electric-blue fingernail towards my heart.
‘I suppose … ’
‘No “suppose” about it. You go to this island and make it up to your aunt, then after the year is up you can live the dream,
do what you want with your life. I’ll be fine here, watching over our little pad, until that day comes. I know she must have
meant a lot to you, Darce, from what you’ve been telling me just lately.’
‘Yes, yes … she did.’
‘There you go, then.’ Roxi places her mug purposefully back down on the table and tries to tuck her ebony legs underneath
what little fabric her dressing gown is made of. Roxi wears just about everything in miniature. ‘Just go ahead and do it,
as Mr Nike says.’
‘You know, Roxi, I don’t think there is a Mr Nike. Nike was the Greek goddess of victory. I think that’s where the name comes
from.’
‘See, I told you you went to a better class of school than me,’ Roxi says, grinning. ‘I know nothing about history, completely
bored the pants off me at school. Now, I’m going back to bed. I work evenings in that pit of a pub so I can snooze in my bed
all morning, not be up playing agony aunt to you at some ungodly hour.’
‘You work in that pub because you like getting chatted up by all the blokes,’ I remind her. ‘The lie-ins are just an added
bonus.’
Roxi pretends to consider this while she yawns and stretches. ‘There is that,’ she admits, climbing up from the sofa. ‘I’m
not immune to the male of the species in its finer forms.’
‘In any form, in my experience,’ I mock.
‘Darcy McCall, I shall take that as a slight on my good Gospel upbringing, and take immediately to my bed. Even if it probably
is true,’ she says, winking as she exits the room.
I watch Roxi saunter off in her pink fluffy slippers, and I think again how much I’ll miss her if I go to live on the island.
Roxi has been my best friend since getting my first magazine job, and leaving all my other friends behind in the small town
in Kent where I grew up. We too had met in a pub, when I’d nearly got into a fight, accidentally knocking a girl’s vodka and
coke all over her. The girl was part of a biker gang who were in the pub that night, but luckily for me Roxi knew the leader
and managed to calm the situation. She came to my rescue that night, and we’ve been friends ever since. But she’s right, maybe
now’s the time to move on with my life, to put right some wrongs, balance the karma out. Or is that the other thing, yin and
yang? The system where, when something bad happens, something good has to come along to balance it out?
I pick up Roxi’s mug and my glass to take them through to the kitchen, but in the early-morning silence I hear a drip, drip,
dripping sound.
‘What the …?’ I ask, looking around me.
Drip drip drip
. There it is again. But where is it coming from?
I follow the sound out into the tiny hall and immediately spy a huge grey damp patch bulging through the plaster above. From
it every now and then tiny droplets of water are ploppingdown onto the table beside the front door. The unopened envelopes containing my credit-card bills are doing a great job of
soaking up all the water.
At least you’re good for something
, I think as I watch the ink becoming more and more smudged the wetter they get.
I move underneath the grey bulge so I can take a better look. It’s as if our ceiling has filled itself, for its own amusement,
like a huge grey water balloon. But as tiny bits of plaster begin to join the droplets still dripping from above, I realise
that our ceiling has chosen me as its first target, because suddenly the balloon above me pops and gallons of lukewarm water
begin to cascade down over my head in a strange cocktail of plaster, paint and bubble bath.
‘Roxi!’ I scream at the top of my voice. ‘Get in here, quick!’
And as I stand there, soaking wet, looking up at the new water feature our ceiling has suddenly
‘I suppose … ’
‘No “suppose” about it. You go to this island and make it up to your aunt, then after the year is up you can live the dream,
do what you want with your life. I’ll be fine here, watching over our little pad, until that day comes. I know she must have
meant a lot to you, Darce, from what you’ve been telling me just lately.’
‘Yes, yes … she did.’
‘There you go, then.’ Roxi places her mug purposefully back down on the table and tries to tuck her ebony legs underneath
what little fabric her dressing gown is made of. Roxi wears just about everything in miniature. ‘Just go ahead and do it,
as Mr Nike says.’
‘You know, Roxi, I don’t think there is a Mr Nike. Nike was the Greek goddess of victory. I think that’s where the name comes
from.’
‘See, I told you you went to a better class of school than me,’ Roxi says, grinning. ‘I know nothing about history, completely
bored the pants off me at school. Now, I’m going back to bed. I work evenings in that pit of a pub so I can snooze in my bed
all morning, not be up playing agony aunt to you at some ungodly hour.’
‘You work in that pub because you like getting chatted up by all the blokes,’ I remind her. ‘The lie-ins are just an added
bonus.’
Roxi pretends to consider this while she yawns and stretches. ‘There is that,’ she admits, climbing up from the sofa. ‘I’m
not immune to the male of the species in its finer forms.’
‘In any form, in my experience,’ I mock.
‘Darcy McCall, I shall take that as a slight on my good Gospel upbringing, and take immediately to my bed. Even if it probably
is true,’ she says, winking as she exits the room.
I watch Roxi saunter off in her pink fluffy slippers, and I think again how much I’ll miss her if I go to live on the island.
Roxi has been my best friend since getting my first magazine job, and leaving all my other friends behind in the small town
in Kent where I grew up. We too had met in a pub, when I’d nearly got into a fight, accidentally knocking a girl’s vodka and
coke all over her. The girl was part of a biker gang who were in the pub that night, but luckily for me Roxi knew the leader
and managed to calm the situation. She came to my rescue that night, and we’ve been friends ever since. But she’s right, maybe
now’s the time to move on with my life, to put right some wrongs, balance the karma out. Or is that the other thing, yin and
yang? The system where, when something bad happens, something good has to come along to balance it out?
I pick up Roxi’s mug and my glass to take them through to the kitchen, but in the early-morning silence I hear a drip, drip,
dripping sound.
‘What the …?’ I ask, looking around me.
Drip drip drip
. There it is again. But where is it coming from?
I follow the sound out into the tiny hall and immediately spy a huge grey damp patch bulging through the plaster above. From
it every now and then tiny droplets of water are ploppingdown onto the table beside the front door. The unopened envelopes containing my credit-card bills are doing a great job of
soaking up all the water.
At least you’re good for something
, I think as I watch the ink becoming more and more smudged the wetter they get.
I move underneath the grey bulge so I can take a better look. It’s as if our ceiling has filled itself, for its own amusement,
like a huge grey water balloon. But as tiny bits of plaster begin to join the droplets still dripping from above, I realise
that our ceiling has chosen me as its first target, because suddenly the balloon above me pops and gallons of lukewarm water
begin to cascade down over my head in a strange cocktail of plaster, paint and bubble bath.
‘Roxi!’ I scream at the top of my voice. ‘Get in here, quick!’
And as I stand there, soaking wet, looking up at the new water feature our ceiling has suddenly
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