You Had Me At Hello Part 45

'The begging and indecent exposure in 4 should be a laugh. A bag lady's been flas.h.i.+ng people with her scary mary,' he says, this particular day. 'Arresting officer said it looked like she was giving birth to Ken Dodd.'

'You know what, Pete, I might let you apply your singular talents to that one.'

I have to get back to the flat on time as Caroline and I have concocted a plan that relies on everyone sticking to their schedules. I get home for six, Caroline's with me by quarter past, and Mindy's with us by quarter to seven, for a DVD-and-takeaway night with a twist she doesn't know about. At seven, the doorbell goes again.

'Evening!' Ivor says, as he steps inside. 'Have you really bought an Xbox?' And then: 'Oh, what?' as he spies Mindy.

'What's he doing here?' Mindy barks, standing up.

I insert myself between door and Ivor, herding him further into the room while I do so.

'OK. I've recently made a ma.s.sive b.a.l.l.s-up of my life, and Caroline, through no fault of her own, is experiencing some disruption also,' I say. 'We could both do with you two making friends and restoring harmony. That's not going to happen if you never speak. So, speak. Say anything you like, but you have to start speaking.'

'I'm leaving. How's that for some speaking?' Ivor says, turning.

'And if he wasn't leaving, I would be.' Mindy says with hands on hips.

'Oh for heaven's sake, the two of you,' Caroline says.

'I have nothing to say to him,' Mindy says.

'Likewise. Can I go now?' Ivor says to me.

'What, you're going to throw away years of friends.h.i.+p because you had a bust-up over Katya?' I say, looking from one to the other. 'Is she worth it?'

'Ask Ivor what she's worth,' Mindy says. 'Four hundred and twenty pounds a month? TV licence and bunga bunga included?'

'See?' Ivor says. 'This is pointless.'

'Stop this!' I say, suddenly a little hysterical. 'I know right now you think you can spat all you want and it'll be OK and you don't really mean it. Ivor could be hit by a bus on his way home. You never know when it could be a last chance. Talk!'

'She practically called me a s.e.x attacker!' Ivor bellows back. 'It's nice you want to do some helping out here, but unless you can get a full, grovelling retraction from her, not gonna happen. Whether I go under a Stagecoach or not.'

'Grovelling? Kiss my a.r.s.e,' Mindy says.

'Alright, alright.' Caroline gets to her feet, yanking her top over her concave stomach. 'Enough of this! Mindy, sit down.' She puts a firm hand on Mindy's shoulder and pushes her, then points a finger at Ivor, and an armchair. 'Ivor, you sit there. Now.'

Ivor sulkily obeys, coat still on.

She positions herself equidistant between them, standing. Caroline in full Paxman mode is an intimidating experience. I hover nearby, as if I'm studio security.

'Mindy,' Caroline says, 'Ivor did not give Katya any concession on the rent in return for kinky favours. You know that. Stop saying he did. It simply happened and he has the right to sleep with anyone he wants. He's a grown, single man. If we all pa.s.sed judgement on each other's choice of bonks down the years, I think we know there'd have been a lot of ructions.'

Caroline moves her gaze.

'Ivor, Mindy gets a very hard time for her choice of boyfriends from you. You're never exactly welcoming to them. Maybe next time you see Jake, you could correct that.'

'Jake and I aren't seeing each other any more,' Mindy says.

'Whoever the next one is, then,' Caroline says.

'It's not a revolving door!' Mindy says, and Ivor looks slightly brighter.

'Sorry to hear that,' I say, to Mindy. 'About Jake, not the door.'

'OK. Jake or no Jake, if Mindy has overreacted to one indiscretion, there have been years of provocation,' Caroline says.

'I hardly think a few wind-ups are the same as branding me an abuser, do you?'

'I think you both need to say sorry and you both need to hear it. You can say it at the same time, if no one wants to go first. I'll count you in.'

'This isn't a creche,' Ivor says to Caroline. 'What if we don't agree, no Stickle Bricks and milk?'

'I'm not going to change my opinion because of what you force him to say,' Mindy says. 'This is pointless.'

'At least you agree on something!' I say, optimistically.

I look in desperation towards Caroline.

'OK, you force me to do this. I'm breaking the gla.s.s and grabbing the hammer,' Caroline says, sitting down and crossing her legs.

Mindy and I frown in confusion at each other.

'I've got a theory, if anyone cares to hear it. Here's what I think is actually going on. Ivor has been in love with Mindy for years but won't do anything about it because of her ludicrous insistence on only considering men who look a certain way. Hence the ridicule about her dates.'

I look at Ivor, who's wearing the face of a man who's raced to the airport in time for the final boarding call and found he doesn't have his pa.s.sport.

'And I think Mindy's starting to realise she has similar feelings for Ivor. That's why she hates what he did with Katya so much.' Caroline turns to Mindy. 'You're not disapproving, you're jealous.'

'What?' Mindy says, who's the palest I've ever seen anyone with dark skin. 'I am not!'

'I'm making sense, aren't I? If we all think about this, we know it's true.' Caroline surveys the room, taking in three faces with open mouths. 'You're mad, because you're mad about each other. Isn't that right, Rachel?'

'Uh. I couldn't say. You make a convincing case ...?'

'You're a bunch of ...' Ivor is on his feet, wild-eyed, spluttering for words. 'Just f.u.c.k off! All of you!'

He charges out of the door.

'That stopped short of a denial,' Caroline says, looking to Mindy.

She rounds on Caroline. 'What the h.e.l.l was that?!'

'If neither of you were going to broach it, I thought I'd give it a helping hand. None of us are getting any younger here.'

'You're totally, completely out of order.'

'Am I?'

'Yes!' Mindy screams, s.n.a.t.c.hing up her coat.

'You've never thought of Ivor that way?'

'No!'

'And you don't think Ivor likes you?'

'No!'

'Oh.'

'Well done for making a very bad situation a thousand times worse! When the f.u.c.k do you think we'll ever want to be in the same room now?'

'Don't go,' I say, weakly, as Mindy slams out the door. I hear her footsteps pounding on the steps beyond.

'That went well, I think,' I say, joining a beleaguered Caroline on the couch. 'Are you sure about what you said?'

Caroline bites her lip. 'I was. Maybe I was wrong. I overstepped the mark, didn't I?'

'If it wasn't true, it will be obscenely embarra.s.sing to sort out.'

'And if it was true, it will be even worse?' Caroline says.

'Oh no, a diabolical third option. What if this is true of one of them and not the other? What then?'

Caroline puts a hand over her mouth. I groan and bury my head in the sofa, slap the cus.h.i.+ons rhythmically. I re-emerge. 'I'm going after Mindy. This is my fault, I had the herd and trap idea.'

'I'd let her cool off, if I were you, but if you think it'll help ...'

I gallop down the stairs and burst into the street. Thanks to Mindy's love of vivid colour, I spot her easily, an aubergine flag against red bricks some yards away. She's stopped still and I worry she's crying. s.h.i.+t. I'm the one who owes a grovelling apology.

As I advance, I'm surprised to see Ivor's on the other side of her. This is good, surely? Unless they're saying dreadful, eviscerating, final sort of things to each other. Something in the position of their bodies tells me this isn't the case it looks more like an intense tete-a-tete than the distance between two people squaring up. I watch them for a minute, unable to catch any drift or tone of their conversation. Mindy puts her arms up round Ivor's neck for a conciliatory hug and I nearly cheer.

They don't break apart.

I stare and stare in delighted disbelief until I realise I'm being a shameless voyeur and might ruin it if I'm spotted. Flying back through the flat door, I run into Caroline, who's pulling her jacket on.

'Where are you going?' I ask, breathlessly.

'You're right, best say sorry to them. That was unnecessarily s.a.d.i.s.tic. I'll say I'm unbalanced and mention Graeme and they'll feel bad enough to forgive me.'

'All right,' I say, enjoying the moment very much. 'If you can prise them apart downstairs, tell them you called it wrong.'

'They're fighting?' Caroline asks, aghast.

66.

I thought it wouldn't be like Ben not to say goodbye the second time around, but I also knew it might not be up to him. Then a call comes during work on a Friday. It's pay day for much of the city, and we're experiencing a snap of suns.h.i.+ne. By half past five, the pens outside the pubs that pa.s.s as al fresco seating areas will be heaving.

'I was hoping we could meet for a quick chat,' Ben says, brusque in his awkwardness. 'I don't want to take up too much of your Friday night. Meet at the town hall steps, after work?'

I get it, neutral territory nothing that could look like socialising. When I arrive, I see there's a French market on in Albert Square and it's a cl.u.s.ter of yellow-and-white striped awnings, shadowing wheels of brie, floury-looking saucisson and wooden tubs of garlic and onions. And there's a not-very-Gallic, opportunistic ice-cream van, thronged with customers.

Ben's waiting, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his briefcase. He's in a dark suit and tan shoes, looking suitably apprehensive and, inconveniently for me, as someone who'll never get to see him again, magnificent. How does he manage to get incrementally more handsome as time pa.s.ses? I want to swipe a Calippo from a pa.s.sing child to rub on my pulse points and cool my blood down.

'Hi,' I say. 'Sacre bleu!'

'h.e.l.lo. Merde. Great planning on my part.'

We stand looking at each other in a friendly but useless manner. Conversation needed.

'Nice brogues,' I say, pointing. Slick like oil, Rachel. 'My dad says only bounders wear brown shoes for business.' And a devastatingly brilliant recovery.

Luckily, Ben laughs.

'Funny you say that. Keep an open mind: have you ever heard the term "Ponzi scheme"?' He pretends to flip the catches on his briefcase.

We laugh. Silence again.

'Uhm. Obviously, you know what I want to talk about,' Ben says.

I nod, nervously. 'In general.'

Across the square, an accordion starts up, accompanied by some throaty singing from a Bejams Edith Piaf. Non, je ne regrette rien ... Je regrette plus da loads, actually.

'Do you know St John's Gardens? Part two of Ben's Parks and Recreations tour.'

'I think I do ... lead the way.'

As we walk down Deansgate, Ben learns more than he could've ever wanted to about the subtleties of 'intent to supply' and I pick up some opinions about cuts to legal aid.

'This is beautiful,' I say, when we get to St John's, a verdant oasis tucked behind Castlefield Museum.

'Isn't it. It used to be the site of a church, I think.'

It occurs to me Ben might've been walking in his lunch hours because he has a lot on his mind. St John's is mercifully near-deserted, it being happy hour. We take a seat on one of the circle of benches that ring the memorial cross. Ben puts his briefcase down.

'I didn't see you leave the wedding ...?'

'No. I, uh, thought it best if I went quickly.'