He handed me a bowl and turned on the TV to watch the news. I plonked down beside him on the sofa and drew up my feet to sit cross-legged to better hold steady my bowl of salmon on a bed of … “Is this barley?” I asked. “It’s delicious.”
“Great recipe I found on a shredding diet website.”
I rolled my eyes. Ollie caught me and gave my knee a slap. “Oi, you liked it until I said it was healthy.”
I smirked at him and took an extra big bite to show my appreciation.
Fiona Bruce was telling us about the updates in ‘TruthGate’ and said their reporters had been back to the place of the first leak to check the ramifications.
“Four days is barely long enough to judge the effects,” Ollie said, frowning. “Hey, look, it’s your village.”
I groaned as the Fox and Lamprey came up on screen. The reporter was speaking, and then Riz appeared. He was sitting casually on a bench on the village green, looking relaxed in an open-necked linen shirt, his hair gently tousled in the breeze.
“He’s the one you said was getting hitched to the Aberdonian bloke who did your kitchen, right?” Ollie asked. I nodded and hoped he didn’t need any further clarification on how I knew Simon.
I turned the volume up to properly hear the interview. “… But you’re twenty points behind,” the reporter was saying to him. “Labour have never won this seat; your chances of winning are slim-to-none.”
Riz smiled. “Look, I’m not saying the Tory party brought this on themselves, but they have fostered a culture of disunity in the country. We now have people crowing about which party has more leaks about their MPs. This culture comes from the top.”
“That sounds like victim blaming?” the reporter asked.
“I’m merely saying that sometimes the people who have been complaining the loudest have the most responsibility to take.”
Both Ollie and I turned to each other, frowning. “That’s an odd route to take,” I said.
Ollie shrugged. “He’s Labour, they are snakes.”
I rolled my eyes. “I forgot you were Thatcherite to the core.”
“Am not. I’m not pro-Tory. I’m anti-Labour. If there was a viable alternative—”
“The Lib Dems—”
“Pfft,” Ollie snorted.
“The Greens?”
“May as well use my ballot paper to wipe my arse with for all the good it’d do to vote for them.”
“Of course,” I scoffed. “You’re politically homeless.”
“I am! I’m fiscally conservative but socially liberal.”
“You were against Scottish independence,” I reminded him. He’d been furious that he couldn’t vote as he was registered in London.
“So were most of Dumfries!” he said. “I’m proud to be Scottish. In my heart, I wanted an independent Scotland, but my head said no. Too much of a risk.”
“You also want trickle-down effect, benefit cuts, a flat tax rate, and zero checks and balances on the City, not to mention free trade deals with any and every tinpot dictatorship,” I needled him in the way we used to bicker over politics.
“Yeah,” he said through a mouthful of salmon. “But I’m also pro-LGBT rights – and not only gay marriage but the proper stuff that doesn’t affect me as a middle-class white guy – mental health services, AIDS research, homeless shelters for queer youth, trans healthcare.”
I gave him props for finally listening to me talk about all those problems over the years. “Okay, fine.”
“I’m very woke these days. I’m up on all the issues. I read up all about how Black history isn’t taught in schools, and it blew my mind how we get brainwashed into thinking the British Empire was such a great thing and ignore the slavery and the genocide.” He turned to me with a big grin on his annoying face. “I’ve got some great articles on the topic I could share with you if you want to know more about it.”
I pulled a face. “You did not just comment on how woke you are.”
He was still smirking.
