Page 105 of (Not) The One
‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘Around you? Where would be the incentive?’
‘I bet Beckett doesn’t tease Olivia like this.’
‘No amount of provoking will bring me to consider what Beckett does or doesn’t do in the privacy of his own home.’ Some things are best left in the dark, especially where that man and his machinations are concerned.
‘It’s pretty romantic, isn’t it? That they would get married in secret and then be so happy they want to make a day just for their friends and family.’
‘Yes, it is quite romantic.’ And very un-Beckett like. ‘Do they strike you as desperately in love?’ I never thought he had love for anything but money, though I’d be more than happy to be corrected.
Should I feel bad for prying? No, I decide. I’m just looking out for my friend.
‘Well, they argue plenty, but it never seems serious. In fact, Ols seems to get a perverse kind of pleasure out of it. And honestly, I think they only argue so much because they like making up. In fact, they like making upa lot.’ The latter she adds with a heavy emphasis.
But something I could get behind. Get on top of. Let her ride it out on top of me. I’ve become ex obsessed where Miranda’s concerned. I could blame the scent of her floral perfume in such close confines this morning, or the way the sun makes her hair shimmer in a rainbow of blonde. Or the pale underside of her wrists where I long to press my thumbs.
‘This is something I really don’t need to hear.’
‘Me either, believe me. But the noise from her office just carries, and there are only so many times you can escape to the bakery.’
‘Oh, God,’ I mutter, slowing for a corner.
The car fills with her peal of laughter.
‘Hypocrite much?’ I turn to her narrow-eyed smile as she twists in her seat to face me. Her shirt is open at the neck, a tiny gold pendant on a chain dipping out of sight beneath the fabric.I want to trace my tongue there. ‘They aren’t the only ones to get a little frisky on that desk. Do you know where you’re going, by the way?’
‘To Crouch End? Give me some credit.’
‘I’ve got two apartments to see, but they’re both close together. You’re sure you don’t mind coming with me?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ And just like that, we aren’t talking about relationships anymore, but the practicalities of housing. And I have some thoughts on this, though I’m unwilling to share these right now.
The Saturday morning traffic isn’t too bad, providing you know where you’re going, and it isn’t long before we’re pulling onto a perfectly nice suburban street in Crouch End.There’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.Narrow red brick terrace houses stand on both sides of the road like very proper sentinels, both sidesof the street filled with the kinds of cars that would indicate this is a street filled with families.Minivans, sedans, the odd car with L plates.
‘Wimbledon to Hoxton must be a terrible commute,’ I mutter, pulling in to an available parking spot on the street.
‘It’s not fun. But when I took the job, I wasn’t living at home.’
‘Ah.’ I think I’ll leave that line of questioning. She must’ve been living with her ex.
‘And it’s not like I’m travelling in from there every day, not while pet-sitting.’
‘But you’re giving that up soon.’ I don’t pose this as a question. Surely, this has to be inevitable.
‘Yeah. That’s the plan.’
‘You know, Miranda, I want to help—’
‘Number thirty-seven.’ She dips her head, peering under the overhanging leaves of a nearby tree, searching for the house, and act of avoidance. I take her cue.
‘Parking isn’t optimal.’
Miranda makes a noncommittal noise in answer.
The houses have no gardens to speak of, though each has a wrought iron fence and a garden gate to protect a small patch of greenery. No gardens and no place for a child to play, not that it matters because this is just a temporary measure, even if she’s unaware.
As I follow the numbers on the odd side of the street and the brightly coloured doors, I spot the number she’s looking for. I should be happy, but I’m not. She’s going to be so disappointed that we’ve come to look at a shithole.
