Chapter Seventy-Nine
Readjusting my wilted ponytail, I knock on the door again.
‘Come on, Niamh, I know you’re in there. I just heard you cursing St... erm... Felix!’
I haven’t, of course. Just winding her up. Besides, St. Felix is Patron Saint of lost cats, as I recall, and therefore not much use to her, because she, the lucky git, doesn’t have one. He’s the saint Iwouldn’tbe praying to if that malevolent fur ball buggered off, for sure.
It takes her a while before I hear her on the other side of the door, but maybe I’ve caught her in the middle of something?
‘Kate!’ The door swings wide to a wild-eyed Niamh. ‘What are y’doing here?’
‘Do I need an appointment to visit these days?’ I grumble, pushing past her. ‘Put the kettle on, would you? I’m parched.’
‘Thing is, I’m a bit, erm, busy.’
I spin on my heel. ‘Doing what?’
‘I’ve tonnes of prep to do for school next week and I was just off to the, to the... stationers. Yep, the stationers.’
‘In your dressing gown?’
‘I—I was in the middle of getting dressed.’ Her eyes flick to the door of her bedroom. ‘When you knocked, that is.’
‘Okay,’ I reply sceptically, because in addition to her dressing gown, her make-up looks, shall we say, less than freshly applied. Not to mention her hair looks like a mad woman’s breakfast. ‘I’ll put the kettle on myself, then. And I’ll come sit on your bed and you can listen to me whinge while you dress.’
‘No!’ she yells as my butt half rises from the chair I’ve just lowered it into. ‘No,’ she repeats less frantically, but still adamant. ‘You stay there. I’ll, er, put it on now.’
‘O-kay.’ I slowly lower myself back, wondering what, or who, lit the fuse on her tampon today.
‘What was it you wanted to chat about?’ She calls from her open plan kitchen, flicking on the kettle and dragging two cups out. She adds teabags to the cups before taking them out again, reaching for a jar of instant coffee. Watching her make this brew is a bit like watching a possum use a fork.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘What?’ she calls back, her eyes flicking across the room to her bedroom door again. ‘Go on then, chat.’
‘I’m bored.’ Seven days left; only seven more days!
‘That’s understandable, especially when you’re used to being at work all day.’
‘In fact, I’m so bored,’ I continue, ‘I think I’m boring the tits off myself.’ Hooking a finger into my T-shirt, I peer down my shirt.
‘Well, babes, it’s understandable.’
‘It is?’ I was more expecting a boob comment there. Is that...sympathy? The Niamh I know doesn’t usually tell me what I want to hear. She tells me the truth. I was expecting more of apull your head out of your arsekind of conversation and have her point out how lucky I am. Maybe list all the useful things I could do until my visa is fixed. In short, I’ve popped in for one of her aggressive pep talks.
‘Sure, you’re just going through a period of readjustment, that’s all.’
‘I’m also going through a period of allergies.’
‘Pollen?’
‘Nope. Cat. I’m now the not-so-enthused owner of a kitten.’
‘A cat? Is it a stray? You didn’t find it in a back street, did you? ‘Cos you know, those things are usually full of diseases.’
‘Nah. Persian. Full pedigree and as fuzzy as fuck.’
‘What? Where’d you get it from? Kai?’
