stuff too,’ said Big Bastard anxiously.
‘Oh yes. Fish fingers are fine. But brown sauce, not ketchup.’
‘Okay,’ said Colin, looking down.
‘And bed by ten,’ said Ellie.
‘Hedge!’ complained Arthur.
‘Oh, you know I can’t help it,’ said Ellie. The taxi started honking outside.
Arthur slung an arm around her.
‘Where are we meeting again?’
‘Um … San Diego?’
‘ Where are we meeting again?’
‘Um … San Taclaus?’
‘You’re very funny.’
He fished out her diary and opened it up. On every page it said, ‘San Francisco minus-eight days, seven days,’ etc.
‘I’ll see you there. In TEN DAYS.’
Ellie nodded feverishly.
‘Honk honk,’ said the taxi.
‘Hooray! I’m off!’ she said.
‘Thanks for the room and everything,’ said Colin shyly.
‘Not at all. I’m just glad you remembered your Action Man pyjamas.’
‘Thank fuck for a bit of peace and quiet,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Now I can watch porn in peace, withoutcertain people talking deliberately loudly over it all the time.’
‘It was only that one time,’ said Ellie. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t me who invited your parents over in the first place.’
The cab honked again.
‘Please go,’ said Arthur. ‘Partings make me teary, and if you miss this cab, you’ll never fit that rucksack on Big Bastard’s scooter.’
‘And you won’t get the chance to try, neither,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Come on Colin, let’s watch the football. You’ll like it. It’s like ballet, right, only it’s for blokes.’
‘I am going to miss you all so much,’ sighed Ellie, hoisting her ratty old pink and grey Bunac rucksack onto her back. She looked back at the shabby room, the worn curtains and the view of the bins with a fat arsed tabby sitting on the top.
‘When I get back,’ she vowed to herself, seeing the P60 sitting lonesomely on the sideboard, ‘everything is going to be better than this.’
‘And I’ll show you how to make a Bovril. The spoon just stands up in the jar, then you never have to wash it.’
‘ Everything is going to be better than this.’
Julia sat alone in her small, immaculate flat, waitingfor Ellie and the taxi and staring at her ring finger. Loxy wasn’t returning her calls. Part of her knew that all she had to do to stop this, to make everything better, was to call him up and say … what, exactly? Let’s get married because one in two marriages fail, and that’s across the general population including arranged marriages and strict Catholics, and in fact amongst late marrying metropolitan middle class spoilt independent thirty-year-olds it’s probably two out of three and if you add in that mixed race marriages also have a high failure rate, they probably had a five out of four chance of getting divorced and when her parents had got divorced she’d fallen in love with a pony and tried to run away from home to live in a field?
Or that the thought of never seeing him again felt like the onset of a convulsive illness?
For the billionth time she cursed him for putting her in such an all or nothing state of affairs and throwing her calm, well organized life so entirely out of whack.
She looked at the phone, which declined to ring. She stared at her neatly arranged suitcase and wondered whether to add a packet of three.
Footloose
‘Any chance of getting upgraded?’
The stewardess stared straight through them, as if nothing had been said. Julia punched Ellie on the arm.
‘Did you pack these bags yourself?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Ellie, again. ‘But we’re on our way to America to … uhm … get married …’
‘Umm … or not ,’ muttered Julia,
‘… and we wondered if there was any possibility of an upgr …’
‘No,’ said the stewardess. ‘I didn’t answer you earlier because I thought it would be less embarrassing for you that way.’
Ellie took stock of the situation.
‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘New lives here we come! Cattlestyle!’
‘It’s gate 354.
‘Oh yes. Fish fingers are fine. But brown sauce, not ketchup.’
‘Okay,’ said Colin, looking down.
‘And bed by ten,’ said Ellie.
‘Hedge!’ complained Arthur.
‘Oh, you know I can’t help it,’ said Ellie. The taxi started honking outside.
Arthur slung an arm around her.
‘Where are we meeting again?’
‘Um … San Diego?’
‘ Where are we meeting again?’
‘Um … San Taclaus?’
‘You’re very funny.’
He fished out her diary and opened it up. On every page it said, ‘San Francisco minus-eight days, seven days,’ etc.
‘I’ll see you there. In TEN DAYS.’
Ellie nodded feverishly.
‘Honk honk,’ said the taxi.
‘Hooray! I’m off!’ she said.
‘Thanks for the room and everything,’ said Colin shyly.
‘Not at all. I’m just glad you remembered your Action Man pyjamas.’
‘Thank fuck for a bit of peace and quiet,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Now I can watch porn in peace, withoutcertain people talking deliberately loudly over it all the time.’
‘It was only that one time,’ said Ellie. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t me who invited your parents over in the first place.’
The cab honked again.
‘Please go,’ said Arthur. ‘Partings make me teary, and if you miss this cab, you’ll never fit that rucksack on Big Bastard’s scooter.’
‘And you won’t get the chance to try, neither,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Come on Colin, let’s watch the football. You’ll like it. It’s like ballet, right, only it’s for blokes.’
‘I am going to miss you all so much,’ sighed Ellie, hoisting her ratty old pink and grey Bunac rucksack onto her back. She looked back at the shabby room, the worn curtains and the view of the bins with a fat arsed tabby sitting on the top.
‘When I get back,’ she vowed to herself, seeing the P60 sitting lonesomely on the sideboard, ‘everything is going to be better than this.’
‘And I’ll show you how to make a Bovril. The spoon just stands up in the jar, then you never have to wash it.’
‘ Everything is going to be better than this.’
Julia sat alone in her small, immaculate flat, waitingfor Ellie and the taxi and staring at her ring finger. Loxy wasn’t returning her calls. Part of her knew that all she had to do to stop this, to make everything better, was to call him up and say … what, exactly? Let’s get married because one in two marriages fail, and that’s across the general population including arranged marriages and strict Catholics, and in fact amongst late marrying metropolitan middle class spoilt independent thirty-year-olds it’s probably two out of three and if you add in that mixed race marriages also have a high failure rate, they probably had a five out of four chance of getting divorced and when her parents had got divorced she’d fallen in love with a pony and tried to run away from home to live in a field?
Or that the thought of never seeing him again felt like the onset of a convulsive illness?
For the billionth time she cursed him for putting her in such an all or nothing state of affairs and throwing her calm, well organized life so entirely out of whack.
She looked at the phone, which declined to ring. She stared at her neatly arranged suitcase and wondered whether to add a packet of three.
Footloose
‘Any chance of getting upgraded?’
The stewardess stared straight through them, as if nothing had been said. Julia punched Ellie on the arm.
‘Did you pack these bags yourself?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Ellie, again. ‘But we’re on our way to America to … uhm … get married …’
‘Umm … or not ,’ muttered Julia,
‘… and we wondered if there was any possibility of an upgr …’
‘No,’ said the stewardess. ‘I didn’t answer you earlier because I thought it would be less embarrassing for you that way.’
Ellie took stock of the situation.
‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘New lives here we come! Cattlestyle!’
‘It’s gate 354.
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