‘It’s too plain as it is! Like being in a prison cell! I’m here for a whole year,’ said Sally.
‘Anyway, it’s only a couple of coats of paint — if your friend really hates it, I’ll slosh some cream over the walls the day before he gets back.’
‘Sorry. Gabe’s a bit fussy, that’s all. He had the colour specially mixed.’
Sally’s eyebrows shot up. ‘This colour? Are you serious? How hard is it to go down to B&Q and buy a vat of emulsion?’
‘I know, I know.’ Lola raised her hands, disclaiming responsibility. ‘He’s just ... particular.’
‘Is he gay?’
‘Trust me. Gabe’s the opposite of gay.’
‘He’s also fifty zillion miles away. So what I think is, you don’t mention to him that I’m repainting his flat, and neither will I.’
‘Go on then.’ Relenting, Lola opened her bag. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘Oh my God, champagne!’
‘Not quite. It was either one bottle of the proper stuff or two of pretend.’ Lola held one bottle in each hand.
‘And we wouldn’t want to run out.’ Seizing them, Sally said joyfully, ‘Come on, let’s pop these corks — whoops, don’t step on the Garibaldis!’
’... I mean, I’m thirty-six years old and this is the first time I’ve been able to do out a room just the way I like. How crazy is that?’
By ten o’clock the first bottle had been upended into the waste bin (parrot-pink, trimmed with marabou) and the second vas three-quarters empty. Sally was cross-legged on the rug (purple, speckled with biscuit crumbs), waving her glass dramatically as she ran through her life history.
With the chandelier switched off, the many strings of fairy lights gave the room the kind of festive multicoloured glow that had Lola half expecting to be given a present. She frowned, puzzled by Sally’s statement. ‘What, you’ve never been allowed to do it before? What about when you were a teenager?’
‘God, especially when I was a teenager! My mother sent the cleaner into my bedroom every morning to tidy everything up and make my bed. I was allowed to have three posters on my wall.’ Sally paused to scoop another biscuit from the packet on the floor next to her. ‘As long as they were posters of horses. I was more of a Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran kind of girl, but she wouldn’t let me put them on the walls. Ghastly creatures, she called Duran Duran. And Spandau were yobs. I think she was terrified I’d find myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up.’
Lola pictured Adele’s horror at the prospect. ‘So what happened next?’
‘Daft question. I found myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up:
‘And you were how old when you left home?’
‘Eighteen. But I’ve never lived on my own, it’s always been either flat-sharing or moving in with boyfriends. Which means there’s always been someone around to moan about my decorating plans. I’ve spent the last eighteen years having to compromise. Well, not any more.’ Sally’s exuberant gesture encompassed the room and caused the contents of her glass to spill in an arc across the rug. ‘From now on I’m going to do what I want to do and no one’s going to stop me.
No more Tim the Tosser, no more Pisshead Pete, no more boring men telling me I can’t have leopard-print wallpaper in my kitchen. Bum, my glass is empty.’
‘That would be because you just swung it upside down.’
Did I? Bum, now this is empty.’ Tipsily aghast, Sally gave the second bottle a shake. ‘OK, don’t panic, I’ve got a bottle of white burgundy in the fridge — whoops, my foot’s gone to sleep, I hate it when that happens.’
‘Shall I get it?’ Lola jumped up, because Sally’s attempts to stand were of the Bambi-on-ice persuasion.
‘Excellent plan. But you’ll have to hunt around for a corkscrew.’
In the kitchen, Lola took out the chilled burgundy and rummaged through drawers in search of Gabe’s corkscrew Surely he hadn’t taken it with him.
The doorbell rang and she heard Sally say perplexedly, ‘Who can that be?’ But she must have limped over to the intercom because twenty seconds later the door to the flat was opened and Sally exclaimed, ‘I wasn’t expecting you here tonight!’
Friend?
Mother? Please no.
Old boyfriend?
Lola’s hands froze in mid-corkscrew search as she heard the visitor say, ‘I know, but I have to meet a client in Oxford tomorrow morning, so this was the only time I could bring the stuff over.
I tried to call but your phone’s switched off.’
Oh, that voice, it was like warm honey spreading through her veins. Not one of Sally’s old boyfriends then, thought Lola. One of mine!
‘That would explain why George Clooney hasn’t rung. Thanks, just dump the cases against the wall.’ Bursting with pride Sally said, ‘So what d’you think of my new flat?’
Lola listened, holding her breath.
‘Bloody hell. It’s like a cross between Santa’s grotto and a Moroccan souk.’
‘I know, isn’t it fantastic?’ Sally clapped her hands. ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous it looks!’
Doug said drily, ‘I can’t believe you’re my sister.’ Evidently spotting the empty wine glasses on the coffee table
