The Birds and the Bees(38)

‘Oh, the swine,' said the rose.

‘Do you want to walk around the block and come back?'

‘No, in case they are in and have seen me. Then it would look mighty odd, me bringing floooers then taking them away again.'

‘You should have squealed your tyres. Your driving capabilities seem to attract the most attention.'

‘Are ye going to invite me in or no?' said the rose loudly, getting more and more annoyed.

‘Certainly, do come in,' said Stevie with a courteous and tinkly little  laugh for the benefit of any viewers who might have been watching over  the street. Adam handed the flowers to Stevie. They weighed a ton and  she buckled under the weight of them. She stole a look across the lane,  but nothing. She noticed that, once again, she and Adam had colour  co-ordinated.

‘Same blue claes,' he said, which she presumed meant ‘clothes', in the  absence of anything else they had co-ordinated in, apart from the number  of eyeballs. Was he really from Great Britain? In fact, was he really  from Earth? Adam walked straight into the dining area to find it was  neat and tidy, which saved him having to tell her to keep it so. The  owners had been most specific about that. He had lied to them and said  that his ‘lady' was extremely house-proud. He then walked through to the  kitchen, which was also scrubbed, he noted, as he did a slow  warder-type walk around it – not a hint of flour or chocolate anywhere.  There were lovely spicy beef waves coming from an enormous cauldron-like  pot on the hob and his stomach keened in response to it.                       
       
           



       

‘Well, at least they'll see the car if they don't see me,' said Adam.

‘Yes,' said Stevie, thinking, Okay, the preliminaries are out of the way, so what do we do now for the next hour or so?

‘So – money,' said Adam, answering her unasked question.

‘Great!' said Stevie. At last. Now she'd find out just which percentage  of the flesh nearest her heart she would need to cut out in order to pay  him.

‘May I?' He gestured towards the table.

‘Yes, of course,' said Stevie, and he sat down at a chair there and got out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

‘Do you want something to drink?' she asked. ‘Tea, coffee, wine? Sorry,  no spirits.' She added that last bit with an over-sorry smile. She  didn't want to give him the opportunity of fuelling up on whisky and  starting a singsong and/or a fight.

‘Wine would be nice, thank you,' he said.

‘White or red?'

‘Red, please,' he answered, almost sure it would arrive at the table  with the £1.89 label still on it. She surprised him with a very rich  little South African Pinotage, fragrant and heavy on the summer fruits  and berries. He nodded appreciatively.

‘Nice,' he said.

‘Yes, isn't it?' she drawled. I've surprised him, she thought. He thinks I buy crappy wines to get me drunk cheap and quick.

‘Look, here are my calculations.' Adam smoothed out the paper. ‘I've  taken a three-month lease and we'll assess the situation after that, if  it takes that long, but if you can pay me, say, four hundred pounds a  month, I can cover the rest. Can you manage that?'

Stevie stared at him. She had been expecting so much more, a thousand a  month at least and dubious sexual requests. As much as it shamed her to  say it, if it would have guaranteed Matthew coming back, she would have  considered stumping up on all fronts, and back.

Four hundred was reasonable, too reasonable, but for all she couldn't stand the man, she wouldn't have cheated him.

‘Mr MacLean … '

‘The name's Adam.'

‘Sorry … ‘Adam.' She made the weighty pause before his name sound like an insult. ‘I can afford more.'

‘No, I said I'd take four hundred – that'll dae.'

Stevie shook her head. ‘Sorry, I'm not a charity Mr … Adam.'

‘Charity, by Jings! Whit on earth are you talking aboot, woman?'

‘Seven hundred. I know what this place is costing. That's what I can afford. Seven hundred a month.'

‘Four.'

‘I can do eight at a push.'

‘This is bartering in reverse!' said Adam, pushing his hand back through his hair. ‘Are ye mad?'

‘Obviously yes, to be here in the first place,' said Stevie calmly. Four  hundred was so low as to be suspicious. She would rather not be in his  debt so much.

