Page 26 of Too Busy for Love

‘Do you know what?’ he says. ‘That’s actually not bad.’

‘Praise indeed.’ I laugh.

‘It’s still wrong, of course, but I can see why you like it.’

‘It can’t be wrong if it tastes good. Give us a chip.’

‘As long as you don’t do anything weird with it, like dip it in orange squash or something.’

‘There isn’t any squash here, so I’ll have to slum it with tradespeople’s ketchup.’ I deliberately take the largest chip off his plate and make a show of dipping it in his pot of ketchup, staring provocatively into his eyes as I bite into it.

‘Don’t think that’s going back in the ketchup after you’ve chewed it,’ he warns me softly.

‘Perish the thought,’ I say coquettishly, before lunging at the pot of ketchup with the chip. He’s too quick for me though, and he scoops it safely out of my reach.

‘Nice try.’ He smiles as I pout sulkily and shove the rest of the chip in my mouth. This proves to be a mistake, as it’s still ferociously hot so I end up sort of panting, trying to cool it down without spitting it out. Jock bursts out laughing.

‘The thing I like about you, Beatrice, is that you’re always so ladylike,’ he says through his guffaws.

‘Piss off,’ I tell him. Unfortunately, my mouth is still full of the chip, so it comes out more like ‘Pith off’, which only makes him laugh harder.

The kitchen buzzer sounds the next morning while we’re preparing breakfast, making us both jump. We’re both still in our dressing gowns, having had sex again before coming down. Jock is cooking a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon while I’m carefully making two cappuccinos, making sure I’m well out of the way of any sudden bursts of steam from the machine. Neither of us are talking about our imminent separation, but it’s hanging in the air.

‘What the bloody hell?’ Jock murmurs as he looks at the CCTV feed.

‘Who is it?’ I ask.

‘Maria.’

He doesn’t get time to elaborate, because the buzzing is now accompanied by a furious banging on the door.

‘All right, I’m coming. Keep your hair on,’ Jock mutters as he makes his way over to open the door.

‘You took your time,’ Maria spits as soon as he lets her in. Her expression is hostile as she casts her eyes over the kitchen. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘We’re just making breakfast. Do you want some?’

‘I hope you’re paying for it,’ she retorts. ‘I’d hate to think you’ve been takingadvantageof poor Madame’s situation.’

‘How are you, Maria?’ I ask, somewhat disconcerted by her attitude, which is even more unpleasant than usual.

‘Oh, I’m just peachy thanks. You know, having spent a week in police custody and all.’

‘I thought they had to release you within a certain time?’

‘They do, but the initial condition was that I couldn’t live here, and I had nowhere else to go, so it took a shitload of time for my brief to sort it all out.’

‘But they’ve let you go now. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

‘Only if the lawyer does his job right and makes sure I don’t get a custodial sentence. Bloody pigs. They ought to be out catching murderers, rather than coming after people like us who are simply providing a service.’

‘It was illegal, Maria.’

‘Don’t come all high and mighty with me, Beatrice. You should be thanking me.’

‘Why?’

‘Who do you think told the police you didn’t know anything about it, eh? If it wasn’t for me, you might still be in there, so a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, frankly.’

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