ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE): ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG

‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Three

Simon’s pocket-fire; potential lodgers must do the dog-flap test; a tall, dark stranger takes Liz by surprise

“Is yours the kind of house where one cleans the bath before one gets in it or after one gets out of it, Mrs. Houston?”

Julie Carrington-Smythe watched Liz carefully from across the bedroom she’d come to see. She was absolutely serious.

So Liz lied.

“We always clean the bath when we get out of it.” Trying for a crisp, no-nonsense tone, Liz knew it wasn’t exactly true. Simon hardly ever cleaned it. He forgot on a regular basis. But it wasn’t worth mentioning the odd foible of her longest-lasting lodger. In Liz’s experience, people Julie’s age (twentyish) barely registered the existence of people Liz’s age (thirtyish) and were totally incapable of seeing people Simon’s age (fiftyish) at all. Nah, it wasn’t worth mentioning.

Especially as there was the most enormous gas bill to pay and Liz wanted Julie Carrington-Smythe to help her pay it now she’d lost the knicker-nicker’s rent.

“Oh, and do call me Liz,” she said. “All my lodgers call me Liz.”

Julie gave her a cold glance and stalked from the room. Liz followed her across the landing into the bathroom where she glowered at the bath so fiercely Liz was surprised its enamel didn’t cringe. So, she looked at it too.

A faint but inescapable ring around the bath announced Liz a liar and told her that Simon had chosen today, of all days, to bathe in the morning.

Liz tried for a smile, but it faltered and died in the glare of Julie’s accusing, I-just-knew-it gaze. So she burst into waffles instead. “We are reasonably civilized here you know. We have various other house rules including stuff like no incoming phone calls after ten, for example. It’s not fair for everyone to be woken up…”

“I have my mobile and will only use that.”

“Right. Okay. And what you do in your own room is your own affair, as long as you do it reasonably quietly… And you have to like dogs, and you must clear up after yourself in the communal rooms and do your bit to keep them clean and tidy and empty the bin every now and then. For some reason, no one ever empties the bin. We all wait for everyone else to do it. What else? I know. This is a non-smoking house, as you know. Oh, and you should help keep the garden tidy…”

She said, “I don’t like dogs.”

Oh. So much for that, then. Liz immediately led the way from the bathroom and started down the stairs. There were many points on which she’d bend, but not this one. Mooch the Pooch was too important for her to allow anyone in the house who might do him harm. Just not liking him was enough for that — he was a very sensitive dog.

But Julie stopped Liz with her next words. “Unless it’s a collie type, largely black and mainly comatose.”

“Oh! It is.” Liz turned to look at her. She could feel her face stretching around a big grin. “What a marvelous coincidence!”

Liz refused to consider what an outright, unbelievable coincidence it was because maybe the gas wouldn’t be cut off after all if she refused to consider what an outright, unbelievable coincidence it was…

“You still want the room?”

“Yes,” she said.

Phew! “When do you want to move in?”

“Now?”

“Oh! Um, yep, fine,” Liz said, striving to keep a straight face and not show surprise at Julie’s urgency. “There’s just one other thing. For various reasons, anyone living in this house has to be able to get in and out, with or without their keys.”

“What do you mean? Break-in?” Julie raised a finely shaped eyebrow in a way that had Liz itching to smack her. She was obviously feeling quite violent today. Hugh had definitely put her on edge.

By this time they were back downstairs in the breakfast room. “Look,” Liz said. “I’ll show you how easy it is to get out and back in again.” She walked through the kitchen to the back door, and crouching down, she dived out of the dog-flap in one fluid movement. The flap did its usual ‘clatter-thunk’ before resting back in place. With practiced ease, she regained her feet and walked along the side of the house to the breakfast-room window. Liz looked at Julie through the grubby glass and, raising her voice she said, “And now I’ll come back in again.”

Which she did.

Julie simply stood there, only now both her eyebrows had reached her hairline in such a smackable way that Liz had to put her hands in her pockets to prevent them from getting out of control.

“I didn’t know you could get dog-flaps,” she said. “Let alone ones that size.”

“Yes, handy isn’t it.”

“And now you want me to prove that I can get in and out of it, too?”

“Yep, that’s right.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem.” She started towards the back door and stopped. “Hold on a moment. What’s to stop anybody getting in off the street?”

“Good point.” Liz was about to launch into an explanation when the familiar ‘clatter-thunk’ announced Simon’s arrival home. Her first and oldest lodger had obviously forgotten his keys. Again. She turned back to wish him a good morning but didn’t wait for a reply. There was no use expecting a speech from Simon before noon.

“I thought you said this was a non-smoking house!” Julie peered past Liz, her face screwed up as though she’d stood in something unpleasant.

Liz looked at Simon, and sure enough, his pocket was smoldering. “Simon. Simon! Your pocket!”

He jumped as though he’d been poked with a sharp celestial stick, and danced around, slapping frantically at his body.