‘What do you do for a living that you can afford to throw your money aboot?' said Adam.

‘None of your business,' said Stevie, ‘and I'm hardly throwing it away.  I'm living here and it's a lovely, big, expensive house. Eight hundred,  Mr MacLean, that's my final offer.'

Adam MacLean sat back in the chair and slowly folded his arms. He looked faintly amused.

‘So if I say no, what are ye going to do? Refund me to death?'

She didn't answer. She just stared him out until he broke eye-contact and smiled resignedly.

‘Okay, if it makes you feel better, let's say seven hundred. That is my final offer. I can take a cheque.'

Stevie produced one she had made earlier, like Valerie Singleton, and  Adam put it down on the table, slowly moving his head from side to side.

‘Crazy lady,' was his only comment.

‘Would you like to eat something?' said Stevie. ‘I made a chilli. It'll  help pass the time. Unless you want to play Scrabble.' Neanderthal could  be quite a high word score.

‘Food would be very nice. I am actually quite hungry,' said Adam. He  crossed to the kitchen window and peered through the blinds. There  appeared to be no activity at all in Matthew's house. The night was  closing in, the curtains weren't drawn, and no lights had been turned  on. Despite the presence of the cars, it looked very much as if they  were out. Och nooo!

Adam excused himself and went upstairs to the loo. The front bedroom  door was closed with a KEEP OUT SUPERHERO'S ROOM door hanger on the  handle. Stevie's bedroom door was open and he poked his head inside to  find it was tidy also, and subtly scented like a sweet summer garden. A  Midnight Moon book was on the bedside cabinet, by Alexis Tracey. The bed  had a big puffy quilt like his Granny Walker used to have. He and his  sisters would creep in and bounce on it and his granny would turn a  blind eye, because she knew they didn't have much else in life to make  them smile.                       
       
           



       

‘Want a hand?' he asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway once again and filling it more than the door did.

‘You can stick that garlic bread in the oven if you want,' said Stevie,  pointing to a tray with a herby loaf covered in cheese gratings and  salsa. Home-made garlic bread, Adam thought.

His eyes must have lingered on it a bit too long, for she said, ‘What's wrong? Not to your taste, Mr MacLean?'

‘Not at all,' said Adam, taking the bread and putting it in the oven.  ‘It's just that the first time I saw you, you appeared not to have an  affinity with cooking.'

‘I was baking,' said Stevie. ‘I can cook okay, I just can't bake. For  some reason, if it involves flour, it just doesn't happen for me. The  kitchen seems to explode.'

‘Oh I see,' said Adam. He watched Stevie scurry about trying to locate the rice in one of the cupboards.

‘Mind if I try oot the cinema surround?' he said, thumbing towards the lounge.

‘It's your house,' Stevie sniffed.

‘I'm trying to be polite,' he smiled wearily.

‘Go right ahead,' said Stevie in her best part nice-hostess and part bugger-off voice.

Whilst the rice was cooking she stole a look across to Matthew's house.  ‘Why aren't you in? Where are you, you bastard! Don't you realize what  I'm doing for you?' she said in the direction of the unfaithful house,  which was now keeping Jo safe and warm. Well, lukewarm, for life at the  cottage was much more comfortable temperature-wise. Matthew kept the  central-heating thermostat very low. It gave them the excuse to cuddle  up lots. Where had all that love and affection gone? Maybe it was hiding  dormant in the walls, waiting for her return. It couldn't just  disappear into nowhere, could it?

The buzzer telling her that the rice and bread were ready rescued her  from unwelcome tear-duct activity. She dished up and was about to carry  it to the table when Adam came in to help her. She hoped she had made  him enough; after all, she had only done three ton.

‘This is quite nice,' he said, tucking right in. He sounded surprised,  as if he only thought her capable of tackling boil in the bag cod and  crispy pancakes.

‘Why, thank you,' she said, with an ultra-sarcastic smile, but he seemed too absorbed in his food to notice.