Page 75 of One-Hit Wonder

Flint decided to play along with them. He pretended to go back to reading his paper and eating his cereal. And sure enough, within a few seconds two little heads had appeared at the top window, one little hand clutching another blob of wet paper. Flint immediately leapt from his seat, took two giant strides backward, and lobbed his missile at them. It hit the smallest boy square in the face before dropping off and onto the windowsill below.

The two boys stopped smirking and started grimacing.

“You’re messing with the wrong man—I’m a trained marksman.”

“Ya mother,” said one.

“I beg your pardon,” said Flint.

“Ya mother.”

“What?”

“Ya mother ya mother ya mother.”

“What about my mother?”

The two boys fell silent for a moment and exchanged a confused glance.

“Ya mother is a fanny rash,” said the small one eventually before both of them dissolved into hysterical stifled laughter and closed the window behind them.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” He took his cereal and his paper into the kitchen and finished his breakfast in there.

Later on, he phoned his mother to tell her that she was a fanny rash, and she laughed so hard she nearly wet herself.

“Where are you?” Ana shouted into the phone.

“Drinking espresso in the sunshine, with only a scabby little Scouser to spoil the view.” Lol’s voice was a tinny echo on the other end of the line.

Ana could hear a man swearing in the background, and Lol started cackling. “Fuck off, soft lad. Go and find a car to nick or summat,” she cackled again. “So—talk to me, Ana. Tell me what’s happening. What’ve I missed?”

Ana filled her in on all the events of the previous day.

“Jesus,” breathed Lol, “that’s unbelievable. You mean she’d been seeing that bloke for three years? But—when? How? I don’t understand.”

They chatted for a while about Zander and the children’s home, too. And the obvious question soon arose. “Flint won’t accept the possibility that Zander might be Bee’s kid,” said Ana.

“Well—I have to say that for once I agree with him. I mean—I know I spend a lot of time out of the country and everything, but even someone as dense as me would’ve noticed something like a pregnancy. So what are you going to do? What’s next?”

“Well,” Ana began, “Flint’s coming over in an hour and we’re going to do some research on the internet—see if we can find out what children’s home Zander lives in.”

“Top idea,” said Lol, “good work. And how is Flint? Is he looking after you properly?”

“Oh yes. Totally. He took me out last night…”

“Oh—he took you out, did he? And I sincerely hope he behaved himself…”

Ana blushed, in spite of the five hundred miles and body of water that separated her from Lol. “Of course he behaved himself,” she murmured, “I really don’t think he sees me like that, you know. I don’t really think I’m his type, you know…”

Lol made a strange Marge Simpson–esque noise down the phone, and Ana could hear that she had her lips tightly pursed. “Just be careful, that’s all. You’ve got enough on your plate right now without having to worry about old slinky-knickers Flint trying to schmooze you into bed.”

Ana grunted and blushed even more.

A voice called out something in the background. “Hmm,” said Lol, noisily slurping down her espresso, “I’ve gotta go. My golden tonsils are required in the studio. Phone me again tomorrow, won’t you? And look after yourself. Mwah.” She blew a kiss down the line, and then she was gone, leaving Ana standing there wondering, with a strange sense of shame mixed with excitement, why exactly old slinky-knickers Flint hadn’t tried to schmooze her into bed and what exactly was wrong with her.

Flint got to Gill’s at twelve. On the way there he bought a box of little Portuguese cakes from the place by the bridge up on Golborne Road. As he handed the white card box to Ana at the door of the house, he felt like Tony Soprano.

“Hi,” she said. She was wearing the same jeans and top she’d been wearing last night, and all weekend, come to think of it. Flint had never before met a woman who appeared to have so little interest in clothes. Her feet were bare and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. It looked nice. Off her face. Gave her a sort of ballerina look.