Sighing, Liz turned back to Julie and said, “He doesn’t smoke in the house — parts of his body might, but he doesn’t. If he wants a smoke he has to go outside. I’ll introduce you properly later in the day if you don’t mind. We want to get on with this before it rains.”

Julie seemed bemused, but she would soon realize that getting in the house without a key was a much more pleasant little adventure if it wasn’t sleeting or blowing a gale. Actually, if the weather was nice, you could pretend you were an explorer on an expedition to new and exciting lands, even if it was only into a couple of back gardens.

“The reason that not just anyone can get in from the street is that you have to go through the house next door,” Liz said. “I’ll take you in now and introduce you to Lonely Lydia. She’s a Poor Thing and always pleased to see people, so don’t feel you’re disturbing her. In fact, you could view the getting-in-the-house-with-no-key exercise as part of what we put back into the community. Anyway, she’ll let you out of her back door. Just nip over her wall, drop into my garden, pop through the dog-flap and then you’ll be a fully qualified lodger of number nine Malvern Road. Simple.”

“Right,” she said.

“Um, Liz, wait a minute, Liz,” Simon said. (And it wasn’t even noon yet.) “I don’t think you can ask her to do the key-less test….”

“Everyone has to do it, Simon. No exceptions.”

“But, Liz….”

“Don’t worry about me, Simon…. Do you mind me calling you Simon?” Julie watched Simon as though truly concerned about his answer.

He didn’t look at her. “Um, no. That is, no, not at all,” he mumbled.

“Well, Simon,” she said, switching on a high-voltage smile. “It’s sweet of you to worry, but there’s no need. I’m quite athletic.”

Simon’s head went down and he seemed to study, with deep concentration, the texture of the grain in the floorboards. A dark maroon wave washed up the back of his neck. Liz, too, was silenced by the unexpected charm on display. It hadn’t been turned on for her benefit, but then, Liz was female. She was also old enough to be Julie’s mother, probably. Well, no, not that old. Big sister, perhaps. Well, a few years older anyway.

“I must confess that it seems a little odd, but if it’s all part of the initiation ritual here, then I’m game. We can’t have our landlady worrying about us getting burnt to a crisp inside, or frozen stiff outside, just because we’ve mislaid our keys, now can we?” She laughed merrily.

“I’m not that worried,” Liz muttered, apparently unheard, but pleased that she had in fact insisted on this part of the initial interview for potential lodgers. She could just imagine what the newly pacified saint Hugh would have to say about it if a lodger of hers did actually get burnt to a crisp. Oh, yes, he’d be there, leaning back on his heels, staring above her head, going, “Now, Liz…” Ooh. She could just hear him in her mind. Ooh!

Simon distracted her from her growing fury by digging his toe into the floor and twisting his body from side to side, mumbling, “Umsmoke. Neesmoke…”

“Right,” Liz said, throwing off all thought of poncey ex-husbands and their bigoted views. “Simon needs a cigarette. Let’s get to it.”

She led the way. Throwing open her front door, she was struck afresh by the loveliness of the day, which was cold but bright, just beginning to think of spring. And, perhaps, rain. But suddenly it was as if optimism was breathable and they couldn’t help but fill up on it. That’s what comes of not thinking of one’s ex, obviously.

They hurried down the path, only to be stopped by Simon’s shout of glee as he passed their recycling box. Recovering from his temporary, Julie-induced paralysis, he pounced on a couple of battered old shoes. Funnily enough, Liz had seen them earlier when she was putting out the wheelie bin and she’d thought at the time how strange it was that he’d thrown out two different shoes. He must have just realized his mistake. She checked his feet and, sure enough, he had odd shoes on.

“Hang on,” he muttered and disappeared back into the house with the salvaged shoes. He reappeared, a smug look on his face, and the same odd shoes on his feet. Liz knew Simon well and didn’t want to risk a comment which would get her bogged down in his particular brand of logic. She turned away.

Julie was still watching Simon without looking where she walked and fell over another recycling box. This one lurked at the end of Liz’s wall. It was piled high with wine bottles that, no doubt, covered a couple of chunkier spirit bottles underneath.

It was Lydia’s, of course. She always ‘accidentally’ pushed her box over to their side because she didn’t want the neighbors to know she drank so much, whereas it was only to be expected of a house full of unwashed lodgers. They didn’t bear her any ill will for this. She was a Poor Thing.

Simon gallantly helped Julie to her feet, but she shrugged his hand from her arm and beat non-existent dirt from her clothes with exaggerated movements. Then she peered into the box and sniffed audibly, casting a contemptuous look at Liz’s way. Liz knew she’d been consigned to the ‘drunken, sluttish landlady’ compartment in Julie’s brain. Probably the same compartment existed these days in Hugh’s brain.

Damnit! Why did she keep thinking of him? He always ruined things, he did. Anyway, she didn’t care what he thought. And she wasn’t going to think about what he thought. Oh, no!

It put her right off explaining to Julie that the bottles weren’t theirs. She, and Hugh, would think what they wanted, whatever she said. People usually did. Especially if their minds had somehow shrunk to the size of a shriveled mushroom-like Hugh’s must-have.

They proceeded on to Lydia’s, who, as usual, welcomed them with open arms. The trick was to kiss the air on both sides of her face without actually touching her cheek with your own. Otherwise, you came away with a landslide of powder down your face, dribbling onto your shoulder like frenzied dandruff. Lydia was well turned-out all the time, even first thing in the morning, immaculately dressed, coiffed, accessorized and made up. Liz was always tempted to suggest she use less make-up, but as she used none, what did she know?

Today, Lydia wore a navy-blue skirt suit with a cream silk blouse. The style was a couple of decades behind the times, but she looked very elegant. Although Liz thought the really thick tights she wore spoilt the effect a bit but maybe she had varicose veins or regretted tattoos from her youth. Liz stifled a snort, trying to imagine what sort of tattoos Lydia might have around her ankles. Fluffy kittens with bows around their necks, or little puppies chasing butterflies. She wasn’t the skull and crossbones or set of fangs type.

Anyway, they came through Lydia’s greeting unscathed except for Julie who ended up with powder drifts on both her cheeks, but at least they matched.

“How lovely to have a new face next door,” Lydia said. “You make sure you come in just whenever you want to, dear. Don’t feel you have to wait until you forget your key.”

“I won’t forget my key,” Julie said. Ungraciously, Liz thought, but Lydia didn’t seem to notice.

Lydia’s hospitality was obviously going to make up for Liz’s lack of it. She retrieved many and various packets of biscuits from her cupboard and set them out on pretty plates — a different one for each different type of biscuit and a running commentary for them all.

“We’ll have the custard creams on this little frilly one. Got this one from Clapham market many years ago when I had a boyfriend there…”

“The lemon puffs will do nicely on this little one — go with the primroses, don’t they? Just right for today…”

She put the ginger creams next to Simon, on a paper plate. Her crockery had already suffered because of his clumsiness and he was very fond of ginger creams. She learned quickly, as did Lydia. Liz had often wondered if the special attention she paid him was only about protecting her china. They must have been about the same age… Not that Simon had noticed. Liz fancied he’d run in the opposite direction, screaming, if he thought Lydia, or anyone, had designs on him.

And then it started…

“Now then, Julie. Where did you say your parents lived? How do you keep yourself, dear? Are there any young men you particularly favor? I can’t see any rings on your finger, dear.”

Poor Lonely Lydia seemed to live her life through theirs. It was enough to make sure everyone remembered their key.

Eventually, they made it out into the garden. Lydia led the way through her newly sprouting bulbs, shoved aside a promising clump of some grassy thing, and showed them her wall. It wasn’t a high wall. If it was, Lydia wouldn’t be able to see straight into their breakfast room. She wouldn’t be in a position to telephone and let them know when the fridge door wasn’t shut properly. Even so, Julie looked taken aback. Perhaps it was the state of the wall. It was pretty soggy, looked slimy, and probably infested with dead woodlice and maybe a slug or two.

Liz took a moment to appreciate Julie’s rather nice jacket — suede and leather, the kind that had broad shoulders but tapered down under her bum. Well, that was in for a rough ride if she kept it on. Lydia, Simon, and Liz stood there expectantly.

Julie looked at the wall. She looked at them. “Go away!” she said. “I’m not doing this for your entertainment. I’m doing this so I can have the room.”

Pity, that. Especially if she fell foul of any devil-tortoises on her way over. Liz would like to clap eyes on Tinkerbell the tearaway tortoise in action.

“Okay,” Liz said. “You just climb over the wall and limbo in through the dog-flap as I showed you. By the way, I take it you have got the deposit and a month’s rent to give me upfront?”

Julie turned and snapped, “Yes, I have.”

Oh, very crabby. “Good! I’ll see you next door, then.”

Liz had to chivvy Lydia and Simon inside and then drag them away from Lydia’s breakfast room window. She left Simon to more coffee and biscuits. It saved him from shopping and cooking meals. Pity, she couldn’t stay, but she wanted to get back to welcome Julie properly into her new home. Also, Liz didn’t want Julie wandering about in her house until she was a fully paid-up member of it.

When Liz got back outside, though, she found a man waiting on her doorstep.

“How can I help?” she asked. She was aiming at polite, but coldly distant.

“I’ve come about the room,” he said.

Liz was fitting her key into the lock and spoke over her shoulder to him: “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anybody else today…”

He put his arms right around her, effortlessly picked her up, and walked them both over Liz’s own threshold. He put her down in the hall. He was tall, large, and unsmiling. She was short, reasonably slim, and gobsmacked.

Chapter Two of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams is here.

Chapter Four of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!

All ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ chapters to read are here.

I own the copyright and have asserted my right to be identified as the author of this book in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

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