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Lol was as good as her word about finding Ana somewhere to stay.
The room she found wasn’t particularly nice, but it was (according to Lol) in a good part of town, near Ladbroke Grove. “West is Best, that’s what I always say,” she’d said.
Lol couldn’t go to the house with her because she was working, but drew her a detailed map. It was in a small modern terrace just opposite Latimer Road Tube station. “It’s ex–Local Authority, but you’d never know it. And Gill keeps it spotless.”
Gill was an ex-flatmate of Lol’s from “fucking eons ago.” She was small and skinny and pretty in a washed-out sort of way. Her hair was fine and brown with bright ash highlights. She was wearing those neat little jeans that small, skinny, unglamorous women always wear, with blue flip-flops and an orange-jersey top with gold and black braiding around the neckline. She wore plain gold studs in her ears and a tricolor Russian wedding band on her little finger and had on no makeup. She looked about thirty.
“I didn’t really want to have to rent the room out at all, but I was made redundant a couple of months ago and now I’ve decided to go back to college to do a counseling course. So I need every penny I can get at the moment. D’you smoke?” She was Scottish with a sweet, childlike voice and walked around with her hands shoved into her pockets like a little schoolboy.
“No,” Ana said, and then corrected herself, “well—only sometimes, and definitely not in the house if you don’t want me to…”
“No—God, no. I want you to smoke. I’ve just given it up and I need to at least be able to smell it. I miss the smell of it so much. This is the kitchen…”
Small, neat, modern, and with a large window overlooking a small, neat garden.
“I’m really, really sorry about your sister, by the way. She was an amazing person. I can’t believe it. I really can’t. And this is the living room…”
Mint-green walls, pale-ash floors, lots of bookshelves, photographs of family, sporting trophies of some kind, small yellow futon.
“And not leaving a note, or anything. That must be terrible for you to deal with. This is the downstairs toilet…”
Pine seat, quilted toilet paper, chrome toilet brush, pink festoon blind.
“And how’s your poor mother taking it? Lol tells me they hadn’t spoken for an age. She must be devastated. Here’s my bedroom…”
Lavender walls, wrought-iron bed, broderie anglaise cushions, soft toys, exercise bike, rowing machine.
“It’s always so much worse when someone goes when there are still unresolved issues. Bathroom…”
Victorian-style claw-foot bathtub, sponge-printed porcelain chamber pot, stripped-pine dresser, pink bath towels, contact lens containers.
“And this is yours…”
It was the smallest room Ana had ever seen, but it was neat and clean and prettily decorated with yellow walls, a single lime-green futon, and a very narrow wardrobe.
“I know it’s a bit small, but my sister lived here for a while a couple of years ago and she was very happy. And it’s nice to have the futon, in case you have people round…”
An image of Gill’s sister throwing a party in this cupboard of a room, inviting lots of people over to hang out and drink punch on her weeny futon flashed through Ana’s mind and she had to stop herself from laughing.
“It’s really sweet,” she said. “I like it.”
“Och—and it’s ever so convenient for everything round here. There’s a big Sainsbury’s just around the corner, and the Tube just over the road. It only takes a few minutes to get into town. And there’s a great wee gym a few roads up. And if you’re still around next weekend it’s the carnival, or ‘Carnival’ as the trendy types around here like to call it. We’re right in the thick of it here—the atmosphere is amazing. How long are you planning on being here?”
Ana shrugged. “God. I don’t know. At least a week, I suppose.”
“That’s perfect for me. I’ve a long-term tenant moving in in September, so that couldn’t be better. So… what do you think? Do you want it?”
“Well—do you want me to want it?”
“Oh aye. Definitely. Any friend of Lol’s is a friend of mine. And I’d rather live with a friend than a stranger. How does a flat £100 for the week grab you…?”
Ana thought that it grabbed her tightly round the throat and made her want to shout “£100—for a cupboard—are you fucking joking!” But instead she nodded and smiled and said, “Fine. Fine. And I’ve got the cash.”
“Great,” replied Gill, “we’ll sort that out later, I’m off to the gym now. And then I’m meeting a girlfriend for lunch. I probably won’t be back till early evening—so make yourself at home! Oh—and if you’re gonna do any sunbathing in the garden, don’t wear anything too skimpy. There’s a guy across the way who likes to get his cock out and slap it about a bit at the merest glimpse of female flesh. You have been warned.” She beamed and giggled and scooped up her gym bag, leaving the house with a tinkly “cheerio.”
Ana found herself alone in her temporary new home. She unpacked her few possessions in her tiny room and then wandered around a bit, looking at Gill’s trophies and medals—it looked like she was an athlete of some kind. And then she picked up a magazine, the walkabout phone, and a glass of tap water and ventured out into the garden.
The magazine was called ES. She flicked through it. “Hoxton vs. Notting Hill” said a headline. Underneath were pictures of very thin girls with flicked hair and plucked eyebrows wearing very odd clothes and standing in very uncomfortable-looking poses. The text ran:
