Talking to Addison

‘Do you know, I haven’t made a woman scream like that for years,’ drawled the well-modulated voice.

I relaxed slightly.

‘Josh, you have never made a woman scream like that. In fact, have you ever made a woman?’

‘Oh ho ho. Yes, of course.’

‘In your country of origin?’

He paused.

‘Not precisely.’

I’d been teasing Josh about this for as long as I’d known him, which was a l-o-o-ong time. Because he was attractive and also nice to girls, most people assumed he was gay. For someone with a posh background, a good job, and a nice haircut, he did horrendously badly with the opposite sex, which I couldn’t understand – not that I’d ever wanted to shag him myself; he was so nice.

Anyway, thank God he’d rung me back. Worriedly searching the ceiling for CCTV, I sat back on the bed.

‘Josh, you know when you moved into Pimlico and I said I didn’t want to move there because it was snooty London and you were moving in with Kate who hates me?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Well, you know, how’s it … how’s the whole flatshare thing going?’

‘It’s going fine.’

‘Right – GREAT! Right. How’s that other guy you got in to fill the space doing?’

‘Addison? He’s just great … Well, quiet, and undemanding.’

That didn’t sound much like me.

‘Uh huh. So, no one’s moving out or anything, then?’

Josh sighed. ‘Don’t tell me. Not another Turkish Lesbian Women’s Collective?’

That had been Hoxteth, two years ago. I’d been kicked out for not liking chickpeas and buying that symbol of male forced dominance, sanitary protection.

‘No. Worse.’

‘The cat lady?’

‘Christ. No, not worse than her. But still, pretty bad.’

I heard Carol’s voice:

‘Holly! Would you like some tea? Because it’s your turn to make it!’

I ignored her.

‘Josh, this is absolutely desperate. Listen, you know that little boxroom you were going to turn into a study?’

‘The one you described as a coffin?’

‘Yup, yup, that’s the one. Ehm, have you …?’

‘Turned it into a study? Not since you were last here. I’ve leased it out as a bedroom, though.’

‘NOOO!’

He laughed.

‘You bastard! Josh, I know this is a huge favour – and please say no if you don’t want to – but please, please, please can I come and live in your coffin? I mean, boxroom?’

‘You’ve asked me this before, Holl,’ he said with a sigh.

‘I know.’

‘Then you always dash off and the next thing I hear from you you’re on the run from a postgraduate mathematics badminton team.’

‘I know. I’m crazy.’

‘You are crazy. Why didn’t you just move in when I bought the place?’

‘Because you’re rich and Kate makes me miserable.’

‘I am not rich, and Kate can’t help being … Kate. Anyway, if that’s how you feel …’

‘No, no! I’m sorry! Please. Please. Please.’

There was a loud knocking at my door.

‘Tea, please, Holly! It’s in the lease!’

‘It’s the Gestapo!’ I whispered. ‘How soon can you come and get me?’

‘I’ll have to check with Kate and Addison.’

‘Josh!’ I screeched, near to tears. ‘Please.’

‘OK,’ he relented. ‘I’ll pick you up at about seven. Have you got much stuff?’

‘Just a coffinful.’

‘And no diving off again, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I mumbled meekly.

I could have snogged Josh, I was so pleased to see him. I wanted to grab hold of his legs round the ankles and sob with gratitude and pour unguents over his feet. Or is that glue?