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.
