One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland
was sandwiched between Jim and Geordie. Much to Geordie’s annoyance, Jim was totally monopolizing the conversation and she was responding by laughing at everything he was saying. Jim was gallantly serving her rice, filling up her glass and leaning in towards her as he regaled some other uproarious incident in his life.
Eventually, he pushed back his chair and disappeared out of the room, and Geordie quickly turned to Molly, a bottle in his hand. ‘Wine?’ he asked her.
‘No thanks, Geordie, I think Jim is fetching me another beer.’
Smiling at her, he just said, ‘Ah,’ and slightly anxiously pushed his round metal-framed glasses back up his nose. By God he fancied her! ‘I know you work with Tommy, but it would be very useful if you could tell me anything else I should know about you in, let’s say, sixty seconds.’
She laughed. ‘OK, you say “go” when I should start.’
Geordie primed his watch and then said, ‘Go!’
‘Born in India 1972, father worked for tea company, don’t remember much about it but vaguely aware that it was always hot, sent to school here when seven, hated it to start with but gradually came to terms with being ordered about by oppressive lesbian teachers. Um, parents had by this stage moved to Sri Lanka, in fact only came back to England about five years ago when Father retired, he’s quite a bit older you see and I have two brothers who are now both married and in their thirties, and whom I adore, so I must have been an afterthought or a mistake. Went to boys’ school for sixth form, which I loved – all the attention was great, and I think I had about five boyfriends there. Um, um, what next? Oh, yes, read History at university, totally useless degree but great fun for three years – lots of drinking and parties, and then travelled for a year and a half to delay the inevitable. Went back to India and the Far East and then worked in Australia for a while. Now I live in Highbury in a flat with Lizzie, who was at university with me. I like food, drink, the countryside and old films and I dislike working, the London underground and having to queue or wait for anything. There, how did I do?’
‘Bang on sixty seconds. Very impressive.’ Her résumé had delighted him and he wondered whether, on that evidence alone, he could ever find a more perfect match. Jim had come back armed with cans of Stella, but his moment had passed and Molly’s attention was firmly taken up by Geordie.
‘Now it’s your turn. Give me your watch so I can keep time.’
Geordie spewed forth. He was careful to mention anything that might appear alluring: that he was brought up in a village near Salisbury, that his house had a swimming pool and tennis court, that he had travelled extensively and that he hated London, and also hugely disliked ‘good cause’ ribbons. From then on it was plain sailing. They had so much to talk about – travelling exploits, working abroad, her childhood in the sub-continent, weekends in the country – jabber, jabber, jabber. They were in their own little compartment for the rest of the evening, to which no one else had right of entry. His attention totally held by this vision before him, what did Geordie care for Tommy’s flirting with Jessica, or the discussion about computer technology being debated by the other four?
Jessica made the first move to order a cab. Although she had always liked Tommy, she did not want him to get the wrong idea. But on the other hand, he was pretty handsome and had been really quite entertaining … whatever, it was time to go and she would just have to see how matters progressed. The ordering of cabs stopped all other conversation and Molly goshed, grabbed Geordie’s wrist to look at the time and said she really ought to be getting back to Highbury.
‘I’ve really enjoyed talking to you tonight,’ Molly told Geordie, giving him a peck on the cheek goodbye. ‘We must do it again sometime.’
‘When?’ replied Geordie, a little too quickly.
‘Give me a ring.’ She flashed him a smile and then said her thanks and farewells to Tommy and Jim and was gone.
In the cab back to Turneville Road, Geordie sighed contentedly. ‘Jessica, I’m in love. I’m definitely in love.’
‘Darling, I’m thrilled you’re taking our pact so seriously. But it’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? I mean, I could tell, we could all tell, that you were keen on her, but you’ve only known her for a few hours. She might have a dangerous psychopathic side.’
‘I’ve seen enough to know. I have to go out with her, I just have to, she is my perfect dream girl. And she said I could call her.’
‘OK, darling, you do that. But hold back on the declarations of love. A girl doesn’t like to be rushed.’
That night, Jessica fell asleep almost instantly, but in the adjoining room, Geordie lay awake for hours, thinking of Molly and hoping for a miracle.
chapter five La Vita è Bella Part Two
Neither Jessica nor Geordie heard anything more from Flin until the following Sunday night. For Jessica, Sunday nights were sacrosanct and she always did her level best to make sure that nothing came between her and the television. She did not want to talk to anyone, go to a party, watch a film at the cinema or any other extramural activity; she just wanted to eat supper on her lap (preferably something that was easy to cook with minimum fuss from Marks & Spencer), watch telly and then go to bed, safe in the knowledge that she had passed a relaxing and undemanding evening in readiness for the week ahead. She had a television in her room, but it was good to be able to relax in front of the twenty-four-inch model Geordie had hired from Radio Rentals without his snide comments on her viewing choice.
When the phone started ringing, Heartbeat had only just begun with a group of teddy boys from Whitby arriving in Aidensfield to cause trouble at the annual fair. Generally speaking, Jessica tended to screen any phone calls whatever the time of day. If Flin or Geordie were there, they would pick up the phone but in their absence she just waited for the answer machine to click into action. There were several reasons for this, all perfectly valid from Jessica’s point of view: firstly her mother had an annoying habit of phoning her at least once a day. ‘Ah, Jessica, chérie, how are you, my darling?’ she would start in her heavy French accent, and then barrage her with inquiries about what she was up to, how her day had gone, where was she going that night, who was seeing whom – questions, questions, questions. Jessica found it exhausting. Much easier not to pick up the phone and then she never had to feel awful about being rude to her mother and hurting her feelings. The second reason was that people like Rob would phone, or some other man she was trying to avoid, and she hated having to deal with awkward confrontational conversations, particularly during free evenings. Thirdly, quite often she couldn’t be bothered to talk to anyone. If she were stuck on a desert island she supposed she might eventually bore herself, but on the whole she enjoyed her own company and was perfectly happy doing her own thing – reading books and magazines, watching telly and videos. So when the phone rang, she ignored it and carried on watching Heartbeat, where PC Mike Bradley had just arrived on the scene.
The answer machine switched on. ‘Jessica, I know you’re there. Please be there. It’s me. Pick up the phone.’ Sigh. Pause. ‘Jessica, pick up the bloody phone, please. Jes—’
‘Flin, do you realize what time it is? Heartbeat has just started,’ she barked into the receiver. ‘Stop being so selfish.’
‘Listen, Jessica, darling, I’m really sorry, but I need a huge favour.’
‘If you think I’m coming to pick you up from Heathrow, think again.’ What was he on?
‘Look, please, Jessica, I really need you to.’ He always said her name a lot when he wanted something. ‘I had my card swallowed in Florence, I’ve used all my traveller’s cheques and I have no other way of getting home. You know I wouldn’t ask you if there was an alternative. Please.’ Flin continued through her silence: ‘Can’t you record Heartbeat and come back in half an hour and pretend I never interrupted your Sunday night at all?