How To Lose Weight And Alienate People. Ollie Quain

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СКАЧАТЬ left to ‘linger unnecessarily’ on the radiator. Smoking is strictly prohibited (even on the patio) and the fridge is constantly monitored for decaying comestibles. The chances of a bio-yogurt drifting past its best-before date are very slim indeed. Adele was only half joking when she once said to me, ‘Those bacteria may be friendly now, Vivian, but who knows when they might turn?’

      A lot of people would find Adele’s idiosyncrasies a nightmare to live with but I am not really in a position to complain. I am lucky to be living in such a nice apartment in Bayswater, with a big clothes cupboard and the added bonus of a flatmate who travels abroad whenever she has time off. For some unfathomable reason Adele is never happier then when she is tramping through some Third World country under a spine-crunching backpack. I don’t see the point of travelling to far flung places myself, unless it’s to stock up on hardcore downers and speed-based diet pills, or to catch dysentery – the ultimate detox – then all the hassle would be worth it. Anyway, she bought this flat after she’d quit the drama college we were both at to become some sort of money broker. I was shocked when she told me she was giving up her dream of being on stage, and remember asking, ‘Do you think working in the City will be that rewarding?’ The answer turned out to be ‘yes’. Last year, her basic income (she wouldn’t tell me her bonus) was two hundred grand. She has an extensive shares portfolio, two sports cars, a buy-to-let in the Docklands and this place, which – after the installation of a hi-tech new kitchen – has been valued by a number of local agents at just over a million.

      I feel like a bit of a fraud for living here. I always avoid saying hello to the upstairs neighbours – a German couple with their own architectural practice – and if I ever see them I pretend to be deep in conversation on my mobile. Stupid really, what are they going to do? Drag me into the upper maisonette and interrogate me using a Philippe Starck brushed-steel anglepoise lamp until I admit Adele lets me live here for a minimal rent? One thing is for sure, without her generosity I would be living in a much lesser flat somewhere a lot further west … like Wales. So, what does she get in return? Well, someone to stand by her, I suppose. Or more specifically, someone who is on standby 24/7 with a box of man-size Kleenex to mop up her tears. They fall quite often. Adele may have her working life neatly squared off, but her love life is a pentagram of doom.

      I pick up an ASOS package off the hall table. It should contain five vests, four grey marl and one nude, plus two pairs of skinny-leg trousers, one black, one grey. It is the second ASOS parcel to arrive this week.

      I can hear Luke in the kitchen, opening then banging cupboards shut, still trying to work out where things are. I have been letting him stay here whilst Adele is trekking across the Himalayas with her latest boyfriend, James. They met in Asia doing voluntary work at a wildlife sanctuary for endangered species. She has already hit a new record with him: they’ve been together since the end of last year and she hasn’t cried once.

      ‘You’re back early,’ shouts Luke.

      ‘Yes, I am,’ I shout back. ‘Five hours and thirty-three minutes earlier than I should be, if you need the exact timings for your log book.’

      ‘Thanks, I’ll jot those figures down.’

      I hear him laugh as I walk into the lounge. The usual organised debris that appears whenever Luke is within a ten-metre radius is all present and correct. A half-drunk two-litre bottle of Dr Pepper, headphones, laptop logged onto beatport.com and back copies of dance music magazines are lined up on Adele’s African chest, which doubles up as a coffee table. In a pile on the floor next to it are his hooded grey sweatshirt, gaffer-taped work boots, thick mountain socks and a plastic bag from an electrical wholesaler. It’s full of electrical leads.

      ‘Luke!’ I yell. ‘Why have you bought more cables?’

      ‘Because I need them.’

      ‘Christ, how could you? Your bedroom floor already looks like the snake pit in Indiana Jones. By the way, Adele gets back tomorrow so we need to clean up this mess. It’s a tip in here.’

      I sit down on the sofa and notice a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket on the floor the other side of the arm rest. Luke must have bought a snack from there at teatime on his way home from the building site. I peer inside the container at the gnawed, withered drumsticks and find myself thinking about Angelina Jolie’s leg poking out of her dress at that Oscar ceremony …

      ‘This isn’t a tip,’ says Luke, walking into the lounge holding a plate of more food. ‘Mine and Wozza’s place is a tip. What you’re looking at is just surface rubbish, which admittedly has shock value, I’ll give you that. But it’s easy to get rid of. Although, I still can’t find the bin in there.’ He nods towards the kitchen.

      I smile. To be fair, Adele’s recently installed kitchen is a complex set-up. You feel pressurised cooking in there … it’s like competing in an episode of The Cube. Fortunately, that – preparing and assembling dishes or game shows – is not something I like to get involved in very often.

      Luke sits down next to me and puts his dinner on the leather chest. He has made himself a grilled lamb chop with salad and potatoes.

      I find Luke’s approach to diet interesting but baffling. On the one hand, he is quite content chomping his way through the types of dishes laid out in front of the obese person on the first episode of The Biggest Loser to serve as a reality check. On the other, he could name most superfoods (probably not the goji berry, though), and more often that not always has his five-a-day. He eats what he wants, when he wants it. His approach to exercise is the same. He doesn’t bother with a gym schedule, but if he fancies some fresh air he goes for a run. Not that he needs to burn anything off; there is no ‘excess’ on him. The combination of doing manual labour and a ridiculously high metabolic rate keeps his body hard and angular. It’s like sleeping next to a bicycle.

      ‘So why did you sack off the rest of your shift?’ he asks, leaning over to give me a kiss. Then he clocks my blackening eye and leaps back. ‘Jeeeeeeeeeesus, who the fuck did that? I’ll kill them!’

      I burst out laughing. Luke is the least confrontational person I have ever met. If he found a spider in the bathroom he would negotiate with it to leave as quietly as possible and put in a polite request that any flamboyant scuttling is kept to a minimum.

      ‘It was an accident,’ I explain. ‘A couple of the customers had a run-in; I tried to split it up and got whacked by mistake. It looks a lot more painful than it is.’

      ‘Ouch.’ He peers at the bruise. ‘That’s a shiner. Why didn’t you call me when it happened?’

      ‘Because I was flat out on the floor.’

      ‘Afterwards, I mean. I could have come to get you.’ He picks up his fork and motions at me to try some of his meal, but I pull a face and shake my head. This is our standard procedure. ‘You might have got delayed concussion on the way home and passed out on the pavement.’

      ‘Well, I didn’t, did I? I’m here.’

      ‘You never phone me in a crisis.’

      ‘That’s because in the year I have known you there hasn’t been a crisis to report. It’s not as if one has occurred and I have made a point of not informing you. Besides, this wasn’t a crisis it was a drama.’

      His face crumples slightly. It always does when I have a verbal jab at him. First his forehead creases, then his cheekbones sink and his mouth turns at the corners.

      ‘At least, let me get you some ice,’ he СКАЧАТЬ