Sitting duck

Thursday night. I’ve been at home all day slogging away on my novel.

After fourteen cups of tea, two naps, a long-overdue reorganisation of the fridge and a few hours of freeform thinking time, I’m in the mood for some socialising. I’m mulling over the options when I hear V outside the front door.

She’s talking to Iveta, the lissom Polish woman who lives upstairs with her disconcertingly quiet and starey girlfriend, whom she never introduces when we meet on the stair. I happen to be standing close to the door, and so can’t help but overhear V and Iveta talking.

“Yes, it is a gorgeous evening isn’t?” says V, brightly.

“Undoubtedly,” says Iveta in her husky, Iron Curtain tones. “Sonia and I are thinking of going to the park. If you’d like to come, you are welcome.”

Yes, I think. An evening in the park might be a good idea. A couple of bottles of wine, perhaps some Frisbee action then a trip to the pub en route home. And I’m sure V would welcome the chance to find out more about our neighbours. Not that she’s nosy or anything.

“…would be lovely Iveta,” replies V, “but Mark and I have made plans already.”

I hear the sound of Iveta tramping up the stairs, and V muttering to herself as she gapes into the abyss of her bag for her keys (hmff! tch! christ! And so on.) I pull the door swiftly open. V looks up sharply, eyes wide with surprise, arm immersed in bag, up to the elbow.

“Oh yeah? Having a good old lug-in there, were you?” she says, marching past me.

“No," I reply, mildly outraged. "I just happened to be on my way to the bathroom when I heard you. Was that thingy you were talking to.?”

“Iveta. Yes. She’s very sweet – invited us to the park with her and Sonia. But I expect you knew that, given that you were listening in like the old woman that you actually are.”

I tut, like an old woman. “What time are we going to the park then?”

“We can’t. I told Iveta we’ve made plans.”

“I see. I don't remember that.”

“Well… I have. But you can tag along if you like.”

“Actually I thought we could maybe go to the film quiz at The Bear & Avocado. First prize is a year’s pass to the Electric.”

“What, the cinema?”

“Yeah. Great prize, don’t you think?”

“Meh."

V harbours a deep-seated hatred of Notting Hill in general. Something to do with an ex. The details are sketchy but I do know that a Chinese burn was involved and he came out of the incident badly.

V continues to rummage in her bag, possibly in the hope that this will somehow make me forget that I have just discovered she has apparently made plans without consulting me.

“So, do you fancy it? The quiz?” I ask.

“No, I have really actually made plans.”

“Oh.”

“Leonie called when I was walking up the road. Her friend India is looking for an emergency babysitter and I volunteered us. She lives about 10 minutes away.”

“Someone we’ve never met wants us to look after her baby? Is she mentally ill?”

“She’s Leonie’s best mate and for your info I have met her a few times. And the clue in the name. India. She’s a posh hippy – they trust everyone and are tighter than two coats of paint. So we’re cheap and she is vaguely aware of us. Ergo, possible emergency babysitters."

“Well. That’s absolutely superb. We’re the cheap and available vague people!”

“Cool the jets Captain Sarcastic. We weren’t doing anything else. And it’ll be good training, right?”

“Hmm.” I can’t help but feel I’m being sent into some sort of booby trap/ambush type situation.

“Anyway you have met her. She’s nice.”

“When?”

“We bumped into her and her partner Malcolm at the Stokey festival a few years ago. Remember?”

I shake my head and pull a bit of a mumpy face.

“Small, long red hair, pretty pixie face, dressed like a sort of colourful peasant, playing a bhodrun? Him: quite lugubrious, looms and sort of sways like a sort of medieval prison guard. You could imagine him… I dunno… standing next to a drawbridge holding a flaming torch or something.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“You took an irrational dislike to his trainers, I recall.”

“Were they like those little Adidas pumps that kickboxers wear? The ones that look ridiclous on big blokes?”

“I believe so.”

“It’s coming back to me.”

“Anyway, in the intervening period India and Malcolm have produced a baby girl – please take note of how they are progressing their relationship – and we’re going to babysit her this evening while they go to some dance thing at Sadler’s Wells. Well I am. You’re welcome to go to the pub quiz if you like.”

“They’re a Culture Couple then?”

“Presumably.”

“You don’t go to see modern dance on the off chance you might enjoy it.”

“Each to their own. Don’t be such an inverted snob.”

“What do they do again?”

“India is an editor at some publishing house – might be Penguin, can’t remember. Malcolm’s something to do with films. Finance? No, I think he might be a producer.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose it would be nice to make some new friends.”

“Thought you might come to that conclusion.”

Comments

[Stan Bricks]

I'm not sure what the hold-up is... maybe they have re-thought their stance on how this is going to actually make the company any money. Or perhaps their lawyers pointed out the liability of providing agents a platform to stick their feet in their mouth. Whatever it is, it's hardly something I'd claim as being "Well done".
www.jebshouse.com/wordletter.php?l=A

[faizan]

Nice buddy. I like it so much. Come on keep it up :)