest manner. Fraser was watching her dutifully – or staring at her adoringly, I couldn’t make out what was true and what was bitchiness on my behalf – and Alex and Charlie were sniggering and nudging each other.
Alex gave me a kiss, and I went to get some beers, while Am
anda said something and everybody laughed. I looked at the beautifully cut profile of the man I loved and suddenly felt empty, even when he yelled, ‘Mel, gorgeous gorgeous thing, get over here and sit on my knee immediately.’
How could he be so sweet and still want to move to Fulham with Charlie? I sat on his knee and tried not to mope, but it wasn’t easy.
‘So, anyway,’ Amanda was squawking, ‘I spoke to the designer and she says she’s never seen such a tiny waist! They’re going to have to do it all by hand specially, and it’s going to cost an extra two thousand pounds! Can you imagine!’
‘Bloody hell!’ said Alex dutifully.
The other boys nodded blankly. That infuriated me: they listened to her because she was pretty, but they wouldn’t know what a wedding dress cost at gunpoint.
Then she gave Fraser a look and snapped her fingers. He immediately got up and fetched her another drink. Fran and I looked at each other in amazement.
Anyway, to make myself sound at least vaguely interesting, I spilled the beans about Linda. Fran looked disapproving, but only because she didn’t think to tell it herself. Everyone was enthralled, so I tried not to embellish too much. Well, everyone except Fran, who was being disapproving, and Charlie, who was staring at Fran’s breasts. And Amanda, who was attempting to tell a rival story about her suspected anorexia, which she was trying to make sound like a pretty cool disease.
Suddenly, Angus walked in, and it was like a chill hit the air. Fraser smiled anxiously in welcome, while Amanda gave him a very tight look out of the corner of her beautifully made-up eyes and deliberately smiled without smiling.
‘Oh, hello, Angus,’ she said. ‘So glad you could make it.’
‘Aye.’
Good God, what was he, an extra from Cold Comfort Farm? Angus sat down stolidly.
Fraser looked around. ‘Does everyone know Angus?’ Everyone hummed and pretended to – even if (like Fran) they’d never clapped eyes on him before – so we didn’t all have to go round and introduce ourselves.
I’d gotten to that delicate part of sitting on somebody’s knee when I’d forgotten to balance my toes on the floor and they now had an extremely dead leg which they were being too polite to tell me about.
‘Hey, elephant baby, darling, obviously I adore you, but if you don’t get off my knee now I’m going to collapse and die,’ my beloved announced loudly.
Amanda brayed with laughter, as she was the dictionary antonym of an elephant, whereas clearly, I was the synonym.
There was nowhere to sit, so I edged to the end of the group, red-faced but pretending to take it as a joke, next to the naturally red-faced Angus who was staring surlily at a pint of English bitter. This was a bad ploy, because by the time I re-emerged from my mild and unnoticed strop to re-enter the conversation, the conversation was away from my nutsoid flatmate altogether and back on to bloody weddings again.
‘So,’ Amanda was saying, ‘we’re going to hire out the entire castle and have heather and haggis and tartan swathing and pipers …’
‘… parading out of my arse,’ a voice said quietly in my ear, in a not bad approximation of Amanda’s posh squawk. I giggled before coming to my senses that it had in fact been uttered by Angus the Sulky. No one else had noticed.
‘Hello there,’ I said, warmer than I had intended.
‘Hullo.’
‘Good time on Saturday?’
‘Hmm,’ he said, with a pointed look at the intended duo.
Our fast becoming habitual embarrassed silence stole over us.
‘So, are you older or younger than Frase …’ As soon as I asked the question I remembered I already knew. God, my small-talk radar was getting worse all the time.
‘Still younger.’ He almost half smiled. I briefly wondered what he’d look like if he really did smile.
Someone set another drink in front of me, and I smelled Alex’s aftershave and closed my eyes.
‘Oh, have you two met?’
Alex and Angus shook hands in that wary fashion blokes do when the girl they’re going out with introduces them to another bloke.
‘Hi. Err, you’re Fraser’s little brother?’
Well, of course he was. D’oh!
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
‘You were at the engagement party, weren’t you? Brilliant night, wasn’t it?’
Then quite an odd thing happened. Angus and I exchanged glances, and I almost smiled.
‘Yes. Yes, it was quite something.’
‘So, what are you doing down here then? Working?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a short-term contract in Docklands. If I like it I might stay …’
‘Bet you miss the sheep in hoochter-choochter land though, eh?’
I cringed.
‘No. Actually, I’ve met plenty of woolly twats since I arrived.’
Double rude! Yikes! Fortunately, Alex had already turned back to Charlie to make some other sheep-related remark and had missed it. But I was shocked, and puzzled: why did this ginger bloke hate us all so much? And if he did, why was he here?
