Chapter Fifty-Four
‘Bring Cindy with you,’ said Milo. ‘She can keep Rambo company.’
Try stopping me, smirked Cindy. I detect chemistry between you and your landlord, and I want to be there to witness it firsthand.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said aloud.
Milo looked startled.
‘Why, is it a problem?’
‘S-Sorry, I was talking to Cindy,’ I stuttered. ‘I thought she…’
‘Said something?’ said Milo curiously.
‘I thought she woofed,’ I said lamely.
‘Woof,’ Cindy obliged.
‘L-Like that. Anyway, I’m probably hearing things. Had the hairdryer on earlier.’ I slapped the side of my head with one hand. ‘Blimmin thing. It always upsets my hearing. Tinnitus,’ I explained, giving my head another slap. ‘Ah, that’s better. Gone.’
‘I thought sufferers heard ringing, not barking,’ said Milo, looking baffled.
‘Oh, they hear all sorts,’ I nodded emphatically. ‘Growling. Buzzing. But, yes, you’re right, it’s mostly ringing.’
‘How unpleasant.’
‘Um, yes, it can be.’
‘Have you seen a doctor about it?’
‘Er, no. I once called the Tinnitus Association. It rang unanswered,’ I joked feebly. Dear God, could we just get off the subject of my hearing. ‘Anyway’ – I stepped out into the garden and followed Milo – ‘let’s have that nightcap. You can tell me all about your awful day.’
‘I’d rather hear about yours,’ said Milo, as Cindy bounded ahead. ‘It must have been ten times worse than mine for you to look so haggard.’
‘Gee, you know how to make a girl feel good, don’t you!’
Terrific. Nothing like being reminded how awful you looked. Oh, so what, Tilly? Just enjoy his company and going inside this fabulous cottage again.
‘Sorry,’ Milo apologised. ‘Martha was always saying I lacked a sensitivity chip. Let me rephrase that. You look a little wan’ – he unlocked the cottage’s backdoor – ‘but your natural beauty is undiminished.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, embarrassed by the beauty comment, but also a tiny bit thrilled.
As we stepped inside, Rambo greeted us. The little dog looked bug eyed. He’d obviously been fast asleep.
‘Out you go, boy,’ said Milo. ‘Go and do a wee and then I’ll feed you.’
‘Has he been on his own all day?’ I asked, astonished at the strength of Rambo’s bladder.
‘No,’ Milo shook his head. ‘Hetty Cartwright has a key to the cottage. She kindly walks Rambo around lunchtime. I give her a tenner. She’s happy to top up her pension for some cash in hand. She has Shep, of course. However, he’s also a working dog, so gets plenty of exercise. Hetty likes taking Rambo up to the duck pond and back, before retiring to the pub for a gossip with Cilla and her cronies. On other days, she visits the Strawberry Shed for a coffee and pastry with Linda, and Rambo gets to hoover up all the crumbs. He loves all the attention from customers. Then Hetty brings him home again leaving him to sleep off his snacks and dream about doing it all over again the following day. I swear my dog is disappointed at weekends when he only has me for company. Anyway’ – Milo waved a hand at a tall stool in the kitchen area – ‘take a pew.’
I perched while Milo went to the sink, washed his hands, then located a tin of baked beans from the larder. One of the dogs scratched at the door.
‘I’ll let them in,’ I said, hopping down from the stool.
‘Thanks,’ said Milo. He was now peering into the depths of the refrigerator. ‘Damn,’ he groaned. ‘I could have sworn I had some bread in here.’
‘I’d offer to give you some of mine’ – I said as the dogs scampered in from the garden – ‘but I’ve yet to do a shop. That was another reason for me eating out earlier. The cupboard was bare.’ I shut the backdoor then joined Milo by the fridge. ‘Oh, look,’ I pointed. ‘You have plenty of eggs. And cheese. What about whisking up an omelette?’
Milo looked appalled.
‘But that would mean cooking.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘You call making an omelette cooking ?’
‘Yes.Don’t you?’
‘No,’ I snorted. ‘Good heavens. How on earth do two men living together survive?’
‘With a microwave for frozen ready meals,’ he explained. ‘However’ – he pulled open the freezer door revealing empty shelves – ‘like you, I need to do a shop.’
