Chapter Fifty-One
Fifty-One
Sensitive
I’m not sure what to do. Am I being dismissed or is he coming back?
He appears in the hallway, standing awkwardly and looking a little flushed. He’s wearing a cream sweatshirt with the word YALE emblazoned on the front in green embroidery.
‘You went to Yale?’ I say, impressed and wishing I wasn’t.
‘No.’
‘Then why are you wearing a Yale fleecy jumper?’ I ask.
He looks down at his chest.
‘Oh. Someone got it for me from a charity shop – apparently, they didn’t have one that said “Portsmouth”.’
‘And you’re wearing it anyway?’ I say, wrinkling my nose.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Seems a bit try-hard, somehow. Misleading at best…’
‘It’s just really soft,’ he says. ‘I don’t care how clothes look or what they say, as long as they feel right… I can’t stand it when you can feel the seams.’
‘You’re hyper-sensitive?’ I ask, which comes out more snidely than I intend.
He shrugs. ‘Maybe I am.’
‘And I suppose you wear those seamless socks, the ones specially woven like a cocoon?’
He flushes deep red, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. I only know about those socks because Henny buys them at eight pounds a pair and swears by them, but I feel a bit bad for bringing it up when it obviously makes him uncomfortable.
‘Do you want a cup of tea or something, while you’re here? I’m not touching that soup.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were my next-door neighbour? Seems weird that you wouldn’t mention it.’
‘I didn’t think you’d last more than a couple of days.’
Offensive.
‘I’m going to be here for six months, as per the terms of my agreement.’
He shrugs. ‘The kitchen’s this way.’
He walks ahead of me in his Yale sweatshirt, and I almost turn and leave, but the only thing waiting for me back in my house is some dying fleas, a family of blowflies and three racks of hungry snakes. Oh, and two furry mortal enemies.
‘Fine,’ I say, hooking my parka on his hatstand. Let him see me in my penguin pyjamas. It’s not as if I care about his opinion of my sleepwear.
He’s in the middle of the kitchen holding a flowery teapot and spooning tea into it. He’s brewing a pot of tea leaves, rather than shoving a teabag in a mug.
‘Nice teapot,’ I say.
‘Nan gave it to me,’ he says. ‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk. Do you have an ice cube?’
I want to cool down my tea as fast as possible. I don’t want to sit here in silence burning my tongue as I knock back nuclear-hot tea in record time.
He takes a glass to his fridge, presses a button and it fills with ice cubes.
‘Fancy,’ I say, as he passes it to me, and he grimaces.
‘The old fridge broke so I bought a new one. I didn’t know it had that feature when I ordered it.’
‘Yes, you did,’ I say. ‘You read all the specifications at least three times.’
There’s the twitch of a smile around his mouth, but he doesn’t give in to it.
‘So why are you on Loor?’ he asks.
‘You know why. I’m the snake-sitter.’
‘Hmm…’
‘What’s with the humming?’
‘You’re not running away from something? Most people are when they come to live on Loor.’
‘No,’ I say.
He pours out the tea and I drop an ice cube into mine and then add another.
‘I bet I can guess it. You’re a nice, middle-class girl who went to a good university to study something meaningful. Probably English… Or history, and you’ve just come out of a bad break-up.’
‘Wrong.’
‘Are you upper-class? Does your daddy have a title?’
‘Yes, he does,’ I say. ‘Bare-Knuckle Fighter of the Year, 2024.’
So how about you shut up before I invite him over to say hello in his own special way?
He stares at me, not sure if I’m joking, but then he smiles, and it is an admittedly nice smile.
‘How old is your dad?’ he asks, a question I am not expecting. ‘If he’s still bare-knuckle fighting, I guess he must still be young?’
He hasn’t seemed at all interested in me, but now he is. Suddenly, all he wants is to ask me questions. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to him that my dad is not actually a champion bare-knuckle fighter, or that my answer might have been sarcasm.
‘Forty-four.’
‘But you’re – what, twenty-five?’
‘Twenty-six.’
”So he must have knocked your mum up when he was seventeen or eighteen?’
‘Excellent maths.’
‘How old was your mum?’
‘The same age, but how is this any of your business? You haven’t even told me your name.’
‘I did.’
‘You told me your nickname. I presume “Cally Grey Pubes” is not on your birth certificate.’
He hums to himself.
‘How are the snakes?’ he asks, suddenly. ‘Some of those bull snakes have serious attitude. Have you been bitten yet?’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘You’re not scared of snakes?’
‘Why do people keep asking me that? I’d have hardly taken the job if I was. The snakes are not the problem. The snakes, so far, have been impeccably behaved.’
‘So, what is the problem?’ he asks.
‘The problem…’ I say, momentously. ‘Is Nemo and Ted. Ted has a scratch on the end of his nose. It’s bleeding. I’ve had to put Germolene on it.’
‘Is the cat okay?’
‘Relatively unscathed – so far – but he has started shedding an unusual amount of hair, as well as some whiskers. Plus, he just looks really sad.’
‘Oh.’
‘If somebody could just take Ted for a few days…’ I say, getting to the real reason why I’m here, drinking his insanely strong tea. ‘Maybe Nemo would have a chance to settle in and get comfortable in his new home.’
‘Somebody?’ he enquires, looking around.
We both know the somebody to whom I am referring.
‘You know Ted and he likes you. Would you consider looking after him for a few days? Just until Nemo calms down?’
‘No.’
He doesn’t even think about it. Just comes out with a flat no. He’s so quick with his negative that I feel insulted.
‘How about just for today and tomorrow, then? Please, you’d really be helping me out.’
‘No, I can’t. I’ve got other responsibilities. Not to mention work I have to do – work that’s already late.’
I can feel myself growing desperate.
‘I’ll come and walk Ted twice a day. Three times a day! He just has to stay here in between walks.’
‘Sorry, but no.’
‘I’ve heard you out on your balcony, listening to dog-grooming videos,’ I say, a touch accusatorily.
‘Wait – is this a noise complaint?’
‘No – although maybe you could consider using earphones when you’re watching your weird videos. I’m just saying you clearly like dogs.’
‘I do, but I’m not looking after Ted for you.’
‘Well, thanks very much,’ I say, through my teeth, and wonder if Betty might consider taking Ted.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, ‘Don’t ask my nan either. She’s not good with dogs. I let her walk my collie once when I was a boy and she got stuck down a rabbit hole. It took me three hours to dig her out with a shovel.’
‘Your nan got stuck down a rabbit hole?’
‘The dog did.’
‘Fine. I wasn’t going to ask her, anyway,’ I lie.
‘Good, because it is actually your job to look after all the pets in the house,’ he says. ‘It’s literally what you’re getting paid for.’
‘Well, they didn’t tell me about Ted, did they?’
‘Too bad. Ted comes with the house. You want the house; you have to look after him too. Or, you know, you could always…’
‘What?’
‘Go back to the mainland.’
I smile in disbelief. He is so inflexible. He won’t even consider helping me – or the cutest little dog in the world.
‘You really won’t even take him for a couple of days?’
‘I can’t, okay? Sorry, but it’s a no.’
‘Great, well, thanks for nothing,’ I say, setting my pretty little cup of tea on the table with a bump.
‘You’re welcome,’ he says. ‘Any time.’
He follows me up the hall and closes the door on me.
I feel the air swish against my back.
What, I think, slowly, an absolute dick.