2 July
Jack
I follow Amanda silently through her apartment; I say silently because I’ve just removed my Converse – this is a strictly no-outdoor-shoes kind of place. There’s even a trite sign and rack just inside the front door in case you forget. I don’t mind, exactly. No, that’s a lie. It gets right up my nose; I find it pompous when people insist you take off your shoes. It’s not an Amanda-centric complaint though. It sets my teeth on edge whoever does it.
‘You cooked?’
We’re in her sleek white kitchen, which as a general rule sees very little in the way of food preparation. Amanda has many wonderful points, but her cooking skills aren’t legendary. She freely admits it: she’s a master of the microwave, a mistress of sushi home delivery and the queen of the Edinburgh restaurant scene – so why would she want to peel onions herself?
‘I have,’ she says, opening the fridge to pour me a glass of white.
‘Should I be scared?’
She arches her eyebrows at me. ‘You should be terribly complimentary and grateful, Jack. I’ve burned my finger for you.’
I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, holding the pre-prepared pack of green beans at arm’s length so she can read the microwave instructions on the back.
‘What’s on the menu?’
I don’t know why I’ve asked, because I know the answer is fish.
‘Cod,’ she says. ‘I’m baking it with lemon and parsley.’
‘Did you blow the dust off the oven before you used it?’
She rolls her eyes at me and I laugh.
‘I’m only looking out for you, it’s a fire hazard.’
‘Complimentary and grateful,’ she reminds me, and I get up and take the green beans from her.
‘Complimentary, huh?’ I kiss her bare shoulder. She’s wearing a strapless sundress with an apron over the top. ‘You look sexy in a pinny.’
‘The food, Jack,’ she says, turning her face to mine.
‘Okay. I’m grateful that you’ve cooked for me.’ I kiss her briefly. ‘And I’m grateful that you look like a blonde Swedish princess while you do it. I fancy thee rotten, Princess Amanda of Ikea.’
She turns into my arms and kisses me properly, her tongue in my mouth.
‘That was most unladylike,’ I say when she’s finished, pulling on the ties of her apron until she slaps my hand away.
‘Make yourself useful,’ she says. ‘Go and lay the table out on the balcony.’
The table looks holiday-brochure perfect on Amanda’s holiday-brochure-perfect balcony. It’s typical of her mindset; Grassmarket commands the best views of the castle in the city, so she made sure she rented here.
I’m about to head back inside when my phone buzzes. I glance at it, hoping it’s not Lorne calling me in to cover for someone. I’m in luck; Sarah’s name flashes up. I click on the message, and lean on the balcony railings to read it.
Have you spoken to Laurie recently?
Well, that’s fucking cryptic. I check my watch. Surely it’s the middle of the night where she is? Probably pissed up at a beach party. I text back.
Not in a while. Go to bed!
Grassmarket reels out down below, bright and thronged with Saturday-night party people. My mobile buzzes again.
Call her, Jack. She and Oscar split up a couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t meant to tell you, but she needs her friends. I’m too far away to be any bloody use!
I stare at the screen, reading and rereading Sarah’s message as I slide down hard on to one of Amanda’s outdoor dining chairs.
Laurie and Oscar have split up. How can that be? I watched her marry him. She stood there in that church and told me and the rest of the world that he was the man she wanted to spend her life with.
What the hell happened? I send back, wondering if I’ve got time to call Sarah before dinner.
Stuff. Talk to her. It’s complicated.
Frustration rattles through me; Sarah’s words tell me nothing. Why’s she being so vague? Complicated? I’ll tell you what’s complicated. Standing on your girlfriend’s balcony reading a message from your ex about someone else you once kissed.
‘Jack?’ Amanda’s voice jolts me. ‘Can you fetch this please?’
I stare at my phone, my head full of questions, and then I make a snap decision and turn it off. This is my life now. I’ve got something here; my show is gaining fans, I care about the people I work with, and Amanda is … she’s everything any man could want.
I shove my phone in my pocket and go inside.