Page 53 of Not in a Million Years

He gestured to the tracksuit pants. That explained the length, at least – Matt was six foot five, a good eight inches taller than Andy.

‘Ah. I thought it was a fashion statement. Next up, clown shoes.’

He laughed, but it turned into a shudder. ‘My jaw aches like hell. No word of a lie, I ground my teeth so badly last night I woke up with a mouth full of grit from my own teeth, like when they do that sandblasting thing at the dentist. Any chance of a glass?’

I fetched one from the kitchen, and he splashed Fanta into it, his arms trembling so badly he could hardly lift the bottle.

‘I don’t think Abbie’s best pleased with me,’ he continued. ‘I got in after four and ruined their Sunday lie-in. So I said I’d get out of their hair this afternoon, even though getting out of bed just about killed me. Why does it have to be so arsing cold? Will it ever end?’

‘In about two months’ time,’ I said. ‘You see, there’s this thing called spring, which generally follows on from winter. There’ll be daffodils and the clocks will go forward, and the next thing you know we’ll be drinking gin and tonic in the park.’

‘Oh God, Kate.’ He put his glass down and slumped over, his head in my lap. ‘What would I do without you? You do know how to make me feel better.’

‘Have you eaten?’ I asked sternly. ‘Low blood sugar will only make you feel worse.’

I felt his head move on my thighs in a shake. ‘I was going to get a Maccers, but my card was declined. I’m absolutely fucking brassic.’

If Andy not only contemplated ordering McDonald’s but couldn’t afford it, things must be even worse than I’d realised.

‘What do you want? An omelette?’

‘Too much like proper food.’

‘Doritos?’

‘Not enough like proper food.’

‘Fucking hell, Andy, it’s like having Goldilocks over for lunch. Dippy eggs and soldiers?’

‘Oh my God, yes! With loads of butter on the toast. You’re an angel.’

‘Move your bloody great swede off my lap then.’

As we ate, I saw some colour come back into Andy’s cheeks, and I decided to risk asking him why his finances were in such dire shape.

‘The last job didn’t last. I chucked one sickie too many and they let me go. It all seems so damn pointless, doesn’t it? You get up every morning and go and sit in some ghastly office for eight hours, and then you have two days off for fun and then it all starts again. Over and over and over until eventually you’re too clapped out to be any use any more and then you retire and die.’

I thought of my own career stretching ahead of me, challenging but relentless. While it gave me moments of satisfaction and was certainly more lucrative than any job Andy had ever had, I could kind of see his point.

‘At least you get to stop and have babies,’ he went on.

‘In theory. But I’m not sure if I actually want them, and there’s certainly been no sign of anyone wanting to have them with me.’

‘You know what, we should get married. It would be lovely. We could host fabulous parties and read the papers in bed on Saturday mornings and have a talking parrot in a cage.’

‘We could teach it swear words. And make our own pasta.’

‘We’d have a grand piano in our living room and books everywhere. I’d learn how to arrange flowers.’

‘We’d rent villas in Sardinia in summer, and all our friends would come and stay.’

‘We’d play croquet on the lawn and have tea under a chestnut tree.’

‘Our children would have fat little dapple-grey ponies and go to gymkhanas.’

‘A boy and a girl. Called Sebastian and Seraphina.’

‘Or Peregrine and Persephone.’

---