to the cubbyhole by Simon who stood holding
a bouquet of deep red carnations like a man holding an
unaccustomed small child. "These just arrived for you. I'm
beginning to feel more like a dating agency than a bookshop."
I flipped the card open. Incredibly sorry about yesterday , it
read. Can't believe how much I was looking forward to it. Can
we try again on Friday? Leo and three x 's. By now Simon was
tutting so hard he sounded like an unexploded bomb. "Sorry,
Simon. These are a one-off. And it was only Piers again."
"Still wanting your help with a 'family matter'?" Simon
sounded sarcastic, which was not like him at all. I spent the
rest of the day incarcerated in the back room, which was
Simon's equivalent of the Punishment Cell, sorting a heap of
102
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
dusty old volumes that he'd bought in from another sale. At
five o'clock, Jace had to beat me clean with a damp rag
before I could meet up with Piers, who'd been hovering
outside in the Porsche since four thirty.
The flat turned out to be the whole top floor of a Bonded
Warehouse right on the river. Huge metal pillars supported
the roof, but apart from that it was one long, empty space
with the bathroom a very visible corner behind stylish glass
bricks.
"Well?" Piers stood in the middle of the room, hands in
pockets. "What do you think?"
"I think it would make a great rollerblading rink. But a flat?
I don't know. It is very you though, Piers."
"How, me?" He rocked back on his heels watching me
intently. I wasn't quite sure why.
"Very cool, very trendy. Very exhibitionist. I mean, if there
was anyone here with you, you wouldn't even be able to
scratch yourself without them seeing."
"So, you reckon I'm a cool, trendy exhibitionist?" His eyes
were glittering.
"No, you're—" But I stopped myself.
"What do you think of me, Alys?" He came a little closer. "I
mean, am I a nice guy or a psycho, or what? Y'see, you never
say what you think, you keep it all locked away, up here—"
He reached out to touch my forehead but, disturbed for no
reason I could think of, I shied away and waved a hand to
indicate the bare brick walls.
"Can you imagine curling up in here with a video and a
pizza and listening to the rain outside?"
103
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
"Er...Alys..." Piers held his hands out in front of him.
"Twenty-one. Male. Too fucking cool to live. I do not sit in
with pizza."
I had a sudden flashback to last night, my birthday night,
sitting in front of the TV, cheese stringily dripping onto my lap
whilst Mr. Depp strutted his sizeable funky thing for my
delectation. My sole conversation had been with Mrs.
Treadgold who'd rung to make sure I'd enjoyed the cake. "If
all you want is a sexy address, this will do you fine. But if you
want a home— this will never be a home, Piers."
"That was straight from the heart anyway." Piers looked
the place over, with a sigh. "But I guess you're right. It's a
little municipal."
I instantly felt contrite. "But the view, the view is lovely."
Bobbing away down the Ouse were the houseboats and the
tourist craft. On the far bank were the riverside pubs and
clubs. "Very urban."
"Noisy, at night."
"Yes, but lively. And handy for the station and the shops."
Piers just looked at me, steadily. "You hate it."
"Well, yes, but it's not for me, is it? Do you like it, that's
the question. What about your girlfriend, does she like it?"
Piers turned away abruptly and leaned on one of the
windowsills, gazing out across the rooftops of York. "I'm—
kinda between women at the moment." There was a peculiar
tone in his voice and I wondered if I'd put my foot in a
monumental great hole.
"Are you gay?" The question came out rather faster, and
more breathlessly, than I'd meant. I'd heard all about his
104
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
penchant for young girl model-types who left not one inch of
him uncovered with lipstick praise, mostly in scathing
a bouquet of deep red carnations like a man holding an
unaccustomed small child. "These just arrived for you. I'm
beginning to feel more like a dating agency than a bookshop."
I flipped the card open. Incredibly sorry about yesterday , it
read. Can't believe how much I was looking forward to it. Can
we try again on Friday? Leo and three x 's. By now Simon was
tutting so hard he sounded like an unexploded bomb. "Sorry,
Simon. These are a one-off. And it was only Piers again."
"Still wanting your help with a 'family matter'?" Simon
sounded sarcastic, which was not like him at all. I spent the
rest of the day incarcerated in the back room, which was
Simon's equivalent of the Punishment Cell, sorting a heap of
102
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
dusty old volumes that he'd bought in from another sale. At
five o'clock, Jace had to beat me clean with a damp rag
before I could meet up with Piers, who'd been hovering
outside in the Porsche since four thirty.
The flat turned out to be the whole top floor of a Bonded
Warehouse right on the river. Huge metal pillars supported
the roof, but apart from that it was one long, empty space
with the bathroom a very visible corner behind stylish glass
bricks.
"Well?" Piers stood in the middle of the room, hands in
pockets. "What do you think?"
"I think it would make a great rollerblading rink. But a flat?
I don't know. It is very you though, Piers."
"How, me?" He rocked back on his heels watching me
intently. I wasn't quite sure why.
"Very cool, very trendy. Very exhibitionist. I mean, if there
was anyone here with you, you wouldn't even be able to
scratch yourself without them seeing."
"So, you reckon I'm a cool, trendy exhibitionist?" His eyes
were glittering.
"No, you're—" But I stopped myself.
"What do you think of me, Alys?" He came a little closer. "I
mean, am I a nice guy or a psycho, or what? Y'see, you never
say what you think, you keep it all locked away, up here—"
He reached out to touch my forehead but, disturbed for no
reason I could think of, I shied away and waved a hand to
indicate the bare brick walls.
"Can you imagine curling up in here with a video and a
pizza and listening to the rain outside?"
103
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
"Er...Alys..." Piers held his hands out in front of him.
"Twenty-one. Male. Too fucking cool to live. I do not sit in
with pizza."
I had a sudden flashback to last night, my birthday night,
sitting in front of the TV, cheese stringily dripping onto my lap
whilst Mr. Depp strutted his sizeable funky thing for my
delectation. My sole conversation had been with Mrs.
Treadgold who'd rung to make sure I'd enjoyed the cake. "If
all you want is a sexy address, this will do you fine. But if you
want a home— this will never be a home, Piers."
"That was straight from the heart anyway." Piers looked
the place over, with a sigh. "But I guess you're right. It's a
little municipal."
I instantly felt contrite. "But the view, the view is lovely."
Bobbing away down the Ouse were the houseboats and the
tourist craft. On the far bank were the riverside pubs and
clubs. "Very urban."
"Noisy, at night."
"Yes, but lively. And handy for the station and the shops."
Piers just looked at me, steadily. "You hate it."
"Well, yes, but it's not for me, is it? Do you like it, that's
the question. What about your girlfriend, does she like it?"
Piers turned away abruptly and leaned on one of the
windowsills, gazing out across the rooftops of York. "I'm—
kinda between women at the moment." There was a peculiar
tone in his voice and I wondered if I'd put my foot in a
monumental great hole.
"Are you gay?" The question came out rather faster, and
more breathlessly, than I'd meant. I'd heard all about his
104
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
penchant for young girl model-types who left not one inch of
him uncovered with lipstick praise, mostly in scathing
Similar Books
