Shit!
How had she not seen it earlier?
What in the actual fuck was she going to do now?
She could hardly wear her hoody or her boob-tube again. And a sluttier dress might send the wrong message.
Back in the kitchen, she held the gown on the table, rubbing at the stain with a washing-up cloth. The pallid chunks came away but the wet patch the work left was the size of a hardback. And small flecks of adhesive seemed to have been carried across.
Donna stood on her balcony, letting the dress blow in the breeze like an oversized handkerchief, her royal favour, as though she were trying to attract the attention of yet more comely suitors. As though she’d soon have so many she could start turning them down.
As though she could afford to call off tonight and get a good sleep, safe in the knowledge there’d be more interest tomorrow.
But down below on the pavement nobody stopped to look up.
27
Everybody is searching for their true love, their future girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife.
The world according to some of the books in Donna Creosote’s flat.
Nobody keeps them.
The world according to Donna Crick-Oakley’s experience.
It is a kind of bravery to wait behind the door and expect wine or roses when it opens.
Donna let that thought run across her mind as she stood there, at twenty-six minutes past seven, wearing an old silvery silk-effect top and her last surviving pair of skinny jeans. She’d have to take the dress to the dry-cleaners tomorrow.
She had already seen Sammy approaching the building.
She’d been watching from the balcony.
Tonight, there were no fireworks rising from the lower floors. No parties either. Not yet.
Still, early doors, as her father used to say.
Thinking of her father before she met a date was an odd constant in her life. Odd not necessarily because he was her father, but because he hadn’t been in her life when she’d had any dates. Any serious ones, anyway.
She didn’t count being taken out for her prom.
It hadn’t ended well.
Though perhaps in that case she should really include it.
It certainly fit the trend.
It is another kind of armour, isn’t it, to have such cynicism at the start?
But, she wondered, after what she’d been through the other day, did she really need more armour?
Did she want it?
Would it matter, anyway, once she’d had a drink or two? Or three?
The knock came.
Loud enough, but a little hesitant. The pause between the second tap and the third had been slightly too long to have been an intended skipped beat.
Donna took her time to reach for the handle.
Thirty seconds, or thereabouts.
Making him wait.
Hi there.
Hello.
Good to – How are you?
Good, thanks. And you?
Good. Thank you. Good. How about –
How about what?
No, sorry, I was just going to ask how you were again.
Oh, ok.
Sorry, I think I’m still recovering. The lift isn’t working, so I had to take the stairs.
Oh, you’re kidding! Really?
Yeah.
So you had to walk up all twelve flights?
Is that how many? Shit – I mean, sorry for that – just catching my breath.
It’s ok, Sam. We’re both adults here.
Yeah, guess we are. And, it’s Sammy. Sorry.
Ok.
Ok. I’ve got this for you, by the way.
He pulled a plastic bag from out behind his back, and withdrew a bottle from inside it.
Almost a magic trick.
It was rosé, though. Donna didn’t much care for rosé. Especially not sparkling.
Still, she smiled and took it.
The story of her life.
Thank you. That’s very kind, but you didn’t have to.
You asked, so I thought I would.
He smiled.
She smiled back.
She hadn’t exactly asked.
Well, thanks. Would you like a glass now?
Do you have any beer? If that’s ok?
I don’t have any in at the moment. Sorry. If you don’t fancy wine, I can just save it?
No. No, don’t be daft. I’ll have a glass with you.
Ok, good.
Because Donna wasn’t about to drink a whole bottle of rosé by herself.
Not when she wasn’t alone.
Come in, then. I’ll just get the glasses.
Ok.
If you want to sit at the table, just go ahead.
Ok.
I did have a couch, but it was old, so I gave it to charity. I’m just waiting to find a good deal on another, actually.
She used to have an extra beanbag.
Yeah, I know the feeling.
Really?
Yeah. I’ve just moved out from my parents’, and I’m still looking for furniture. My Dad said he’d drive me to Ikea, but he hasn’t done yet. Been busy, you know?
Yeah. Don’t you drive, then?
Well, I do drive. I’ve got a license and everything. But I don’t have a car at the moment, because of the move and everything I can’t really afford it. With petrol going up all the time and whatnot.
You say ‘whatnot’?
Did I? Sorry –
Stop apologising. I just meant that it sounds kinda…posh.
Does it?
Not ‘posh’ posh, maybe, but kinda like something a Southerner might say. It’s a bit cut glass. Queen’s English, you know?
Really?
Yeah, go on. Say it, like, all Southern, and you’ll see what I mean.
What? ‘Whatnot’? But surely if you say anything all Southern it’s going to sound… Southern.
Well, he had her there.
She laughed at herself, a little, and pushed a large glass of wine across the table. Watched the way he held it like a beer glass, with his hand around the body, rather than the stem.
