Chapter 1-1
Chapter 1
Did I ever tell you about how we got married, me and Gabi? Okay, so I did. But I bet I never told you the full story. Most people seem to be too, ah, busy, to sit through the whole thing.
It began, as many stories in Britain do, with rain. Apocalyptical rain hammering down outside our London flat. I’d just come back in from dropping off the cat with Mrs. Ranjit next door and giving her the spare key so she could pop in and water the plants. Nice old soul, Mrs. Ranjit, though so far I hadn’t managed to make her grasp that it was no coincidence me and Gabi—whom she called my flatmate—were going away to get married at the same time. She thought it was lovely. I hoped she still thought so when we came back with no husbands in tow.
I banged on the bathroom door. “Come on, love. If we don’t get to that car hire place soon all they’ll have left is a tandem.”
Gabi, Gabi, give me your answer do…
“So unless you want to cycle to Scotland, move your arse.”
I’m half crazy, oh for the love of you.
“Don’t be absurd, Kim,” she called from behind the door. “I will be two minutes.”
Two minutes in Gabi-speak usually meant at least ten. I prowled about checking all the windows. I added an extra tea towel to the sill of the kitchen window, which tended to let in the rain. It was tending very hard right now. We really needed to get it fixed. I made a note of that on the chalkboard where we put reminders of things to do. Under that I wrote “Get married.” And drew a little heart beside it.
Gabi emerged from the bathroom at last, looking like she was on her way to the trendiest club in Rio, as usual. She’d never quite adjusted to the realities of the British weather.
“You’ll need sturdier shoes,” I said, looking at the ballet pumps. “And a coat.” Which was a shame, because that curvy figure in tight jeans and a fitted T-shirt would help us get a cab very fast.
“Nonsense,” she said. “The rain is easing already.” Outside a wheelie bin floated past on the rushing stream the back lane had become. She picked up her short leather jacket and slipped it on. “You British make such a fuss over a small shower. You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
“If you say so. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We made one last sweep of the place, checking things were off or on as they should be, and all windows secured. The last thing we needed was to come home to start married life in a burgled flat.
Married life. Wow.
