‘Hot water’s off again,’ I hear Lauren yell from the bathroom. ‘Can you check the boiler?’
We knew when we moved in here that the rent was cheap for a reason, but after two years, I’m beginning to think we should be charging the landlord instead of the other way around.
Living above a supermarket in Durham city centre isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. The landlord rents out this two-bedroom flat for £480 a month because it’s tiny, old and the second bedroom is actually the living room, giving us no lounge area to sit in and bitch about him.
I close my laptop and walk into the hallway, throwing open the cupboard door. I sigh and scowl at the world’s noisiest, most unreliable boiler. It’s so old, I feel like I should be viewing it from behind an oil lantern.
I bang on it first, for no other reason than I hate it, before checking the pressure gauge. Unsurprisingly, it’s at zero. I turn the knob and watch it slowly rise back up to 1.5.
Before I lived on my own, I had no idea what a boiler pressure gauge was, let alone how to maintain it. My handyman skills have dramatically increased in many areas, including radiator bleeding, plug changing and, most recently, wall-hole filling, after my attempt to hang a picture went horribly wrong. That’san area I still need to work on.
I turn the boiler on and off and wait to hear the pilot light kick back in, feeling very smug when it sparks into action. ‘All done,’ I yell back at Lauren. ‘Might take a while for the water tank to heat up again, though.’
A few moments later, I hear the bathroom door being flung open, as Lauren stomps through to my bedroom.
‘How the hell is anyone going to let me touch their hair, when mine looks like this?’ she asks, pointing to a blonde frizzy mop which gives mine a run for its money. ‘I knew I should have showered last night.’
‘Well, you didn’t get in until three am,’ I remind her. ‘And it would have been pretty rude to leave whoever the hell you brought home waiting.’
‘You heard us, huh?’ she asks, smirking. ‘Sorry.’
‘I think most of Durham did,’ I reply. ‘Though she was considerably louder than you. I think I prefer it when you bring men home. Their moaning decibel range is far easier to sleep through. I thought for a moment you were murdering Kate Bush.’
‘Well, fear not,’ Lauren says, sitting on my dressing-table stool. ‘I’m going to be at some Wella colouring course in London next week, so you’ll have the entire place to yourself. Maybe Ed could come down? Produce a few decibels of your own?’
‘Tempting,’ I reply. ‘But I’ve got so much on. Plus, Allison’s on holiday next week and I said I’d take on some extra shifts.’
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Lauren says, opening and sniffing a tub of my moisturiser. ‘Call Centre jobs are the worst. Crammed into a little cubicle and having to ask permission to go to the toilet. Customers either hanging up or being pissy with you. . . no thanks.’
‘It’s not too terrible,’ I reply, watching her repeatedly stick her nose in and out of my Olay. ‘I just zone out when they startcomplaining about their terrible broadband signals. Besides, the money isn’t horrible, and I don’t have to touch people’s dandruffy heads, unlike some.’
She pauses and nods. ‘True. Though a bit of dandruff isn’t too much of a hassle. It’s when they rock up with stinky hair that’s not been washed for a week, or they’ve ignored a raging fungal scalp infection and expect you to deal with it.’
‘And you think call centres are the worst?’ I ask, feeling ill at the thought of a fungus-infested scalp. ‘I’d have to disagree.’
‘Overruled,’ she replies, banging her hand on my dressing table. Lauren finds it hilarious to make lawyer jokes and is convinced that my life is going to be like an episode ofSuitsorThe Good Wife. She forgets this is Britain, and also the real world. If the law students I’ve met are anything to go by, the chances of meeting some handsome, yet maverick and mysterious lawyer who will tear me away from Ed are less than zero.
‘Anyway,’ I say, waiting for her to stop laughing at her own joke, ‘I need the cash for meeting up with Ed. Hotels and train fares aren’t cheap.’ I signal to her that her dressing gown is in danger of falling open.
‘You’ve hardly seen him recently, though,’ she replies, covering herself up. ‘You both must be climbing the walls.’
‘We’re not animals!’ I reply. ‘We don’t need to shag every five minutes. I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly certain nothing will close up or fall off if we don’t have sex for a couple of weeks.’
‘Well, I’m no farmer, but I can still smell bullshit,’ she replies. ‘You’re nineteen not ninety! You’re just as obsessed with sex as the rest of us. Are you bored with Ed?’
‘What? No, of course not! L, can you stop sniffing everything on my dressing table– it’s weird.’
‘I mean, it would make sense. You’ve been together for a hundred years already. I get bored after a week.’
‘I am not bored with Ed,’ I insist. ‘In fact, I’m speaking to himlater. Now can we just drop this? I have revision to get on with.’
She puts down my hairspray and spins around on the stool. ‘Fine! I have a lukewarm shower to get to, anyway.’
She flounces back out and I open my laptop.Philosophy of Human Rights Law. Example of human rights are the right to freedom of. . .I am not bored with Ed. . .religion, the right to a fair. . . I mean, it’s been great being away from Castleton and experiencing new things, but that doesn’t mean I’m bored with Ed. . .trial, the right not to be tortured. . . and maybe being alone has been good for me. . .and the right to receive an education. . . FINE, I’m not bored with Ed, but god, the pressure of trying to maintain a long-distance relationship when I have a million other things going on is exhausting. However, if Lauren thinks I’m bored with Ed, maybe he does, too. I take out my phone.
Hello! Lauren’s away next week! Can you come up? xx
I need him to know that it’s not him, it’s me. . . but without having to say that overused phrase.