‘Move out the way,’ I tutted. ‘I’ll make you a cheese omelette.’ I gave him a gentle prod, ignoring the zinger that shot through my finger. ‘Three eggs okay?’
‘Perfect,’ said Milo. ‘I’ll sort out our drinks.’
Well, really, Mum, said Cindy, hovering at my heels. Nothing like taking over his kitchen and bossing him around. You’ll be telling him to peel some vegetables next.
I would if he had any, I retorted silently.
Don’t forget to give me some cheese, said Cindy, as I extracted a packet from the fridge.
And me, said Rambo.
Oh, terrific, Tilly. Not only do you witter away to your mongrel, but you’re also now having a conversation with a chihuahua.
Milo set a glass down on the worktop. Hello again, brandy! He perched on the same tall stool I’d vacated. I took a quick sip of my drink, then opened the tin of beans and set about whisking the eggs.
‘Ah, that’s good,’ said Milo, taking a glug of his brandy.
‘Thanks,’ I said, nodding at my own glass. ‘That’s the second one today’ – I confessed before jokily adding – ‘I try not to make a habit of it.’ I tipped the beaten eggs into a frying pan. The mixture met hot oil. For a moment there was only the sound of sizzling. I reached for my brandy again, then pointed to the dogs. ‘Is it okay with you if Rambo has a small piece of cheddar?’
‘Be my guest,’ Milo shrugged. ‘Rambo isn’t lactose intolerant; in case you were wondering.’
‘Good.’ I broke off two pieces of cheese and gave it to the dribbling dogs. ‘I should have called Cindy Gromit ,’ I laughed. ‘After Wallace’s Gromit, who also adored cheese.’ I turned back to the pan.
‘Wallace and Gromit!’ Milo exclaimed. His face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. ‘Those two characters take me back a bit. I loved their films.
‘Me too,’ I confessed, crumbling cheddar into the pan.
‘In fact, I have all the DVDs.’
‘You still have DVDs?’ I said in amazement.
‘Yup,’ Milo grinned. ‘And don’t tell anyone’ – he made a show of looking about furtively – ‘but I also have a DVD player and it’s in full working order.’
‘Is that so?’ I teased. ‘In which case, what are we waiting for?’
Milo let out a whoop and jumped off the stool.
‘ The Wrong Trousers okay?’ he asked, opening a drawer by the television.
‘Perfect,’ I said happily.
I flipped the omelette, folded it in half, then slid it onto a plate along with the baked beans. Dumping the pans in the sink, I blasted them with hot water to soak. ‘Here,’ I said, turning to Milo. I handed him the plate of food, along with a knife and fork.
‘Want to share?’ he asked, taking the meal from me.
‘No, I’m not hungry.’ I picked up my brandy. Seconds later, I’d flopped down on the sofa next to Milo.
Careful, Tilly. Don’t be overfamiliar. He’s not your partner.
I shifted my backside a few inches away from him, then ran my fingers over the sofa fabric.
‘I can’t help noticing that you bought the cottage fully furnished.’
‘Would have been madness not to,’ said Milo. He forked up food with one hand and, with the other, made a long arm for the remote control. ‘The vendor’s wife had excellent taste.’
‘She did,’ I agreed. ‘Do you know, I had dreams about sitting on this sofa in front of the wood burner on a cold evening.’
‘The wood burner!’ Milo cried, startling me. He chucked down the remote and put his plate to one side. ‘Don’t let the dogs scoff my dinner.’
‘What are you doing?’ I frowned.
‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, hunkering down in front of the burner. It had been pre-laid with scrunched-up newspaper and kindling. Picking up a box of matches from the hearth, he set fire to yesterday’s headlines. As everything turned into a leaping orange ball, he plucked a log from the recess and added it to the flames. ‘Ta da!’ he exclaimed, before returning to the sofa and picking up his plate again. ‘Ready?’ Once more, he pointed the remote at the telly.
‘Ready,’ I confirmed, as the theme tune burst into life.
Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of wind instruments parp-parping a catchy melody that perfectly depicted the two charming characters.
I sighed happily, sat back, and relaxed.