‘Oh, sugar.’ My phone beeps with the alarm I set earlier and stops my musings about Freddie. ‘I’m going to have to ditch the kittens for now and do the apple. You couldn’t look after them for a bit could you?’ I give him a slightly beseeching look. ‘Please, I’m begging?’ I indicate the kittens, then do a go away flap with my hands, and try to do my own imitation of cute, which I’m not sure I pull off.
‘Boy, you’re demanding, if only I’d known what I was letting myself in for when I signed that flat share contract!’
But I know he’s kidding.
He gets to his feet and expertly scoops up all three little felines in his big capable hands. ‘Come on fellas.’
‘I think one of them might be a fellee.’
‘We’ll be in my room if you need us.’
‘You’re a star, I owe you one!’
‘Several I’d say.’ He winks and kicks open the lounge door. ‘I can take them back to Lora’s if you like, on my way to the pub?’
I feel a totally irrational twinge in my stomach. Freddie likes Lora. He keeps saying he doesn’t, that they’re mates like we are, but he’s round there in an instant if he has an excuse. And I’ve seen the look in his eye.
I want Freddie to be happy, but I’m ashamed to say I’m selfish enough to not want to lose him. Not yet. And anyway, Lora would be a disaster. She’s far too calculating for Freddie, and she’s had more men than hot dinners this year.
Okay, I’m being bitchy. I confess. I don’t want to lose my best – well, only – male friend. Though Lora is a bit of a ‘rum ’un’ as my uncle used to say. Freddie deserves better.
I’m also being daft. He’s offering to help me out, and I’m not so silly that I don’t realise what a good move it would be to say, yes.
‘Wow, would you? That would be so helpful. There’s a basket thing in the kitchen. I’ll pop in and see her later, tell her I’ll try again tomorrow if she likes. I’d do it myself, but Coral will be calling any sec to discuss last minute plans.’
Freddie rolls his eyes. ‘We’re definitely out of here if Queen C is calling. See you later, and don’t take any shit from her ladyship.’ He blows me a kiss, then holds up a kitten and waves its little paw in the air. ‘Bye-bye Mummy! Love you! Don’t send me away, purry pleeeease!’
I shake my head at him. ‘Shoo!’
I have an apple, and I have a white plate. Oh, and a very red lipstick. And less than an hour to create an Instagram image that will leave Coral’s fans and sponsors wetting their knickers – with excitement not incontinence. She has a very youthful following.
She wants to plug a lipstick she’s been sent (Oh, God, I love these cosmetics, I need them to send more, make it good or I’ll fucking kill you), and she also wants a nod towards her (or should I say our?) trip to New York. She suggested I took a bite out of it and left an artistic lip print. Have you ever tried to do that? This apple looks like it’s been ravaged by a vampire two seconds after a blood sucking session.
I doodle a lipstick heart on the plate and reach for a fresh apple just as Darth Vader suddenly explodes into the silence. Well, not actually Darth himself, it’s my ringtone. Which means it is her: Coral – you have to find fun where you can, don’t you?
‘Where are you?’
No ‘Hello’ or other pleasantry. ‘Hi, Coral! I’m just doing this lipstick shot; I think the bite isn’t—’
‘Oh, forget that.’ I can picture her making a dismissive motion with one red-talon-tipped hand (she gets a free weekly manicure as well). ‘Take the day off.’
‘But I—’ I was about to point out that it is already five o’clock and the day is nearly done, and I was also going to say I needed the money so I wasn’t about to forget anything, but she interrupts me again.
‘What difference is one more day? You’ll be taking nearly three weeks, anyway.’
‘Three weeks? But, New York isn’t hol—’
‘Oh, didn’t I say? I don’t need you tagging along with me any more.’
‘What? Tagging? But—’
‘I’ve decided you’ll cramp my style – this is New York, darling, not some suburban—’
‘But, photos, you need photos taking.’
‘Crystal will help me.’
‘Who’s Crystal?’ I know I sound suspicious but I can’t help it.
‘She’s American.’ She says it like that means she is everything I am not. Stylish, for one. ‘She follows my blog and suggested this trip, she’s so dynamic, so savvy, so … with it, you know?’ I’m already sick of hearing about Crystal. ‘And it’s more of a holiday than anything. You can run off and do whatever you do, water plants or find a boyfriend, or something. You’re always saying you don’t get enough free time. When was the last time you had sex? Use it or lose it love.’ She makes a disgusting squelchy noise, which, luckily, I find easy to ignore.
‘But … but, I’ve got a ticket and everything. I’ve told everybody I’m jetting off with you in two days. Two days!’
‘Oh, I cancelled your ticket after …’ there is a long pause, then, ‘the incident with the dog.’
The line goes silent. My bitch of a boss is letting her words sink in.
‘You cancelled it three days ago and you never told me!’ My hand clenches into a fist. If she was here now, I’d be having trouble resisting the urge to strangle her or shove the bloody lipstick-scarred apple down her throat.
She is a complete cow – she knows how much this trip means to me and this is the most evil payback ever. I (apparently) screwed up with her #MondayMotivation picture. Daniel’s dog-in-a-bag photo had ten times as many ‘likes’. And Daniel is her arch Insta-rival. Which is why I’ve called in the kittens.
This was not my fault though. Everybody knows a puppy will trump the latest trend any day of the week (apart from #FreebieFriday), and how was I to know he’d spring Lucy the long-haired Chihuahua on the world?
‘I told you he was looking at luxury pet stuff!’ I’d spotted Daniel had started following a designer of diamanté dog collars – but Coral had poo-pooed my suspicions. So it’s her fault she’s in the doggy-do not mine.
‘Have you finished?’ She’s sounding bored.
‘But I’ve got kittens!’ I haven’t had time to talk kittens. I was going to surprise her once I’d got the perfect shot. With her flaming lipstick at the side if necessary.
‘I haven’t got time for that now. We’ll talk about kittens when I get home.’
‘They’ll have grown by then.’
‘Well, get new ones. Very cute ones. Very tiny ones, smaller than Daniel’s cock-sized offering.’
‘I don’t think kittens come that sma—’
‘Oh, whatever, I don’t care. I pay you to come up with the ideas, not bother me with-’
‘You pay me to take—’ I am about to say, take the photographs, but I don’t get the chance.
‘Do what you have to,’ she’s hissing, ‘to make this up to me. Then we’ll see.’ I can hear the click of her nails tapping on the phone. It’s