Nothing happened to change my opinion as the evening wore on. Angus seemed staggeringly unimpressed by Alex’s American stories, which I still found funny, even though I’d heard them several times. More pints were consumed, more chatter went round, and he didn’t feel the need to offer a single comment, make one remark, or laugh – not even when Alex got on to the time he decided he was going to become a rodeo star!
I looked around for Fran. She had managed to get herself completely cornered by Charlie, whose eyes were as round as Fran’s nicely shaped baps. He’d got her up against the wall at the back side of the table, and everyone else was in that mildly blootered universe where they didn’t notice much around them (except Amanda, who was drinking Aqua Libra, but never noticed anyone other than herself anyway).
‘Darling,’ he was slurring, ‘you’re absolutely top totty …’
‘Fuck off, Charlie.’ Fran sounded dangerous.
‘Come, give Charlie a little kiss –’
He reached out to grab her. Fran put her arms up and, without meaning to, slapped him in the face. The atmosphere turned suddenly.
‘I say, did you bloody slap me, you bitch?’
That posh charm was obviously spread pretty thin.
Fran drew herself up to her full height, looking like she was on fire with humiliation and rage.
‘No, but I fucking should have done, you wanker!’
‘You fucking little bitch!’
Then, and I mean it, he really looked as though he was going to go for her. Everyone watched like they were caught in a sci-fi time freeze, except for Fran, who seemed to be moving backwards in slow motion. Then suddenly there was a flash of ginger as Angus leapt up, grabbed Charlie’s arms, and in one movement threw him against the wall with the full force of his body.
‘STOP IT!’
There was a long pause. For some reason, rather a lot of people seemed to be panting. The landlord was heading ominously in our direction, and Angus and Charlie were staring at each other very intently.
Alex leaned in. ‘Come on, Charles, leave it,’ he said softly.
After an agonizing wait, Charlie lowered the eye contact, put his fangs away and stomped out of the pub. We were all looking at each other, half worried, half thrilled to bits with excitement.
‘Well, what a cunt!’ said Fran. And that was a word we never, ever used.
Outside, Charlie was obviously wanting to go, but Alex was hovering to see me.
‘Ehm, I’d better take Charlie home. I’ll stay there tonight.’
I didn’t want him to go, especially not with that … git.
‘Good night then,’ said Alex, and he walked off supporting Charlie.
The rest of us stood around wondering what to do next. Fran thanked Angus, but it seemed almost distasteful to mention it; like he had seen her being raped or something. Fraser was wandering over in our direction, looking concerned and worried, when Amanda grabbed him firmly
by the arm, turned round and cheerily said, ‘Well we’d better go!’ as if they’d just spent the afternoon touring the village fête. As she hustled him off to her car, Fraser looked over his shoulder at Angus, who was standing looking a bit embarrassed, and gave him an awkward grin meant to convey shame, apology, pride and general goodwill all at once. Angus gave him one back, and they suddenly looked very alike.
‘Right! All back to mine then?’ I said, as usual. Fran and I were dying to discuss it, obviously, but it would be a lot easier if Angus didn’t come …
However, he was already striding off in the opposite direction.
‘Oh, look at him,’ said Fran, as he headed off towards the tube. ‘He’s my pig in shining armour. My Lone Rasher. My ginger …’
‘Shush, Fran. He bloody sorted that out, OK?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! I’ve had enough hassle tonight already, don’t you think?’
Now Fran was in a mood.
‘Come on, Franster, don’t bother about it. That revolting prat mauling you – bleurgh … Come on back, have a glass of wine, stop worrying.’
We piled back to the flat, managing for once not to cackle on the stairwell. Fran was still a bit shocked, so I sat her down, poured her a big glass of whisky (yes, it was the one Linda had won in a raffle, but it was medicinal) and let her tell me about it all over again as if I hadn’t been there.
I couldn’t stop thinking aloud.
‘It is good news for me, though,’ I added, after what I thought was a considerate length of time.
‘What?!’
‘Well, Alex is hardly going to move in with Charlie now, is he? Now he knows he’s practically a rapist. Hmmm, maybe we’ll get a place of our own … move in properly.’
‘Oh, well, I’m glad my being nearly pawed to death is going to help out your domestic arrangements.’ There was a glint in her eye. ‘Do you want me to go down to King’s Cross and turn a few tricks? Then maybe you can get a joint mortgage.’
‘No! I was just saying …’
‘If he moves in with Charlie –’ Fran was showing her teeth, always an ominous sign – ‘if he moves in with Charlie, after all this, you’ll chuck him, won’t you?’
Fuck! Moral dilemma-tastic!
