You Had Me At Hello. Mhairi McFarlane

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       13

      In late afternoon, when I’ve filled dead air with impersonal radio, a weird additional sound echoes round the room and I realise it’s the doorbell. I unlatch the chain and swing the door open to see an explosion of pink and white flowers and a pair of legging-clad legs beneath them.

      ‘Happy Moving-In Day!’ Mindy shouts.

      ‘Hello, wow, lilies. That talk. That’s lovely of you.’

      Mindy pushes her way through the door, Ivor trailing behind, hands in pockets. He leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek. I can tell from his reluctant demeanour that Mindy’s given him a ‘Congratulate Her On Making A Good Choice’ lecture on the way here. He holds out a Marks & Spencer bag.

      ‘From me, but not chosen by me, I hasten to add,’ Ivor says. ‘I did not touch cloth, as they say.’

      I peer inside. Pyjamas. Really nice ones, in cream silk.

      ‘You’re not going to cry are you?’ Ivor says. ‘The receipt’s in there.’

      ‘I’m not going to cry,’ I say, tearing up a bit. ‘Thank you.’

      As Mindy turns this way and that, looking for the right surface to put the flowers, she leaves a massive sweep of ochre pollen on the pristine, wedding cake wall.

      ‘They’re from Ivor too,’ she adds, finding her pitch and marching over to the coffee table, more pollen from the trembling flowers shaking a fine, fire-coloured powder in her wake.

      I discreetly put a hand over my mouth, surveying the mess.

      ‘You’re welcome!’ Mindy sing-songs, turning round and seeing me, taking it as being agog at the gift.

      Ivor has followed my line of sight. He adds under his breath: ‘Let’s say they’re from you. I’ll clean up, shall I?’

      ‘What do you think, Ivor?’ Mindy calls, doing a gameshow-girl twirl to indicate she means the flat.

      ‘I think it looks like a female American Psycho’s lair. Patrick Batewoman.’ He rinses a chamois under the tap, which is on one of those bendy arms you usually see in industrial kitchens. ‘In a good way.’

      As Mindy potters around in vermilion ankle boots, taking it all in for a second time, Ivor gingerly dabs at the damage. He turns to me and nods, to say it’s coming off, and gestures for me to join Mindy.

      ‘Drink?’ I ask, wondering as I say it where my kettle is and what I’m going to do for milk.

      ‘I can’t stay actually, I’ve got a date,’ Mindy says.

      ‘Bo … Robert?’ I ask.

      ‘Bobby Trendy’s been given his cards,’ Ivor interjects, breaking off from his cleaning up.

      Robert was always head-to-toe in All Saints with bicycle chains hanging out of his back pocket and got the nickname ‘Bobby Trendy’ from Ivor. Unfortunately, once uttered, it was hard to un-stick it from your mind.

      ‘Yeah, he sacked my family dinner off for a paintballing thing with his brother-in-law.’ Mindy waves her hand. ‘Enough was enough. There should be a TripAdvisor on dates, so you can give feedback. Nice view. Bad service. Book waaaay in advance.’

      ‘Small portions,’ Ivor coughs into his fist.

      ‘Who’s this one from, Guardian Soulmates?’ I say.

      ‘My Single Friend.’

      ‘Is that the one where a friend recommends you?’

      ‘Yeah. I posed as a man and sold myself as a low-maintenance mamacita who “works as hard as she plays”.’

      I make an ‘oh dear’ face.

      ‘It only means solvent, not a clinger, potential for sex,’ Mindy adds. Ivor grimaces.

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