‘And does he really think he’d be able to get the ring back from any one of them?’
‘Well, no, because it’s still in my jewellery box.’ We both burst out laughing.
‘It’ll teach the twat to keep sending you increasingly threatening messages after he treated you so crappily. Anyway, even if you had accidentally dropped in a bag of donated clothes and knick-knacks, he still wouldn’t be able to get it back. I reckon the old ladies who volunteer in those kinds of places cherry-pick all the best stuff. As if they’d give it up.’
Oh man, she was right. This is really what I needed tonight. To let off some steam and have a little fun.
‘Heather, I’m so glad—’
‘Anyway,’ she says, brushing away my sentiments before they’re even formed. ‘If you hadn’t insisted on talking to me for the whole journey, you wouldn’t still be on the phone, and cigarette or not, the cat would probably still be in the house.’
‘And if you hadn’t decided to traipse all the way to the other side of London, we wouldn’t still be on the phone because I wouldn’t need to know you’re okay. Okay?’
‘Mir, how is talking to you all the way going to stop me from getting abducted?’
‘You could take a photo of your attacker. I’d send it to the police.’
‘So, I record my murder?’
‘Don’t be so morbid. I can’t help worrying about you.’
‘Same,’ she answers with a sigh, though thankfully, she doesn’t elaborate because we agreed, no more talking about recent heartbreaks. ‘No sign of Marilyn Meow-row yet?’
‘It’s David Meowie, and no. I’m just going to look in the neighbour’s garden next.’
‘The hot neighbour’s garden?’ I smile wryly at her change of tone.
‘You mean the neighbour you spent Saturday afternoon perving over?’
I miss the beginning of her response as the line cuts out for a minute, the train she’s on presumably hitting a dead spot.
‘... isfine.’
‘Yeah, I am. Thanks.’
‘What?’
‘Ohhh. I thought you were asking ifIwas okay.’
‘Ha. No,’ she says with a giggle. ‘Why do cocktails make everything funnier?’
‘For the same reason they take the sting out of grazed knees, I suppose.’
‘Not applied topically,’ she answers with a snort. ‘Maybe what I should be asking is why they make a girl horny.’
‘Or why they make a girl tell her parents she’s staying with her cousin when really, she’s off to the other side of London on the promise of a quick shag, hmm?’
‘I have it on good authority that Brent’s not quick,’ she says with a dirty chuckle. ‘That he’s very, very thorough.’
I groan in protest as I unhook the gate between the two houses, making my way into next door’s back garden. We might be working together, even hanging out together, but she’s my little cousin. Sometimes it’s hard not to think of her as anything but young. I definitely don’t need to know about her sex life. Ignorance is bliss? I don’t think that counts, considering I’m her reluctant alibi.
I’m not jealous, by the way. Except for cuddling. I do miss cuddling.
‘I was thinking I might come over again this weekend.’
‘To perve on my hot, temporary neighbour again?’ The gate squeaks as I close it behind me, the noise somehow much louder in the dark evening.
‘Nah, though he is a very welcome bonus. I thought we could watch a movie, eat carbs, and bond a bit.’
