‘I have!’ Bertie danced his feet on the blue linoleum floor.
‘You have what?’ She bit her Garibaldi, having lost the thread.
‘A boyfriend!’
‘Oh!’ It wasn’t his homosexuality that was a surprise, but rather his comfort in expressing it. She felt it was both a privilege and a tie that would bind them closer, in the way that sharing secrets often did. It made her feel like a grown-up.
‘His name is Jack. He’s beautiful – I mean, stunningly beautiful! He works in fashion and is entirely unsuitable; fromCroydon, of all places.’ He pulled a face. She nodded but was unsure why being a Croydon resident made Jack unsuitable. ‘I mean, it’s so provincial! Net curtains, knitted loo-roll holders, pampas grass and Viennese Whirls resting on a saucer! Can you imagine?’
‘I really can’t.’ She spoke the truth, without the first clue as to what he was talking about.
‘I like you, Bob.’
‘Thank you. I like you too.’
‘I do worry, though, that we sound like an old music-hall act. Bertie and Bob!’
She laughed out loud. ‘What would our act be?’
‘Oh, it would have to be a song-and-dance number – I’m seeing a top hat, fishnets, hot pants, high heels ... and God only knows what you’d wear!’
This time she laughed until her eyes watered.
‘Another cup of tea, Bob?’
‘Why not!’ She lifted her mug.
‘Well, you know where the kettle is – what am I, the waitress?’ Bertie scoffed, and already she knew that she loved her job and was very glad her dad had made her apply.
Her walk home from Pimlico had been a joy, filled as she was with the lingering delight of success in her veins, and far more caffeine than she was used to consuming.
‘I’m home!’ she yelled as she kicked off her clog sandals and hung her suede fringed bag on the coat peg.
‘In the kitchen!’ her dad called out. ‘Just making a quick bite to eat before I head out. We’re playing at the Guildhall tonight!’
‘How fancy!’ She beamed.
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense, how did it go?’ He looked up at her, pausing mid sandwich-making, the butter knife in his hand.
‘I got the job!’ She jumped up and down on the spot.
‘Hey! Congratulations! That’s marvellous news! This calls for a celebration! How about we go for a walk tomorrow evening and get gelato?’
‘I’d love that, Dad.’ It was a treat, to wander the riverbank up towards Westminster Bridge, where there was a late-night Italian deli that served the most glorious gelato. Her dad always had the Sicilian lemon, while she couldn’t get enough of the pistachio. Again she thought of Bertie’s question about her non-existent love life, wondering what it might be like to walk the riverbank with a boyfriend, to show him the Italian deli and to judge him if he chose a flavour she disliked, like tutti-frutti.
‘What will your duties entail?’ He was all ears.
‘I’m not entirely sure, but making tea for definite, chatting to Bertie and I think sitting at the little desk, helping answer any questions. I’m making it up, Dad! We didn’t really talk about it in great detail!’
‘So what did you talk about?’
Bertie’s boyfriend . . . Viennese Whirls . . . Our music-hall act . . .
‘Just general chit-chat. The gallery is lovely!’
‘It’s a big day, Lilly-Bob. Your first job! Are you going to give your mum a ring and let her know?’
There was a telephone box right outside the back of their building. Whether still emboldened from her caffeine-fuelled time spent with Bertie while speaking so freely on matters of a most adult nature, or whether still feeling the wrath towards her mother, having recalled how she was living her lovey-dovey life with Derek Manners while her dad did his best here, was neither here nor there. The words tumbled from her mouth just the same, without consideration.
