Christmas at Snowflake Lodge

2. Fugitive-1

2

Fugitive

‘No work tonight, Lemons?’ Doreen said, appearing out of her bedroom with a crunched can of Worthington Bitter in her hand. She went to the sink, up-ended it to let a dribble of froth run out, then left it—unwashed—on the worktop before retrieving another from the fridge. ‘It’s Arsenal versus West Ham at seven-thirty. Are you likely to go out?’

Jessica, sitting at their shared dining room table with a tradesman’s magazine open in front of her and a coffee close at hand, suppressed a sigh. ‘I wasn’t planning to, but I suppose I could pop down to the Coco Lounge for a bit.’

‘Seriously?’

Jessica felt herself blushing. ‘Well, you don’t want me here, do you?’

‘Not unless you’re into the game. It kind of sucks to watch with someone who’s not up for it.’ Doreen, Jessica’s lodger, a hardcore lesbian and football fan, who worked as a hairdresser and also happened to be a casual bully, planted powerful fists on hips honed at combat-fit classes, and pouted. ‘But even so, the Coco Lounge? You’re going to go in there alone? You might as well just wear a green t-shirt and walk up and down the high street flashing your boobs at cars.’

Jessica was at a loss for words. ‘Well, what would you suggest?’

‘Couldn’t you just stay in your room? Read a book or something?’

‘It’s my flat.’

Doreen raised an eyebrow and Jessica knew she’d crossed the line. ‘So, you’re saying I’m not wanted? Would you like me to pack my bags?’

Jessica flapped a hand, feeling backed into a corner. Whatever she said was likely to leave her trailing in one way or another. Either she ruined Doreen’s football night by staying in, or she ruined Doreen’s cred by going to a couples bar alone.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. Perhaps I’ll go to the supermarket or something.’

Doreen’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? I know it’s a bit of a walk, but if you go down to the LIDL there’s a two-for-one on John Smiths. Mick and Phil are coming round in a bit so we wouldn’t mind if you dropped them off at half-time. We’ll probably be dry by then.’

Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but all sense of confrontation was gone. ‘Sure. No problem.’

Doreen grinned. ‘You know Mick’s single, don’t you? He dumped that Kathleen bird last month. Apparently he caught her watching Tottenham. I mean, come on. Gunners for life. She should have known better.’

‘He’s not really my type—’

Doreen’s face hardened again. ‘Don’t you start with that fat-shaming rubbish. He’s well-built, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that. Unless you’re saying you don’t like bigger people?’ Doreen looked ready for a scrap. ‘Who else don’t you like?’

Jessica stood up quickly. ‘I’ll go and get your beer,’ she said. ‘And if I can’t think of anything else to do, I’ll just wander the streets for a bit until the game’s over. It’s not that cold.’

Doreen grinned. ‘You’re the best, Lemons. I knew I was doing the right thing when I agreed to a flat share.’

Agreed to rent a room in my flat, Jessica forced herself not to say. You’re my lodger. You rent one room, and you pay under the going rate for it. And in less than six months you’ve made me just about ready to pack a bag and run.

As she headed for the door, taking her jacket off the back of a chair, she heard Doreen switching on the TV to the match buildup. Then, to Jessica’s utter revulsion, she heard the sound of the sofa springs stretching to their max.

Doreen was jumping up and down.