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“Is that what you want?” He unscrewed the lid of the smoothie and tapped the bottle against mine, like we were toasting. This wasn’t a date.
“Don’t we all? I’d love to have someone to love. Kids would be awesome. But life is sometimes…complicated. I work too much too.” I took a deep breath. “What about you? Things going well with…what was her name? Tara? She looks lovely.”
“Tara is fabulously…” He shot off a grimace, pushing the smoothie bottle away from him. “Tara is a lesbian. And that smoothie is rank.”
I took a cautious sip of mine and swallowed carefully.
“It’s…” I tried to read the label. “Organic beetroot-based vegan drink with nettle extract.” Itwasrank. Totally. “Not…quite blackberry smoothie.”
“We’re doing this all wrong. We’re supposed to have a nice quiet drink in the evening. Isn’t that what normal people do?”
“Who said we were normal people? We can do whatever we want. And who am I to argue if you like having a nice drink of nettle extract before bed?” I winked. He winked back.
“I should have got my slave to buy you champagne.”
“She’s not your slave.”
“No, she’s not. She’s actually quite rude and probably bought these just to piss me off.”
“Rightly so, I guess.”
We both smiled. We were ridiculous.
“So, since you’re here, wearing my clothes and your smoothie is undrinkable, do you want to help me put these sheets back on the bed?”
“Well done for washing them. I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever I had. It’s been all around the set. Everyone’s been ill.”
“I’ve got a rock-solid immune system, promise. I deal with hundreds of teenagers, every day. If you remember what it was like being a teenager, they never wash their hands, live off junk food and think hygiene is a dirty word.
“I never smelled. Not even as a teen,” he said, matter of fact, and grabbed the pile of sheets. “My first make-up artist used to force me to use body spray. I was thirteen, and the show I was working on was sponsored by Love Mist. You know? That cheap nasty perfume stuff. We didn’t smell. We all stank. Vile stuff.”
We made the bed, chitchatting about nonsense from our youth.
I had officially morphed into my grandma.
I didn’t know what it was with him, but he made me nervous in a way where I behaved like…I didn’t know any better. I was a fully-fledged adult and knew perfectly well how to entertain. I’d had colleagues over for drinks. I’d had small, intimate birthday parties. My brother sometimes came and stayed over with his friends. Those kinds of things, my hosting was immaculate, but with Con, I ridiculed his kind gifts and made him take on my domestic chores.
“Your bed is nice. Very comfortable,” he said.
“Should be for the price I paid for it.”
He stared at me. Wringing his hands.
I stared back.
“I really like your flat. I like that it’s small and cosy, and it’s…it feels safe.”
“The area isn’t always the best, but I’ve never had trouble here.”
“That’s what my agent said when she booked me into that hotel. It’s not very comfortable, to be honest. Cheap and cheerful, and everything on the inside is purple.”
“Must drive you mad, staying there.”
“Yeah, it does. I keep thinking I should buy a house, but then I move around for work all the time, and I’d never stay there anyway, so it makes no sense. But I miss having a base. Coming home. Being able to wash my own clothes. The little things.”
“Like a comfortable bed?”
“Yup, and your pillows are awesome.”
