by Kiki Archer
Meg smiled at her gumption. Honey Diamond, recognised everywhere she went, about to enter Ikea, the place where the average person bumps into at least three second cousins, a past teacher from primary school, two next door neighbours and one ex-partner, now refurbishing a home with the new love of their life. “Wait for me,” she said, catching up to the wind trousers and cagoule.
“I’m invisible,” said Honey with a giggle. “Is this what happens when you hit middle-aged-mum? Worrying that people are laughing at your messy hair and thrown-on comfy clothes, when all they’re doing is glancing at you, classing you as said middle-aged-mum and moving on.”
“There,” whispered Meg, eyeing the two men walking their way. “They’re looking.”
“At you!” said Honey with almost a wail. “Not one set of eyes has lingered on me. But they’re widening for you, look!” Nudging Meg’s arm she teased. “They fancy you.”
“They don’t. They’re clearly a couple.”
“They probably imagine you’re my kind and well-dressed carer then.”
“Oh stop it, you look lovely. Come on. If you couldn’t tell by the sign, this is the entrance.”
Walking under the huge yellow letters the women stepped into Ikea. “Bags ladies?” asked the girl on the other side of the revolving door, kitted out in blue trousers, yellow t-shirt, yellow cap and here to help breast tag.
Honey frowned. “Sorry, did you just call me a bag lady?”
“No. I asked if you would like bags, ladies.” The girl pointed to the stack of yellow crates full of over-sized blue carriers.
“We’re okay, thank you,” said Meg, trying to guide Honey towards the escalator.
“I will actually,” said Honey, taking one for each hand.
The woman was smiling. “Lovely, and there are toilets over there if you need to go before you head upstairs.”
Honey nodded and moved away before hissing under her breath. “She thinks I need the toilet. She thinks I’m one of those women.”
“At least she doesn’t think you’re Honey Diamond. Come on up; let’s get this started.”
Honey stepped onto the escalator. “This really is quite exciting. And look!” She pointed at the sign on the wall. “You get twelve months interest-free credit when you spend £500 in the store.”
“Honey, you won’t be spending £500 in the store and you wouldn’t need the interest-free credit if you did, would you?”
“It looks like a good offer.”
Meg frowned. “Are you teasing me?”
“No, I’m excited. I’m giddy. This is so totally freeing. I knew your portal had potential. I’ve never met anyone who’d think of taking me here. You’re a breath of fresh air, Meg, you really are. Oooh, what’s that lovely smell?” She stepped out as the escalator rolled to the upper floor. “Ten scented candles for 85p? And all these colours!” The eyes widened. “And cushions for £2.50!” She picked one up and squeezed. “It feels so good. This can’t be £2.50, surely?” Opening the first blue bag, she shoved two cushions inside. “They’ll look good in the lounge.”
“On your mink sofa? Oh, Honey.”
“What? Come on! Which way?”
Meg laughed at the enthusiasm. “You don’t have to do this for me. I knew this was a bad idea. We could be sitting in some posh restaurant right now.”
“And miss these desk lamps! No chance! £2 each, and they bend, and again so many colours.” She lifted the red one. “Perfect for my study.” Dropping it into the over-sized blue bag she squeezed the cushions once more. “I really do love those cushions, and I may come back for some of these candles too.” She stopped to study the overhanging sign and its list of areas. “Living rooms or kitchens first?”
“You just follow these yellow arrows on the floor.”
“It’s like Dorothy and the yellow brick road. Come on! Here’s one!”
Meg couldn’t help but get caught up in the giddiness. Whether Honey was acting or not, her enthusiasm was contagious. And it wasn’t that distant a memory back to when she’d been here for the first time herself. A trip to Ikea before university. Buying all those essentials: table lamp, cushions, candles. She smiled, remembering just how stuffed full her blue carrier bag had been by the end. Mugs with matching plates, bowls, cutlery. A picture to hang on the wall. “Wait up,” she said as Honey disappeared into a lounge room setting.
