that’s okay with you, is it, him flogging the furniture and moving in with the next door neighbour? You need to get away for a while, at least for the weekend.’
‘How? The weather’s going to be horrible and I’ve got no money.’
Lou flicked her cigarette end out of the window. ‘Listen, there’s someone I want you to meet. A girl at the pool, she works for some telecommunications firm out of town. Her name’s Julie, she’s off red meat, potatoes, bread and pasta because she’s having an affair with Malcolm, her boss, and she doesn’t want him to see her naked with the lights on until she hits target weight. They’re both married. She was moaning to me about not being able to go away with him because he’s paranoid about burglars. He’s supposed to be in New York on business over the weekend and she wants to be with him, but he doesn’t want to leave his flat unattended for some reason.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘Let’s see if she’s there.’ She crunched the gears and turned out of the street. The old man who had fallen over was sitting on a wall, trying to get his breath back. His bag had toppled over again, sending apples and peaches into the gutter.
The gym was housed on the first floor of a converted Victorian swimming baths, a grimly beautiful building banded by frescoes of cavorting maidens. Instead of repointing the graceful sworl of late-nineteenth-century plasterwork in the reception area, the council had chosen to hang sagging plastic banners for sports drinks over it. There was an expensive modern gym in Hamingwell, but Lou had been banned from there for taking a kebab into the sauna.
‘Malcolm and Julie want to go away together,’ explained Lou as we headed for the cafeteria, ‘but the alarm system in his apartment building will be off. Malcolm wanted his wife to come up and stay there but she lives out of town and has to look after the dogs. They have this big house in the country. Malcolm’s loaded, runs some kind of consultancy on the side and has always kept a city flat as a shag pad, but his wife suspected so they had to stop using it. He bought a brand-new place to fool her, but the wife found out about that too, so the only chance they’ve got to be together is on business trips. Julie’s been on at me all week to find – hey, Julie.’
Julie was a skeleton in a leotard with the facial characteristics of a particularly bony Velasquez. The strain of having an affair obviously wasn’t doing her any good. ‘I’ve put on three pounds,’ she complained without noticing that I was facing the upper end of a size twelve. ‘And that’s with coleslaw.’
‘It’s covered in mayonnaise, darling. You should try small handfuls of dried spinach on crispbread. This is June.’
I shook the offered hand. It felt like refrigerated asparagus. I wondered why nobody had told Julie she was anorexic. We had coffee, which seemed like a bad idea in Julie’s case. She carefully added half a pot of soya milk while Lou and I ate doughnuts.
‘June could look after your Malcolm’s place for the weekend,’ Lou suggested, her lips dusted with sugar. ‘Water the plants, make sure nothing gets nicked.’
‘Could you really?’ Julie craned forward and examined me with an air of desperation. ‘The flat’s absolutely brand new. It’s fantastic and very central, right on the south side of the river near Lambeth Bridge. All kinds of professionals are buying into the building. It’s a beautiful design, some famous French architect. Jeffrey Archer’s put in an offer on a penthouse.’ She sipped tentatively at the coffee, but was exhausted by the effort required to lift the fat ceramic cup.
‘Well, perhaps –’ I began.
‘Could you really? I don’t know you from Adam, but if you’re a friend of Lou’s I suppose it’s all right. It’s just that Malcolm’s –’ she dropped her voice as though imparting a great secret, ‘so paranoid about security. He owns some
‘How? The weather’s going to be horrible and I’ve got no money.’
Lou flicked her cigarette end out of the window. ‘Listen, there’s someone I want you to meet. A girl at the pool, she works for some telecommunications firm out of town. Her name’s Julie, she’s off red meat, potatoes, bread and pasta because she’s having an affair with Malcolm, her boss, and she doesn’t want him to see her naked with the lights on until she hits target weight. They’re both married. She was moaning to me about not being able to go away with him because he’s paranoid about burglars. He’s supposed to be in New York on business over the weekend and she wants to be with him, but he doesn’t want to leave his flat unattended for some reason.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘Let’s see if she’s there.’ She crunched the gears and turned out of the street. The old man who had fallen over was sitting on a wall, trying to get his breath back. His bag had toppled over again, sending apples and peaches into the gutter.
The gym was housed on the first floor of a converted Victorian swimming baths, a grimly beautiful building banded by frescoes of cavorting maidens. Instead of repointing the graceful sworl of late-nineteenth-century plasterwork in the reception area, the council had chosen to hang sagging plastic banners for sports drinks over it. There was an expensive modern gym in Hamingwell, but Lou had been banned from there for taking a kebab into the sauna.
‘Malcolm and Julie want to go away together,’ explained Lou as we headed for the cafeteria, ‘but the alarm system in his apartment building will be off. Malcolm wanted his wife to come up and stay there but she lives out of town and has to look after the dogs. They have this big house in the country. Malcolm’s loaded, runs some kind of consultancy on the side and has always kept a city flat as a shag pad, but his wife suspected so they had to stop using it. He bought a brand-new place to fool her, but the wife found out about that too, so the only chance they’ve got to be together is on business trips. Julie’s been on at me all week to find – hey, Julie.’
Julie was a skeleton in a leotard with the facial characteristics of a particularly bony Velasquez. The strain of having an affair obviously wasn’t doing her any good. ‘I’ve put on three pounds,’ she complained without noticing that I was facing the upper end of a size twelve. ‘And that’s with coleslaw.’
‘It’s covered in mayonnaise, darling. You should try small handfuls of dried spinach on crispbread. This is June.’
I shook the offered hand. It felt like refrigerated asparagus. I wondered why nobody had told Julie she was anorexic. We had coffee, which seemed like a bad idea in Julie’s case. She carefully added half a pot of soya milk while Lou and I ate doughnuts.
‘June could look after your Malcolm’s place for the weekend,’ Lou suggested, her lips dusted with sugar. ‘Water the plants, make sure nothing gets nicked.’
‘Could you really?’ Julie craned forward and examined me with an air of desperation. ‘The flat’s absolutely brand new. It’s fantastic and very central, right on the south side of the river near Lambeth Bridge. All kinds of professionals are buying into the building. It’s a beautiful design, some famous French architect. Jeffrey Archer’s put in an offer on a penthouse.’ She sipped tentatively at the coffee, but was exhausted by the effort required to lift the fat ceramic cup.
‘Well, perhaps –’ I began.
‘Could you really? I don’t know you from Adam, but if you’re a friend of Lou’s I suppose it’s all right. It’s just that Malcolm’s –’ she dropped her voice as though imparting a great secret, ‘so paranoid about security. He owns some
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