it’s funny except you.’
‘Danny, they laugh out of pity.’
He told her, ‘I spent the early hours on the Mission’s pay phone, trying to call my old friends. Do you know, every single one of them moved house while I was comatose?’
‘Yeah, that’s what they tell you.’
‘No, really. Each number was answered by someone I didn’t know. And none had a forwarding address. What do you think the odds are against that?’
‘With you, pretty long; you were never that lucky before. Anyway, the party. Annette was the one in the cyberman suit.’
He looked at her. ‘That was a girl?’
‘A girl? You know what was inside that baco-foil? Winona Ryder, or as good as. And you turned down a chance to snog that?’
He thought about this. ‘Which Winona Ryder?’
She frowned, intent on the road ahead. ‘Which Winona Ryder? Which d’you think? The one works down the chip shop, says she’s Elvis.’
‘But she’s not the same in every movie is she? She’s a human chameleon. In some movies she’s nice. In some she’s nasty.’
‘She’s Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice. Happy?’
‘She’d do, I suppose.’
‘You suppose.’
‘I preferred Edward Scissorhands Winona.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry; you see, I forgot that a classy bloke like you has to be careful which Winona Ryder he’s seen in public with.’
‘Just as long as she’s not The Crucible Winona.’
Lucy chuckled malevolently. ‘Oh yeah. I remember you running out the living room in a panic, half way through that one.’
He shuffled in his seat, turning red, and gazed out through the side window. ‘I was not in a panic. I was just …’
‘You were just what?’
‘I was checking things.’
‘What things?’
‘Things that needed checking.’
She smirked and accelerated. ‘Anyway, Annette’s sweet. Everyone says so. And frankly, cybermen are not scary. She’s a little eccentric but you like that in a woman. And, Danny, God strike me down if I’m lying but, although she wears one, Annette does not need a bra.’
‘Here we go,’ he groaned.
‘ “Here we go,” what?’
‘Have you ever considered therapy for this fixation?’
‘What fixation?’ she asked.
‘Your breast fixation.’
‘I have no fixation.’
‘They’re your sole topic of conversation.’
‘No they’re not.’
‘Yes, Lucy, they are.’
‘No, Daniel, they are not. I have a full and varied range of conversational subjects.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as Annette Helstrang, who I was in the process of describing when you so rudely interrupted.’
‘Okay, so tell me about her.’
‘Danny, this girl has rock hard nipples. Every morning, climb from bed, go downstairs, collect two eggs from the fridge, close the fridge door, get a frying pan, go back upstairs, walk into her bedroom. Tap once, tap twice, crack those eggs, one on each breast. Sizzle sizzle sizzle. Sunny side up, you’ve got breakfast. That’s how firm we’re talking. I know how important spigotal hardness is to a man in a home-sharing scenario.’
‘Lucy, nipples are not a factor.’
‘Mine were.’
‘No. They weren’t.’
‘Don’t lie.’
‘They were never important.’
‘What you saying? You saying they’re rubbish? You saying they’re too close together? Too far apart? Too identical? Too unalike? Too high? Too low? Too inbetween? Too two? Do they lack character, charm and mischief? Do they lack thrust? Do they thrust too much?’
‘Yes.’
‘ “Yes,” what?’
‘ “Yes,” all that stuff you just said.’
‘You’ve not even seen them, for Godssake; apart from surreptitious glances when I’ve been wearing something clingy. And don’t tell me you didn’t look. Coz I know you did.’
‘No, Lucy, I didn’t.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she sneered, and crunched gears.
‘No, seriously, I didn’t.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
‘No. Really.’
‘Really?’
‘Breasts are too passive,’ he said. ‘All they do is hang there.’
‘What do you want them to do? Attack you?’
‘I’d just like them to do something. Nothing dramatic. Nothing clever. Just something. Anything.’
‘Well that’s where you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Because breasts are the best things ever and don’t need to do anything in order to be entertaining. Just sitting here my own chest’s a veritable fun fair. And no one can have too much of them.’
‘I suppose you want me to look at them now,’ he sighed.
‘You’d be the last person I’d show them to. Wait till I get my new ones. Try ignoring them, Mr I’m So Squeaky Clean I Don’t Even Look When They’re Shoved In My Face. Not that I’ll let you see them. I’ll probably wear a double thick overcoat every time I see you. And you’ll just have to dream about what you’re missing. Probably keep you awake at nights, craving.’
‘What about this Annette woman?’
‘They’re too small. She’ll never make an impact at parties; not with her, “Hey, boys, I’m a non-underwire-dependent cyberman,” malarkey. Size, that’s what gets you noticed. And you can tell her that from me.’
‘I meant, tell me about this home offer.’
‘She called me an hour ago, saying