She’d do the same now.
So, how did work go? Was that pie-in-demand thing starting today, or is that at the weekend?
That’s at the weekend. And it’s pie-on-demand. But we did take a few orders. Five, I think.
That’s good.
Yeah. Are you sure you don’t want one?
No. I mean, yes, I’m sure. But thank you.
Ok. If you change your mind –
Ok, thanks.
Donna drank her wine. Didn’t exactly savour it, just swallowed it down.
Have you been up to much?
Not much since yesterday, no.
Certainly not getting hammered and fantasizing about a long-dead Bavarian king.
Oh, ok.
Ok.
So, you haven’t heard from any of the others or anything?
Since yesterday? No. Did you send that message out yet? I mean, I didn’t get it, so probably not. Right?
Yeah.
What, you did, or you didn’t?
Didn’t.
Ok.
She watched him gulp at his wine, glance around at the flat.
She couldn’t tell whether he appreciated the tidiness or not.
You don’t have a TV?
No. Unfortunately –
It’s ok, I understand. I don’t either.
What, you don’t like to watch it? Or you just don’t have one?
Oh. I do like to watch it, I guess. You know, sometimes. I don’t really like British TV, you know. All the cop shows are shit – sorry – and I don’t like so
aps or anything. Just fuc– just stupid plots and an excuse for rape and murder everywhere.
Sounds like a Viking invasion.
That’s exactly what I said when Jim’s wife was telling me earlier. And all she said to that is, ‘Weren’t they in York?’ Man, I swear, if she wrote soaps they’d be much better. She’s like my Mum, only even more batshit, and I don’t have to pretend that she makes any sense, you know?
Doesn’t Jim mind you laughing at his wife, though?
Nah, he’s all for it. It’s all good-natured, you know? She’s sweet, really. Just a bit out of her tree. She’s twelve years older than him, and he’s getting on a bit, so I guess it’s a bit of the old, erm...
Senile dementia?
Yeah, that’d be it. Bit odd to forget, isnit?
Yeah.
She didn’t like the way he said isnit.
She poured herself another glass of wine.
Didn’t offer him a top-up.
He didn’t seem to notice.
American TV’s alright, though. It’s much better. Especially the cop shows. I think they get bigger budgets, but it’s also just better quality. When they can afford to have that many episodes in a season, they’re really under pressure to deliver good stories, you know?
Yeah.
And US sitcoms are much better as well. Much funnier. And the chicks in them are –
Are what?
I was going to say they’re – always hotter. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you’re not, or anything –
It’s ok. Don’t worry about it.
She let the half-compliment go. If he thought it, she wanted him to say it outright.
How come you don’t have a TV, though? If you like all those shows.
Oh, yeah. I just haven’t bought one yet. I had to get a cooker and a fridge and things. You know, the essentials. Lucky for me I work for Jim, because he was able to get me a fridge for really cheap. And it’s a fairly new one, too. He used to have it in his shed, before he moved house himself in January. They’re closer to the hospital now.
Oh, ok. That makes sense, I guess.
How about you? Are you waiting to find one, or what?
A TV?
Yeah.
No.
How come? Just use your computer?
Don’t really watch it.
You don’t like it? You ever seen CSI?
No, never.
What about the sitcoms?
Not really. I watched some of Friends back in the day, but my mum didn’t like it, so we didn’t watch much. It was good, though. What I saw.
Sammy topped his glass up, offered more to her.
She nodded yes.
Lots of bookcases, you’ve got. Lots of books.
Yeah.
That’s cool. What sort are they?
Just books, I suppose. You know, kinda girly ones.
That’s not very descriptive, for someone who reads a lot.
I know, it wasn’t really, was it?
If a customer came up to me and said, ‘So, what sort of pies do you have?’ and I said, ‘You know, kinda fishy ones,’ I’d probably get fired.
So, what, you’re going to fire me?
Maybe.
Really?
Don’t be fucking daft.
What?
Daft, I meant. Don’t be daft. Sorry.
I’m just messing with you. You can swear, you know. I’ve heard bad words before.
She wondered if he was thinking I’ll bet you have, but somehow managing to hold his tongue.
C’mon, then. What sort of girly books? Don’t think you’ve escaped the question so easy.
Well, they’re not all girly. Just some are a bit more girly than others.
I might have to rethink that firing decision.
He paused, sipping slowly at his wine.
Donna didn’t know how he could take his time with it like that. It tasted like fizzy vinegar.
Well, that would be a shame.
It would. So are you gonna tell me?
Just really girly books. You wouldn’t like them. There’s no cops or Americans or anything in them.
So, we’re talking, like, Mills & Boon stuff here?
No. No, we are not.
