Chapter One CHAPTER ONE The girl standing in the doorway was tiny, about five foot two, black curly hair held on top of her head with pins and clips in some complicated but very feminine style that looked as if it should have sported ivy wreaths. She was postcoitally pretty, with cherry-red cheeks and a bittersweet mouth, the bottom lip drawn back very slightly under the top, and her eyes were bright and mustardy, framed by mascaraed lashes and faint but lively eyebrows. She should have been wearing wood-nymph muslins and lacy leather sandals but instead had on an equally beguiling soft flannel suit with fur at the collar and cuffs and a short skirt that would have looked obvious on a taller woman. The tip of her nose was winsomely pink. Smith let Jem walk in front of him down the hall, watching her as she turned her head this way and that, examining the pictures on the walls, peering through half-open doors, and patting tabletops as she went. She was definitely cute. She turned to Smith. "This is lovely, really, really lovely.
" She smiled widely and suddenly turned to face the wall, grabbing the top of the radiator with both hands and letting out a sigh of relief. "Sorry." She laughed. "My hands are freezing, like blocks of ice--feel." She made her small white hands into fists and placed one on each of Smith''s cheeks. "It''s so cold out there!" Smith started and felt suddenly shy. "Shall we go to the kitchen? I''d love a cup of tea." "It''s just through the living room," offered Smith, attempting to overtake her.
"Oh, yes. I know where the kitchen is. I saw it through the window. Outside." She laughed again. "Sorry, I''m really nosy. And I''ve seen so many horrible flats tonight I don''t think I could have faced coming in here if it hadn''t looked nice." They walked into the kitchen.
"My flatmate''s around somewhere," said Smith, filling the kettle. "He''s probably in his room. He''s called Ralph. I''ll take you to meet him when the tea''s done." Jem was examining a rack of herbs and spices. The plastic lids of the jars were covered in a layer of greasy dust; all of them were full. "Do you and Ralph ever cook?" she asked. Smith laughed.
"Erm, I think this speaks for itself." He opened the door of the fridge to reveal shelves laden with colorful packets proclaiming "Thai-style Green Curry," "Creole Chicken with Cajun Rice," "Chicken Tikka Masala," and floppy see-through bags containing fresh pasta sauces and soups. "Oh, God--typical boys! That''s such an expensive way to eat!" exclaimed Jem. "Cooking''s brilliant, you know--I''ll teach you. And Ralph, if you like." She used the name Ralph comfortably, as if she knew him. "I''m very good. I think.
Well, so I''ve been told. I can cook a Thai curry. These ready-made things are dreadful for you--it''s all the salt they put in them to make them taste of something." She closed the fridge and wandered back into the living room. "Do you want to ask me some questions?" she called, picking up a paperback from a shelf and examining the back cover. "Milk and sugar?" Smith called back. "Have you got any honey?" Smith futilely opened and closed a few cupboards. "No," he shouted.
"Got some golden syrup, though." "This is a gorgeous room, you know. No offense or anything, but it doesn''t look like two boys live here." "Thank you." Smith was embarrassed, and slightly shocked at being referred to as a boy in his thirtieth year. Jem quickly took note of the objects strewn around the top of the dark wooden coffee table inlaid with ornate brass work. She approved of a good messy coffee table--they held so many interesting clues to the day-to-day content and clutter of people''s lives. Smith and Ralph''s coffee table held a selection of remote controls, a satellite TV guide, an ashtray full of stubs, two packets of red Marlboro, a business card, a box of matches, and a home-delivery pizza menu.
Somewhere underneath it all she could make out a proper coffee-table art book, a set of car keys, and, barely visible but unmistakable, a small piece of green cardboard torn from a packet of Rizlas. Jem smiled quietly at her discovery. "Let''s go and say hello to Ralph." Smith was lingering in the doorway, his face cocooned in wreaths of steam from his tea. "And then I''ll show you around." Ralph barely noticed Jem the first time he saw her. He was arguing with his girlfriend Claudia, sitting at his desk, the phone cradled under his chin as he carelessly pulled elastic bands into tight ligatures around his wrists in an apparently subconscious attempt to cut off his blood supply and end the painful predictability of it all. As Smith entered, Ralph grimaced and took the phone from under his chin, holding it a foot or two from his ear so that Smith could hear the tinny drone of the unhappy woman.
He hit the speakerphone button: "I just feel like I''m the one doing all the work here, Ralph, d''you know what I''m talking about? No, of course you don''t. Who am I kidding? You can''t see anything beyond the remote control--as long as you''ve got a piece of technical equipment in your hand that will prevent you from doing something else, something that might, just might, involve you getting up off your arse and doing something." "Ralph," whispered Smith, "this is Jem." Jem twinkled at Ralph from the doorway. Ralph saw a small, smiley girl, tendrils of hair framing her face. "Are you listening to me, Ralph, or have you put me on that fucking speakerphone?" Ralph smiled apologetically at Jem and mouthed a "Nice to meet you" as he hit the speakerphone button again and began murmuring inaudibly into the phone. Smith and Jem left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. "Claudia can be very.
demanding. They could go on like that for hours. Poor bastard." Smith smiled smugly and took a slurp of tea. "You don''t have a girlfriend, then, Smith?" "Very perceptive," he replied ungraciously. "No, I don''t." Not for the first time since Jem''s arrival, he found himself feeling uncomfortable. He wanted to be friendly and welcoming, to create a good impression, but try as he might, he just couldn''t, and was coming across instead as frosty and impolite.
He put his hand out to grasp the antique door handle in front of him and pushed the door open. "This would be your room." He reached to the left for the light switch. "It''s quite small, as you can see, but it''s got everything." The room was tiny and L-shaped. The walls were clad in caramel-colored wood paneling, and the room was lit centrally by a ceiling lamp housed in a brass-and-glass star-shaped shade. A single bed stood at the far end, covered with a vivacious Indian throw and several large cushions with tassels and fringes. A 1920s wardrobe with mirrored front panels stood in front of it, and at the other end of the room was a single sash window hung with densely patterned heavy curtains and a small chest of black-lacquerwork drawers.
Jem turned and grasped hold of Smith''s hands. "I absolutely love it. I love it. I knew I would. Please can I live here? Please!" Her face was glowing and childlike; her hands felt small and warmed by her mug of tea. "Let me show you the rest of the flat first and then we can have a chat." Smith could still feel where Jem''s hands had covered his. "I need to talk to Ralph as well--lots of other people have been to see the room.
I''ll need to consult him." He could feel himself blushing and turned his back on Jem. "OK," she said lightly. She wasn''t worried. She already knew that the room was hers.