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‘What’s up, puss?’ I bend down to stroke him. ‘Been bored at home all day?’
I bet he’s hardly moved from the side of the radiator where his basket is now installed. This cottage may have set me back a fortune to buy it, but due to its inordinately small size, it costs very little to run. Relatively. There still always seem to be more bills than there is cash to pay them.
Before I think to feed myself, I tend to Archie’s needs. I have learned that any delay in can-opening leads to severe lacerations to the lower leg. Sometimes I wonder whether he is entirely grateful for my unconditional love and hospitality.
In the freezer, there’s a macaroni cheese ready meal and I slide it into the microwave. As a token nod towards healthy eating, I fling together a salad. Even though it’s a weeknight, I pour myself a glass of red wine. I was ridiculously busy at the salon today and think I deserve a treat.
After I’ve finished my meal, Archie takes up residence on my lap and we’re settling down for an exciting night’s viewing when there’s a knock at my door. Instantly, I know who it is. My neighbour has developed his own ‘signature’ knock, so that I don’t have to peer through the spyhole to see who it is.
I open the door and, sure enough, Mike is standing there. Miserable Mike, Nina calls him. But he isn’t miserable, he’s sad and I think there’s a world of difference.
‘Come on in, Mike.’ He does so and instantly fills the living room.
Mike Perry lives in the house next door to mine. Not the one joined to me, but a slightly bigger, detached cottage to the left. Six months ago, his wife just up and left him. No reasons given, no explanations, no build up to it. He thought they were perfectly happy. She clearly didn’t. One night he came home from work to find their suitcases were gone, along with all of Tania’s clothes and the contents of their bank account. Five years of marriage down the pan, just like that. A ‘Dear John’ letter on the coffee table told him that she’d never really loved him and was leaving ‘to find herself’. I hope one day that she finds out that she’s a selfish cow. In my book, Mike is one of the nicest men you could hope to meet.
He was great when I moved in here alone, helping out with small DIY jobs that needed doing, fixing leaking taps, oiling squeaking doors, carrying heavy objects, doing the kind of things that men do best. Since Tania’s been gone, I’ve tried to return the kindness by being a shoulder to cry on for him.
‘You said you’d cut my hair,’ Mike reminds me.
‘Ah. Yes, of course.’ That’s my telly watching up the spout for now. Archie glowers at Mike, now that his rest has been disturbed, and skulks off to the bedroom in a mood.
‘If you’re busy, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Do I look busy?’ I chide. ‘It’ll take me two minutes to get my stuff together.’
You have to help out a friend in need, don’t you? Otherwise, what’s the point?
Chapter Four
‘Did you eat dinner yet?’ I ask when we’re in the kitchen.
‘I picked up a sandwich on the way home.’
‘You can’t keep living on sandwiches for ever, Michael Perry.’ I give him a mock scowl. ‘You’ll waste away. Sometimes you have to venture back into the kitchen.’ Says she, who lives on pinged dinners for one.
‘I did take the liberty of bringing this though.’ He holds up a bottle of red wine.
‘I’ve already started.’ I show him my half-empty glass.
‘Celebrating?’ He looks worried. ‘I haven’t missed your birthday or something?’
‘No.’ I sigh. ‘Just glad to get through the day.’
‘Well, I have some good news,’ he states. He puts the bottle on the table and claps his hands together. ‘Pour me a glass while I go and wash my hair and then I’ll tell all.’
So Mike runs the gauntlet of Archibald, who could well be lying in wait to pounce on him on the landing, and quickly washes his hair in my bathroom. Then he comes to sit on the chair that I’ve dragged into the middle of the kitchen, under the light, and I throw a clean towel around his neck. He’s not a bad looking man, Mike. He’s slim, tall and has a nervous, boyish charm. His face is open and kind, honest. His hair is thick, brown and is desperately in need of a cut.
Feeling as if I have failed in my hairdressing services to him, I take out my scissors. ‘Good grief, I had no idea there were latent curls in here. When did I last do this?’
‘Weeks ago,’ Mike admits.
‘I hadn’t noticed how long it was getting.’ I start to snip.
