‘Maybe we should go out,’ I suggest, silently terrified of what’s happening in the saucepan now. The brown goo’s begun to bubble, violently.
‘What for?’
‘Dinner? And then perhaps we might enjoy ourselves.’
She grimaces in disgust.
‘If you think I’m going to flirt, you can forget it.’
‘Enjoying ourselves doesn’t necessarily mean men.’
‘Because I’m not picking up another of those bastards,’ she goes on, ignoring my words of wisdom. She waves the spatula, sending dollops of oil across the linoleum.
‘That’s not the intention.’
Deciding I’d better clean up the mess before someone goes arse over watercress, I collect a dishcloth, drop to my knees and begin to scrub. As soon as I make a start, I realise that getting this close to the kitchen floor is a huge mistake. It should carry a public health warning.
‘We could just go out and dance.’ And drain some of that pent-up frustration out of you, while we’re at it.
I’m pretty sure she’s about to tell me to get stuffed when the doorbell rings. She gives a start and stares towards the hall.
‘Who’s that?’ she demands.
‘I don’t know. I can’t see through walls.’
‘Probably another bunch of roses from McPsycopath.’
‘And they can go straight in the skip.’
Leaving Lucy with her pots of dubious matter, I go out into the hallway, preparing myself to tell some feckless flower deliveryman to take the roses and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.
I tug open the front door, open my mouth, and clamp it shut again, silenced by the sight of Skinny Lily Babbage posing on my doorstep in a ridiculously tiny grey dress, topped with a white jacket. For a few seconds, my heart trips with excitement. I’d love nothing more than to throw my arms around the woman and hug the life out of her, probably breaking a few bones in the process. And then I’d love to grill her for news on Dan. But I can’t, I remind myself, because Lily Babbage is on the wrong side of the smokescreen … and I need to get into character.
‘What do you want?’ I snarl.
She rearranges the designer handbag on her arm.
‘I want to talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘There’s plenty to talk about.’
From the way she’s looking at me, her thin lips set into a line, it’s perfectly clear she’s not about to cave. Maybe it would be easier to beg.
‘Please, Lily. Just leave it.’
I begin to close the door, but she’s surprisingly quick for a stick insect. In an instant, the handbag’s wedged in the doorway, and so is a distinctly expensive shoe.
‘I’ve waited as long as I can.’ I’ve never seen her hazel eyes so hard, so determined. ‘And before you start, Dan’s definitely not sent me this time. And I need to have my say.’
I pull back the door and roll my eyes.
‘Go ahead, but be quick. I’m busy.’
‘You two are made for each other.’
‘Is that it?’
‘No, it’s not.’ She waves a manicured finger at me. ‘You’re the fucking love of his life, and he’s making a huge mistake.’
As nonchalance is the name of the day, I take a moment to battle back the surprise. It’s not easy. Never in a million years did I ever expect to hear the F word coming out of that refined little mouth.
‘And I’m not prepared to stand by and let this happen,’ she continues. ‘I’ve only waited this long because I thought he’d change his mind, but the stupid sod’s still digging his feet in. Now, let’s talk.’
We exchange glares, real from her side, fake from mine. I can’t risk Lucy getting involved in this. In her current state, I’ll never hear the end of it. No, I need to keep Lily out of the flat.
‘Wait a minute,’ I growl. ‘I’ll get my jacket. Let’s go for a walk.’
Skinny Lily narrows her eyes, thinks for a moment, and then nods. As soon as she removes the stiletto and the handbag, I slam the door on her.
Making a detour to the kitchen, I find Lucy pouring more oil into the frying pan.
‘Jesus, these things soak up the fat,’ she virtually spits. ‘What a load of sodding effort for a stupid, sodding moussaka.’
‘How long until dinner?’
‘Dunno.’ She tips even more oil into the pan. ‘An hour? Two, maybe? Three?’ Giving up on the oil, she downs another mouthful of wine.
‘I’m just nipping out for a while.’
She squints at me.
‘Where to? Who’s at the door?’
‘Nobody. A salesman. He’s gone. I’m going to get more wine. If we’re staying in, we’re going to need it. I thought I’d go up the High Street and get something nice … to go with the moussaka.’
I wave at the hob and Lucy stares at me as if I’ve completely lost it. We both know the moussaka’s going to be an unmitigated disaster, and no amount of fine wine’s going to make it remotely edible.
‘Fair enough.’ She picks up a spoon and stirs the goo.
Leaving Lucy to it, I grab a jacket and my handbag, and slip out of the front door. I motion for Lily to follow and walk to the end of the road, listening to the sound of her designer heels clacking against the pavement.
‘Coffee?’ I suggest.
‘Why not?’
Before long, we come across the first café on the High Street, a small, ramshackle affair that seems to have been thrown together with no planning whatsoever. Pushing