“Sit, sit!” The blue bags were bulging next to the wind trousers and the hand was patting the sofa. “This must be Cath Kidston. My designer used Cath Kidston for Sofia’s room.”
“I don’t think she’s Swedish. And even if she were I don’t think she’d display in Ikea.” Meg took a seat and looked around at the floral walls, floral rugs and floral lampshades. They were in the first of many faux living rooms, set up in small pods to give the customer a feel of how your very own lounge could look if you chose said sofa, said rugs and said walls. “Look.” Meg lifted the tag hanging from the arm of the sofa. “This is the KlitVik range.”
“The KlitVik range? Really?”
“Yes, you get matching footstool, armchair and cushions.”
“I have cushions.”
“And they’re Swedish. Everything in here’s Swedish. Haven’t you noticed all the Daim bars?” She pointed back out to the arrows where another wire basket was stuffed full of Sweden’s most popular chocolate export.
Honey reached for the label attached to the coffee table. “This coffee table’s called the LiaTorp.”
“The lie atop? Really?” Meg grinned. “Come lie atop this coffee table?”
Honey smiled. “Who do you think lives here? Who do you think might lie atop this table together? Wait, I know. Lesbian teachers. Primary school teachers. This room’s pretty. It’s feminine.” She turned her head to the large bookcase behind them. “Pretend it’s us. We come home from work and put our books in there. You work at that desk in the corner.”
Meg frowned at the small, white metal workstation. “Where do you work?”
“Here on this sofa, as I watch the TV. And look, we even keep our tea and coffee mugs in that cabinet over there. Fancy a living room having a sofa, desk, bookcase, shelving unit and a cabinet for kitchen cups. All very compact, but I like it. It’s cosy. It’s all you need.” She stopped at the cough from the woman standing behind her, noticing for the first time the queue of people waiting to set foot in the floral room. “Sorry,” she said, “lesbian teachers. We like this one.”
Meg scooted off the sofa and helped Honey and Honey’s blue bags out through the crowd. “Plenty more to see,” she said to the waiting customers, before lowering her voice to Honey. “Lesbian teachers?” It was too late, she hadn’t heard. She was already bottom down, wind trousers crossed on the sofa in the next pod.
“Welcome home, darling,” said the voice. “How was your day in the city?”
Meg laughed. The banter was so light-hearted and refreshing, and Honey was funny, endearingly so, a playful personality to add to all the other positives she had going on. “I’m a banker now?”
“We both are. This black and white theme really suits us. It’s classically edgy. See how we have CDs and DVDs on the shelves now, and tumblers for whisky in the cabinet. I can’t get over all this really great storage everywhere.”
“I’m not sure bankers would be sitting on an Ikea sofa.”
“They would because this one’s called the Svlasta. See, it even sounds expensive. Oh look! That black rug! It’s gorgeous! Perfect for my bedroom.” Honey dropped to her knees and started to roll it. “I think I may need a trolley.”
Meg tried to halt the stealing of the shag pile. “Stop it!” she laughed. “You can’t just take this one. Look at the tag. It gives you a location number. That’s where all the rugs are kept. You take one from there.”
“Like a treasure hunt?” The cheap shag unwrapped itself back onto the floor.
“This Svlasta rug can be found at 202.758.14 aisle 8 location 9.”
“How am I supposed to
remember that?” Honey bent back down. “I’ll just take this one.”
“Go and get a pencil and one of those sheets.” She pointed towards the walkway. “You write down the list of locations you need to visit at the end.”
“How clever,” said Honey, wind trousers rustling away before she let out a squeal of delight. “Meg, look! I’ve got a paper tape measure too!” The thin metre-long rule was flapping as the rustling made its way back. “You’re allowed to just rip them off!”
Meg’s heart was melting. This woman was so loveable, her innocence so bewitching. There was nothing pretentious or pompous lurking behind the thick foundation. There was a natural purity shining through her eager eyes. A purity too good for someone like me, thought Meg, dropping her head to the yellow arrows and walking them into the next lounge, the weight on her shoulders becoming too much to bear. “This is more my sort of living room,” she said looking around at the plain décor.
