Lucy Holliday 2-Book Collection: A Night In with Audrey Hepburn and A Night In with Marilyn Monroe

‘Is Bogdan.’

‘Bogdan, hi! It’s Libby Lomax …’

‘You are happy with flat?’

‘Well, that’s the thing, Bogdan, I—’

‘You are liking renovations?’

‘Renovations?’ It’s only now that I notice the smell of fresh paint and the faint hint of sawdust. ‘Um, Bogdan, have you … put up a partition wall, or something?’

‘Well observed, Libby. Am turning one flat into two.’

As I stare around the place now, it’s quite clear that this is exactly what he’s done. Turned one small flat into two tiny ones, taking one of my two windows and my only bathroom with it.

‘You are liking? Is perfect, yes? Is more compact, is more cosy, is more easy to be keeping clean …’

‘But Bogdan—’

‘And you can be recommending next-door flat to friend, perhaps? I am thinking girl friend,’ he adds, for clarity, breathing hotly into his end of the phone. ‘As you will be needing to share bathroom.’

‘Bogdan.’ I try to sound as stern as possible, so he’ll know I’m Not Messing Around. ‘What have you done with the bathroom?’

‘Is only across hallway. Have put it all in new. Is what girls like, yes? New bathroom suite for pampering? For shaving the legs, for taking the bubble bath, for putting on the body lotion …’

I make a mental note to ask Olly to check this bathroom out for hidden cameras before I so much as brush my teeth in there.

‘But the thing is, Bogdan, I’m paying rent for a flat twice the size of this one.’

‘But you are getting brand-new bathroom suite.’

‘A brand-new shared bathroom suite! Across the hallway from a flat you’ve cut in two!’

‘Is chic studio,’ he counters. ‘Is minimalist lifestyle.’

‘But I don’t want a studio!’ I ignore the fact that this place, with its wonky partition wall and its general aroma of sawdust, isn’t even in the region of chic. ‘I wanted a proper flat, Bogdan! With a bedroom and a bathroom.’

‘In Moldova,’ Bogdan tells me, sternly, ‘whole families, with ten children, are living in less than half space than you are getting now.’

Which – if it’s true – makes me feel like the worst kind of spoilt brat.

On the other hand, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He’s the one trying to fob me off with a divvied-up flat.

I mean, look at this place. I’m never going to be able to do any of those things I planned here. Those cosy stew parties, for example: how am I (or how is Olly) going to cook when the kitchen space has been reduced to a tiny corner with a single wall-hung cabinet, a two-ring hob and a mini-fridge? And where are my friends going to fit when they pop round for the evening with bottles of red wine? I may not have hundreds of friends, but right now I’m worried that even letting Nora bring Mark with her is going to be an issue. And it’s even worse than this! I’d almost forgotten about the furniture Olly is bringing round any minute now. Yes, I was very careful about choosing only small pieces, but obviously there was nothing in the props storeroom that was actually doll-sized. The lovely leather armchair I picked out will fit in OK, but only if I abandon any hope of also fitting in the little gate-legged table. And I’d chosen this really nice walnut-wood coffee table, and a small but incredibly useful chest of drawers, and Olly is bringing me an old futon from his own flat …

Where the hell is it all going to go?

‘Bogdan. Look …’

The buzzer goes.

That’ll be Olly. With all my furniture.

I can’t leave him to wait, because he’ll probably be pulled up on a yellow line on the main road, with traffic wardens circling like vultures.

‘I have to go. My friend Olly’s just arrived with my furniture.’

‘Dolly?’ Bogdan asks, excitedly. ‘She is good girlfriend of yours …?

‘Olly. Short for Oliver. A boy friend. Well, not like a boyfriend, but …’ Actually, there’s no harm in Bogdan thinking I have a boyfriend. The buzzer goes again. ‘I’ll call to discuss this again tomorrow,’ I say, in the firmest tone of voice I can summon.

‘I will be looking forward to it, Libby. You can be telling me what you are thinking of new bathroom suite.’

I press the entry-phone buzzer to let Olly up, and open my front door just as he turns the landing onto the fourth floor.

‘Lib.’ He takes the last three steps in one and envelops me in an enormous hug. ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of you all afternoon. Are you OK?’

‘Well, the flat’s half the size I thought it was going to be,’ I say, into his chest, ‘and the landlord seems to have a college dorm fetish, but I suppose it could be …’

‘I meant what happened on location today. The fire thing.’ He pulls back and looks down at me, wincing, as if he hardly dares peek under the straw sunhat I’m still wearing. ‘I wasn’t sure how much to believe of what the crew were saying, but have you actually burnt off all your hair?’

‘No, no, only half. Do you promise not to laugh?’

‘Of course.’

I wouldn’t do this for many people – in fact, Olly and Nora are pretty much the only ones I can think of – but, with a bit of a flourish, I take off my sunhat.

Olly presses his lips together, hard, but he can’t disguise the fact they’re curling upwards.

‘You promised,’ I remind him, ‘not to laugh.’

‘I’m not laughing. I’m absolutely not. Honestly, Lib, it’s not even that bad …’

‘Liar.’ I open the front door further so he can come in. ‘Anyway, believe it or not, losing half my hair – oh, and my job, by the way – is only the second worst thing that’s happened to me today … Ta-da!’

With another flourish, I display my chopped-in-half flatlet.

‘You lost your job?’ Olly says. He’s staring at me, and not at the flatlet.

I nod.

‘But … that sucks.’

I nod, again.

‘Well, do you want me to speak to Vanessa for you? Threaten to put the catering truck on strike if you’re not reinstated as … hang on, what was the part you were meant to be playing today?’

‘Extra-terrestrial Spaceship Technician.’