Chapter Thirty-Five
Honesty is like an icicle – once it melts, that is the end of it.
(American proverb)
Noreen has run out of wool, which she supposes was inevitable in the circumstances. So Cleo is selflessly helping to increase the supply by allowing the rabid knitter to unravel an old woollen dress of hers, which wasn’t exactly flowing to begin with.
The owner of the dress is kindly wearing it, in order to avoid unnecessary tangles. She is consistently walking across the room to check the window, which at least helps to keep the strands taut.
“Knit even faster, hon!” she suddenly urges. “His cab just pulled up.”
When Arnie returns a few minutes later, using his own key, Noreen leaps up and runs over to him in order to bestow one of her fondest and most asphyxiating hugs.
Aside from stunning the man and reducing his supply of oxygen, she also succeeds in leaving Cleo wearing little more than a woolly pelmet.
“Hey, ease up, lady,” says Arnie, extricating himself and regaining his breath. “It’s only friggin’ mint cake.”
“Screw the mint cake, Arnie,” says Noreen, showing an impressively swift uptake of the local vernacular. “I was so worried. I thought you were dead!”
“Watch this space,” says Arnie, before his mind can fully process how someone without any vested interest whatsoever might be the slightest bit exercised over whether he lives or dies. “So… Noreen,” he says, more gently, “how’ve you been? Cleo treating you okay?”
“Champion, Arnie. And I am making you a nice, warm cardie of your very own.”
“Where I’m going, that’s just what I’ll need,” he moans. Yet, once again, he finds himself wrong-footed. “Hey, back up! You’re… you’re making something for me? Why, Noreen? My cash has all been stopped by my… my creditors. I can’t even pay you for the friggin’ wool.”
“Oh Arnie, it’s a gift. I made it for you because… well… because…”
She finds that she can’t truly put her reasons into words.
Nor can she fathom why she has reasons in the first place.
Yet when this very curious man, who has rescued her from the mob (two very different mobs, actually, Cumbrian and Nevadan), dragging her halfway across the world in the process, and with whom she has had enough adventures to last a lifetime, puts his hand into his pocket and delivers up a by now pretty crushed slab of warm Kendal Mint Cake, with only the tiniest corner bitten off, she knows that she just has to hug him all over again.
It is when she is delivering this mother of all embraces and Arnie is smiling hopefully (even as he gasps for air) that Noreen notices the photograph.
It is one of several on Cleo’s wall, beside her lovely, faith-based movie posters.
Noreen walks towards it, still clutching Arnie to her solid frame.
As she takes in the picture, she drops her human package onto the ground with a thud.
“Hey! Don’t stop now, babe,” says Arnie, who has been quite pleased with how this is going.
Instead of resuming the hug, Noreen Millburn gives Arnie Garth a massive slap across the face that sends him crashing against the wall. Right next to the photo that Noreen has spotted.
It is a picture of Arnie and Melisande’s wedding.
The bride wears a sweet little white leather micro skirt with fetching white half-cup peek-a-boo bra and lacy veil.
Cleo – like the other bridesmaids – is dressed as a naughty schoolgirl.
The ripped best man wears only a fig leaf – and this not very adeptly.
Arnie has no idea what just happened, but he can tell from Cleo’s gawping face that something sure did.
“You pig!” says Noreen. “How could you?”
“Hey,” says Arnie, misunderstanding, “from my angle it looked like you were doing most of the work!”
“Er… Arnie?” says Cleo, nodding towards the photograph.
Arnie very slowly turns and far more swiftly understands.
“You’re married!” accuses Noreen. “To that!”
“Only legally!” explains Arnie. “Listen, Noreen sweetheart, there’s no love there. It was purely business.”
“And I know what sort of business, don’t I? Oh, Arnie, I was just beginning to think…” She stops, and he wonders if he is noticing a moistness in her actually rather striking pale-blue eyes. “How can I trust you ever again? I’m sorry – I want to go home!”
“But it was only one lie, cousin,” lies Arnie. “One teeny, tiny, minuscule lie! I’d never lie to you about anything else! Noreen, please… you can’t go! Not now, not for one tiny, fuckin’ minuscule, shitty little lie!”
“Arnie Garth!” chides a doubly shocked Noreen. “How can you use language like that in front of your lovely sister?”
“Whoa, girlfriend,” says Cleo. “Sister? He told you I…? Hey, I ain’t his sister, Noreen! I’m his mistress!”
“Two lies,” says Arnie. “Two teeny, fuckin’ miniscule—”
But Noreen has already stormed out of the room. The ever-loyal and much-travelled Stanley follows, pausing only to bite Arnie hard on his ankle on the way.
Arnie and Cleo exchange looks as the front door slams once again.