“No,” Honey took a seat on the sofa, “this is too boring. This is a lounge for doctors. Wine in the cabinet. Journals on the shelves. You need something with a bit more colour, but not quite as floral as the lesbian teacher’s lounge, just something with intrigue.”
“You think I like colour?”
“I think you like the organisation of the banker’s lounge. I sense a slight rigidity in you sometimes, yet there are definite sparks of colour, definite aspects to you that you wouldn’t expect. Unpredictable maybe.”
“Says the A-list celebrity loving life in Ikea.” Meg smiled. “And our flat’s actually quite messy.”
“Really? But is it more your flatmate?”
Meg felt herself pulled back into that cloud of worry, that untold truth. “She…”
“You did say you had a flatmate, didn’t you?”
“Jo, yes. She’s been my best friend for ten years now. She’s got her flaws, but then haven’t we all?”
“I’d like to meet her one day.” Honey paused. “My friendship circle’s always been small. It’s sometimes hard knowing who you can trust. Who wants to know you for you, not just for the story or the selfie.” She put on a fake voice. “I met Honey Diamond; we did lunch.”
“Do you do lunch a lot?”
“Not anymore. I got burned a bit when I was younger by social media and false friends. Throwing myself into work seemed the best solution. And I have Liza, and mother, and Sofia, and Gerty and Dot.” Honey groaned to herself. “Oh god, they’re all so ancient. I know I need to get out more, but that’s so much easier said than done. That’s maybe why I overstepped the mark last night. You arrived on my doorstep earlier in the day like some hot Lois Lane and we got on, we bonded. And we’re similar ages, aren’t we?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Exactly, and we talked, we talked about stuff outside of the interview. You seemed genuinely interested. You took me to the services. I liked you. I tried to show you by cooking for you and if that wasn’t enough of a disaster on its own, I ruined everything by trying to kiss you. I wanted to seize the moment. I wanted to make friends. More than friends. I like you, Meg. You’re not only gorgeous, you’re interesting. You’re unique. You brought me to the world’s largest furniture retailer, for goodness sake. And it takes a really special person to do that.”
The sharp cough from the same queuing woman interrupted again. “And there’s a lot more of the world’s largest furniture retailer to see,” said the voice.
“Sorry, just two doctors relaxing in their lounge.”
“I thought you were lesbian teachers?” The woman looked puzzled. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Honey dropped her gaze. “I don’t think so, apart from in that floral room down there.”
“I’m sure I do. I am, in actual fact, a doctor.”
The eyes were back. “Oooh, you’ll like this room then.”
“You look familiar. Definitely.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I definitely know you. Yes. I do. You’re familiar.”
Meg took hold of Honey’s waist, guiding her away from the enquiring eyes. “Sorry. It’s time we tasted the meatballs. Come on, Iris, the café’s this way.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sitting at the huge window with its panoramic view of the car park, Meg decided she had no choice but to confess her sins. Honey’s behaviour had gone from charmingly endearing to heartbreakingly beautiful as they’d moved steadily through the kitchens area with her posing as a stay-at-home mum, cooking tea for the children in the cosy and compact show-pod. She was free. She was natural. She was loveable. So, so loveable. Meg looked down at her plate of meatballs. Honey had even found joy in the fact the Köttbullar meatballs were on special at £1 a plate. And the choice between meatballs or an all-day breakfast at £1.50 had been debated with such thought. There were no judgements about what sort of place would have a café with windows focusing entirely on the car park, or what sort of person would bring an A-list celebrity to such a place. She was loving the experience. Loving life. There was literally nothing to dislike about this woman.
Yes, if they made it to tomorrow, Meg realised she might see Honey in a different light, at home in her real world. Would entitlement creep in? Would self-importance show its face? Meg lifted her eyebrows. Probably not. The woman sitting in front of her was perfect. Too perfect for her. She didn’t deserve to be cheated, to be lied to. If they were going to have a future of any kind, colleagues, friends, lovers, she just had to tell her. Meg felt her stomach lurch at the thought.
