‘I made tea!’ I announced, like a fifties housewife.
His short-sighted – oh, but beautiful – eyes swivelled round to focus on me. His glasses were sitting on top of the mother-ship console.
‘Tea!’ I indicated by holding the cups up and motioning like a lunatic.
He focused on the cup and followed its path as I went to place it beside him whilst I wondered if he was mentally subnormal.
‘Not there!’ he barked.
‘OK, OK, put the gun down. How about I hand it to you?’
Slowly he extended his arm. I placed the cup in his hand, handle facing outwards – which meant burning a hole in my hand, but I didn’t mind because when he took it, the tips of our fingers touched, and I swear I felt a bolt of electricity shoot through me.
I waggled the Penguin at him.
‘Penguin?’
He stared at it for a bit then shook his head, so I ate it. After all, as he’d taken the tea, that implied a contract that allowed me to stay for a little bit.
I leaned over. His computer screen was covered in bizarre symbols, just like in James Bond films.
‘What are you working on?’
He tried to cover up the screen, but as his arms were like matchsticks, it didn’t have much effect. However, as the symbols meant as much to me as EC policy directives, it was a pointless exercise anyway.
‘Ehm, nothing. Thanks for the tea …’
He sipped it, then tried to disguise his gagging reflex.
‘That’s all right. How was your day? Mine was shitty.’
And so I told him all about the nasty boys at the flower yard. Mainly for conversation really, because I knew the second I stopped talking there would be complete silence.
Much to my surprise he appeared to be listening – well, not doing anything else, which had to pass for it.
When I’d finished, I took another sip at my tea and said:
‘So, what do you think I should do?’
He looked at me for a second, then cracked an absolutely heartbreaking smile.
‘Not talk to anyone?’
A sentence! Almost. I grinned back at him, then decided to leave on a high note. I nodded with my mouth closed, mouthed ‘good night’ to him, and retreated, leaving him sniffing suspiciously at his tea.
‘Success!’ I crowed to Josh the following evening. ‘He talked to me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Well, he told me not to talk to anyone. But apart from that I consider it an outright success.’
‘Oh, speaking of outright success, did you steal Kate’s Penguin?’
Shit; I’d forgotten all about it.
‘Mmmm … maybe.’ I surreptitiously checked round the outside of my mouth in case there was any chocolate left there from last night.
‘You’re in trouble.’
‘OK, OK, I’ll just go out and get her one.’
‘It’s too late. Plus, she knows it’s a blue one. I’d make myself scarce, if I were you.’
Unfortunately I wasn’t working that night and, annoyingly, felt that cold thing you get in the pit of your stomach when you know you’re going to get into trouble later.
‘Argh! I am not in trouble! I am going to go out now and buy her fifteen Penguin biscuits and … and make her eat herself to death like in Seven. I am NOT going to let her intimidate me like this. She is so damn ANAL about everything.’
‘Which is why she’s one of the best corporate raiders under thirty in London –’
‘Just under thirty.’
‘I know what she’s like. Be nice to her. She has it hard enough at work. Everyone is really mean to her.’
‘Ooh, gossip? ’Fess up.’
Josh was an indefatigable gossip, although he wouldn’t thank you for pointing out this particular trait.
‘Well, she just has an overwhelming inability to spot married guys. I mean, they can have a bloody suntan ring round their fourth finger and Kate believes them when they say it’s impetigo. And she’s seeing this guy now who only phones her in two-minute bursts from call boxes at eleven thirty at night, and they do a lot of their dating in their lunch hours … Any day now she’s going to find out he’s another louse. Deep down, I think she realizes they are and it’s all a big psychological mishmash.’
‘Wow,’ I said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘That whole big psychological mishmash thing.’
And we each thought about our own for a second or two.
‘So,’ I resumed, ‘she’s grouchy all the time and it’s not my fault.’
‘I don’t think she’s that happy at having another woman around the flat.’
‘I’m not exactly a threat,’ I said, looking down at where the button should have been on my pyjamas. Fortunately, I’d known Josh a long time.
‘It’s not that. It’s a territorial thing.’
I grunted. ‘What, like cats have? I thought there was a funny smell in my room. Maybe she’s pissed in it.’
‘Ssh,’ said Josh, as we heard the door open.
‘Shit! I’ve forgotten to go out and get the Penguins!’
He winced at me as Kate did her normal arrival routine: an enormous sigh, an elaborate dumping of her expensive accoutrements, and a full-body lunge for the bottle opener.
Josh winked at me, and I smiled manfully.
‘Hey, Kate, how’s it going?’
‘Shit! Holly, did you eat my Penguin?’
I cringed, which wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to say something along the lines of, ‘Yeah – do ya wanna make somethin’ of it?’ and spit on the floor. Instead of which I said, ‘Yes. Look, Kate, I’m really sorry, I’ll buy you some more.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she sniffed, LYING. ‘I’ve only been out working for twelve hours, slaving over a huge offshore investment, which is almost entirely my responsibility, something unheard of for someone under thirty …’
‘Just …’ I said, under my breath.
‘… why on earth should I want or deserve a little bit of relaxation, which I’ve already bought and paid for, when I come home exhausted? I’m silly, really. I should just give it up and mess about with flowers and eat other people’s Penguins all day long.’
She picked up the wine bottle and retreated from the room, continuing, ‘Really, I must just be so, so selfish.’
Once she’d gone I beckoned to Josh.
‘Hand me that bread knife.’
‘Now, you remember what I said …’
‘I heard what you said, and now I am going to kill her with a knife. GIVE it to me.’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t think you understand the situation: I am going to have to kill Kate with a knife, and I’m asking you to pass it to me.’
‘Sit down,’ he said, handing me a plate of couscous. ‘Ignore it. What else was Addison saying?’