hello, James. I was just – thinking.’ I attempted to contort my features into some semblance of a pleased smile, since it wasn’t his fault that he suddenly looked sober and unexciting. I’ve
had
intoxicating and exciting. Been there, seen it, done it, bought the self-igniting T-shirt.
‘Do you need darkness for thinking?’ he asked, puzzled,
‘You certainly don’t need light – all these magnolia walls may suit you, but they make the inside of my head twice as worth looking at as anything in the room other than my patchwork.’
Blink!
went his sandy lashes, in that ‘I register what she just said but it didn’t make sense’ way of his.
‘Has Bess been out? What have you been doing?’
‘Bess hasn’t been out yet. Isn’t she supposed to be your dog?
You
take her out, it’s cold out there.’
‘But I haven’t got time – I’m meeting Gerry and Dave in an hour.’
‘Oh, you aren’t going out tonight, James! You’ve only just got back.’
‘It’s Friday,’ he protested, as though it were some immutable law.
It
is
an immutable law: Friday night out with ‘the boys’. Not for very much longer, though! And not for much longer will I have to suffer visitations from James’s friend Horrible Howard, who infested the flat for a couple of hours the other day. (He’s not really one of ‘the boys’, more one on his own.)
‘The offer we made for the cottage at Nutthill has been accepted, there was a message on the answerphone.’
He looked aghast. ‘But—’
‘Isn’t it
wonderful
, darling? Exactly what we want, and at such a low price. You are clever!’ (Only the best butter.)
‘Well, I—’
‘It means we’ll have money to spare for decorating, and sanding the floors and things like that. I’ll phone first thing tomorrow and give the go-ahead.’
‘Yes – but, Tish, look, let’s think before we act hastily.’
‘I’ve thought. We’re buying it.’
He was still making stupid objections when he went out, so I spiked his guns by immediately phoning the Rosens, a young couple with whom we’ve conducted an on-off affair
re
selling our flat for the last year or so. They still hadn’t found anything they could afford that they liked better, and were delighted to hear that Thunderbirds were Go.
‘Sweetness is so excited!’ cooed Charlie. (I kid you not – they have to be the most nauseating couple ever.) ‘She’d set her little heart on your flat, the poor darling.’
There was a murmur of assent from Sweetness. I’d met them a couple of times (too many) and Sweetness had informed me she was a model, though since she was a five-foot anorexic I can only assume she modelled children’s clothes.
‘She’s absolutely delighted,’ confided Charlie.
Girlish cries of glee could indeed be heard in the background.
‘Your flat is such a blank canvas for her – she has so many wonderful ideas of what to do with it. We’re both over the moon.’
Excuse
me
, I thought, but this blank canvas just happens to be my home! However, it did look very bland and boring except for my patchwork throws, the baskets of dried autumn leaves, and the giant lime-green papier mâché bowl from Ikea.
James may insist on magnolia paintwork, but I just refuse to have a magnolia life from now on. I’ve been drifting along, thinking I’m going somewhere, and I’ve finally found where I want to go and when:
now
.
I must write that book plot down before I forget it:
Ley Lines to Love
…
Fergal: December 1998
‘Fergal Rocco, pictured with his Frog-eyed Sprite sports car. Although it is his favourite, he also has two Mini Coopers and a Morris Traveller among his rather eccentric collection. He is currently looking for a country house with more room to store them …’
Drive!
magazine
Mr Rooney was a medium-sized nondescript sort of man, with surprisingly sharp blue eyes behind thick glasses, all important assets to a private eye, I expect. He’d come well recommended, at all