“You know that website,” she said, somehow managing to talk without breathing.
“That godawful SlebSecrets one? I meant to tell you. Mother’s found them. That’s why she’s coming round this evening. To present me with all the information. Oh goodness, these meatballs are fantastic.” Honey spoke through the mouthful. “She’d usually just get her men to deal with it, but it’s the first time I’ve ever asked to be involved, so she’s letting me lead on this one. Sorry, look at me guzzling away. I must get Sofia to find out this recipe.” She swallowed and popped one more into her mouth before nodding. “The site’s down now, so whatever Mother did worked, but I’m interested to know what sort of sadistic psychopath would make a living from spilling secrets and lies like this. From taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune. They must get a real kick out of abusing people.”
Meg carefully placed her fork on her plate. “Did they make a living from it?”
“I assume so. It was a popular site. Most sites have adverts don’t they? You know those awful pop-up things. Website owners get paid for those.”
“I don’t think SlebSecrets had paid advertising.”
“I thought you’d not heard of it?”
“I looked when I got home.” And there was another lie.
“What did you think? I imagine they live in a dirty attic somewhere, surrounded by porn.”
Meg didn’t want to laugh, she didn’t mean to laugh, but she laughed. “No lie atop furniture for them then?”
“Definitely not, and no Svlasta sofa or rug. They’ll be the sort of person who hurt animals when they were younger.”
Meg laughed again. “Really?”
“Yes. A narcissistic psychopath who has fun causing distress and feeds off other people’s unhappiness. A one-time cat killer now turned savage nutcase.”
Meg took her fork and stabbed a meatball. That was that then. Honey could never know. No amount of justification could compete with that character assassination. And maybe she was right, apart from the attic room and porn, maybe there had been a slight pleasure garnered from the spilling of secrets, but not in a narcissistic psychopathic way, just in a – who do you think you are lying to the public way. Celebrities were protected. They were shielded by their fame. Why should they get special treatment? Why should they—
“Would you like it if your secrets were spilled all over the internet?”
Meg chewed slowly before swallowing. “I think that’s the mistake people m
ake. They don’t view celebrities as real people.”
Honey scooped up another meatball. “I’m a real person.”
“I know you are. I see that now. But you were so untouchable.” She paused. “I tried lots of times to get an interview.”
“You didn’t!” The eyes widened. “Did you?”
Meg nodded.
The hand reached over the table for Meg’s arm. “You should have said! I’d have given you an interview.”
“How? I tried to contact you through official channels, and some not so official channels. I was at press interviews; I tried to ask questions but you never saw me.”
“We’ve met before?!”
“I’ve seen you lots of times. But you’ve never noticed me.”
“Oh, Meg!” The arm was rubbed with warmth. “I would have noticed you! I feel awful!”
“It’s fine. I think it’s probably the same for lots of people. That’s why they believe you’re untouchable. You mean the world to them, but to you… they don’t even exist.”
The voice was quiet. “I’ve never thought of it like that before.” The eyes looked back up. “But that doesn’t give people the right to be mean.”
“I know. But maybe people don’t realise they’re being mean. Maybe they’re just gossiping.”
“Gossiping is mean.”
“People do it. Everyone does it.”
“I’m not sure I do it.” Honey paused. “Maybe I’ve never had anyone to do it with.” Speaking with a smile she squeezed the arm once more. “Meg, will you be my gossip?”
“Ha! I don’t want to corrupt your innocence.”
“Maybe I’d like you to corrupt my innocence.” The eyes lingered. “Maybe I’d like to be bad.”
On any other occasion Meg would have laughed at such a line but it was delivered in a fashion that made her shudder instead with desire. “I…”
“Tell me about the first time we met.”
“The interview?”
“The first time we were in each other’s presence.”
“2006. I saw you in Wicked.”
“No!?”