She knew that most of those weren’t really that dirty, but still felt herself blushing.
Really? You’re going red.
And he’d noticed.
Which was exactly why people wore armour.
I bet it’s all high-end ‘erotica’, isn’t it? Daring move, putting it in your living room –
It’s not. It’s really not –
You’re still blushing. I don’t believe you. I bet it’s all Northern an’ all, isn’t it? Fifty Shades of Gravy, and T’ Story of Ooah?
Sammy was laughing as he stood up and moved towards the shelves.
As she rose to follow him, she noticed that he was a good few inches taller than her, and also that the swagger he’d been showing off the day before had all but disappeared.
He reached the bookcase before she’d properly left her seat, pulled out a book and started scanning the back cover.
Oh, so it’s like fairytales and fantasy and things? That’s cool. That’s good stuff.
He almost sounded disappointed.
Really? Do you like them?
Well, I’m not really into the fairy stories, like Cinderella and things. I like The Lion King, and Toy Story, I guess, but that’s about as far as I got with Disney.
Yeah, me too.
I do like some fantasy stories, though.
Yeah?
Yeah, like, ones with all the swords and –
Hot chicks?
I was going to say ‘whatnot’. But, yeah, mainly. Conan, and all that. Lots of things that are pretty much Conan but with different names. And I used to have tons, well, a few, of these big books on myths, you know, which were really cool. Do you know what I’m on about? Those big, they’re probably bigger than A4, books, with little stories from Greek and Norse myth, and with those really great pictures in. I had one of the Odyssey that I swear I read like twenty times in the first week I got it.
Really? Yeah, I know the ones you mean. They’re awesome.
Yeah. Really awesome. I used to sleep with them under my pillow. Whichever one I was reading at the time.
Oh.
Is that weird? Does that make me sound weird? The way you said that then, it sounds as if you think that’s weird.
No. Not weird. It’s just, I didn’t expect you to say it. I mean, I know where you’re coming from. I’ve done similar stuff.
Like slept with storybooks under your pillow?
Well –
Really? You have, haven’t you? Do you still do it?
It’s not that I – no, I don’t sleep with them under my pillow.
What is it then?
Nothing.
Aww, c’mon. Tell me.
No.
I won’t tell anyone. Promise. Look, wine-promise.
He took a sip.
What the hell’s a ‘wine-promise’? Sounds Southern to me.
It’s where I promise, and then I drink wine to seal the deal. See?
He took another.
Oh.
That one meant I’m weird, didn’t it?
Yes.
You must be weird too, though, if you won’t tell me what you do with your books. Do you have a fort in your bedroom? You have a fucking fort in your bedroom, don’t you?
No. Stop guessing.
No. Do you, erm, sleep under a blanket made of books? Like, all sewn together and whatnot?
No. You won’t guess.
I will. Do you keep books inside your teddy bears?
No. You�
�re being stupid. Look, just hold on.
She turned and moved towards the bedroom.
She heard him start to follow.
Just wait here, ok. You’re not going to see it tonight.
Oh.
She turned again and left him there.
When she came back, she was carrying a book.
Is that what I think it is?
Yep.
You’ve actually got it?
Yep.
She handed it over, watching his face. His eyes especially, and his mouth.
She liked his smile.
She wouldn’t kiss it tonight, though.
She’d make him wait until the second date for that.
28
Are they ready yet?
Donna had asked Sammy to pick up some cheese on his way over.
He’d arrived saying that he hadn’t been sure what sort of cheese to get.
Before he left last night, she’d let him know, for future reference, that she didn’t really like rosé. He’d apologised for guessing wrong.
Then he’d said: Would you like to try rose B?
He’d brought a couple of four-cheese pizzas instead, he told her, in a bid to cover as many bases as he could.
He’d also brought a bottle of red.
He called over to her from the desk. She was in the kitchen, fixing drinks. They’d set up the dining chairs in front of the computer, so that they could watch old sitcom episodes they found online.
You have to see this, he’d said.
Not quite. Depends how done you want them?
What?
How crispy do you want them?
I’m easy. Whatever you want.
I prefer them crispy.
That’s cool.
I’ll give them another few minutes.
Ok. Come look at this.
He showed her a clip from Friends. She remembered it. Must have been from an episode she’d seen.
She still laughed, though.
And this one. This is cool, gets me every time. Just wait for it.
She laughed, and she watched him laughing.
They moved back to the kitchen to eat, because Donna didn’t want to get any crumbs or stains on the carpet.
I won’t spill. Promise, he’d said.
I will, she’d said. Wine-promise.
She took a sip of the red that he’d bought. It didn’t taste like vinegar, which was always a good start.
THE LESS THAN PERFECT LEGEND OF DONNA CREOSOTE Page 9